Season 3 Episode 3: Food Wars! Shokugeki no Mama (Part 1)

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, weeaboo inseminator and inseminator of weeaboos.

Alex sits on a hilltop overlooking pastureland in wine country. The verdure is marred by an enormous white box, several stories tall and probably half a mile to a side. It's like a square tumor on the land.

Sable sits beside him. From her satchel, she hands him a sandwich covered in saran wrap. "You should have this. When was the last time you ate?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. A day or two ago, maybe... does that matter?"

"It does matter. You need to keep your strength up."

Sable pulls a sandwich out of the satchel for herself as well, unwraps it and begins to eat. For the first time, she says: "it's nice to see you again."

He warms to this, smiling, even blushing a little. He unwraps his sandwich, replying in kind: "I've missed you, too." But when he takes a bite, he makes a sour face and says: "What is this?"

"Pimento loaf with swiss" she says, mouth full and going for more anyway.

He swallows hard, with some difficulty. "It's... kind of gross," he says.

She is momentarily at a loss. What she finally comes up with is a defense of her choice for lunch on its merits: "Pimento loaf has many essential nutrients, and a unique flavor profile--"

"I can't say I'm a fan, sorry."

Now she tries an appeal to logical consistency. "You've -- eaten pimento loaf sandwiches with me in the past. You have never complained before..."

He stares into the middle distance, trying to recall. "I guess I have, huh... the truth is, I've always kind of thought it was gross."

Sable is not used to back-talk like this from the typically subordinate Alex. But she moves past it: "You should have said so. I wouldn't have made you suffer it if I knew you didn't like it."

He sets the sandwich down on the ground, atop the saran wrap as if he will come back for it, but both of them know he won't.

"What's the plan?" He asks.

She points at the giant building below them. "There are over 10,000 servers in that facility. It's a data center owned in whole by Darkbloom Analytics. Do you know how many facilities just like this one they operate?"

Alex nods. "40 or so."

"42. Plus the central nervous system underneath the campus."

"Don't tell me. You want to destroy them?"

"Precisely so. Camelia was a short-sighted, stupid little girl. She thought she could slay the beast by taking out the central hub. That's not how it works. You need to dismantle the entire thing, all at once. Incinerate it -- atomize it. Not a bit can remain."

"Why?" Alex breathes. "The data on Darkbloom's servers is the backbone of the Sand Reckoner platform -- this is your life's work."

"No, no, no -- no!" Sable shouts. "Sand Reckoner does not belong to the Darkbloom family! My life's work is not to make the Darkblooms into monarchs!"

"Then what?" He demands.

"It hinges on you," Sable says. "Everything. You'll finish Diogenes -- we'll make a new implant, one that merges the two platforms. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis."

Alex frowns in frustration. "You make absolutely no sense when you get like this, Ms. Guiteau."

"Sand Reckoner belongs to the people. When it's finished, it won't need servers to work -- it won't need the Darkblooms, it won't need gatekeepers. It will become an interconnected network of humans, that's how it will work. With no one controlling it."

"Okay. And when we blow up all these servers, what happens to Alabaster Soliloquy? Or his sister-- and Whitney..."

Sable rolls her eyes. "Who cares?"

Alex stands. "I care."

There is anger in his voice.

Sable is really not used to this. She studies his face. "Alex... what happened to you?"

"You left," he says. "You left for over a year. I killed a man... I had to fend for myself... that's what happened to me."

His phone buzzes. When he checks it, it's a text from Whitney: good news about Cerise. He puts the phone away again.

"I need to go for now," he says.

"Will you -- be in touch?" Sable says. For the first time, she feels uncertain of her command over him.

"Of course," he says. "I told you -- I missed you so much -- of course I'll be in touch--"

"Must you go so soon?"

The edge in Alex's voice is dissipated but he doesn't yield: "Yeah, I do... sorry, Ms. Gutieau."

"What is it that's so important?"

"It's..." he pauses. "It's nothing that concerns you. I'll see you again soon. We have a lot to catch up on, don't we..."

He goes. Sable, not sure what to think, picks up his abandoned sandwich and bites into it.

---

Dr. Carte is the only other person there when you enter the hospital room where Cerise is. Cerise is groaning, incoherent, her head flopping slowly back and forth. But groaning and flopping around is a hell of a lot better than staring blankly at nothing. Dr. Carte, with all the care and gentleness of a mother, soothes Cerise with a damp washcloth to her forehead, shushing and cooing at her.

And like some kind of miracle, lucidity begins to return to Cerise. She flaps her tongue, blinks her eyes, tries and fails a few times to form words. She stops the groaning and head-turning and focuses instead on Dr. Carte, with seeming difficulty. Dr. Carte forces a few ice chips into Cerise's mouth, swabs them around for her. Cerise, still staring at Dr. Carte as if coming down from shock, finally manages: "you were here for me..."

"Yes... yes," she says.

You step forward, wanting to say something. But you're in shock too. The movement, though, catches her attention. She looks at you as Dr. Carte props her up, wedging pillows beneath her back.

"Alabaster," she says. Her voice is still weak. "What a... pleasant surprise... I didn't expect you to be the first person here when I awoke."

"Cerise?" You breathe. "Is it really you?"

Cerise bows her head as if overcome with a flash of pain. She looks herself over, tests the IVs and wires connected to her, the give of her own pale, somewhat emaciated flesh. She looks to her right, at the wheeled little wall of screens with all her vitals on display and steadily beeping away, but she hardly seems to comprehend what the monitors really say. Rather, she stares past them, trying to get her head straight, before looking back and saying: "It's me... I've missed you so much, Alabaster... how long was I asleep?"

"Over a-- a year," you say.

"You went into coma on June 1st, 2018," Dr. Carte says. "Today's date is August 18th... 2019..."

"I understand," Cerise says. She reaches for the cup of ice chips on the bedside table, under control of her body enough now to dispense some for herself. "No wonder I'm so thirsty. And no wonder my head is in such terrific pain..." The ice seems to help, but it sets her to shivering. She looks almost pitiful, in her green and white gown, teeth chattering.

For maybe the first time ever in your relationship with your sister, you are solicitous. You recall that there's a coffee machine just out in the hallway. You offer to get her a cup.

"Yes, please," she says. "As strong as you can make it. Thank you."

When you come back just a moment later with a tall cup of steaming black coffee, Cerise reacts as if she is seeing you for the first time. "Alabaster--!!" She cries. "Jesus Christ. I can't believe it. Did you break this bitch out of prison? This is crazy -- wait -- is that coffee?" She reaches out. "Here. My head hurts like a motherfucker. It's like the worst hangover I've ever had... I need that..."

You hand the coffee off to her, a little uneasy now. The expression on Dr. Carte's face is uneasy too, severe, bewildered. "Are you all right?" She asks.

"How long was I asleep?" Cerise asks.

That's when you notice that Cerise's eyes are... normal. Their same old color. Not the brilliant blue they were even moments before.

"You may have had a bit of a memory lapse," Dr. Carte says. "From Penelope going back into its low power mode. Besides that headache -- are you feeling anything else unusual? Pain, discomfort? Anything else?"

She shakes her head. "How long was I asleep?"

Dr. Carte explains, again.

"Oh..." she says.

"It doesn't matter," you say. "You're awake now."

Cerise nods. Roughly, she throws aside her covers, tugs at all the things connected to her. Dr. Carte helps get them pulled away now without blowing any veins or hurting her, although she still winces as the adhesive ends of the monitoring devices come off.

"How did the eyeball-fucker end up being my doctor?" Cerise asks you while Dr. Carte works.

"We got her out of prison. She's -- uh, she's Whitney's mother."

"Get out," Cerise says. "You're shitting me."

"No, he isn't," Dr. Carte mutters.

"Whitney had a meeting with the president and, uh, arranged for a pardon..." you explain.

Cerise just gapes at you. When she finds her words again, she simply moves on to a different subject. She asks Dr. Carte: "were you taking care of me for the whole year?"

"More or less."

"Like... everything?"

"Most things. Whenever I could be here, at least."

Cerise makes a mortified moan. "That's great. My future mother in law's been changing my bedpan."

Dr. Carte forces down the side railing of Cerise's hospital bed with a hard clack. "Let's get you on your feet," she announces.

You and Dr. Carte hold Cerise under her armpits and help her swing her legs over the edge of the bed. She winces when her bare feet touch the cold tile ground. When you get her weight settled fully on the floor, her knees wobble, before finally giving out completely. She stumbles, topples forward -- you and Dr. Carte barely manage to keep her from collapsing to the ground.

"Easy now," Dr. Carte says. "One step at a time. Focus on your extremities. Try to feel where your feet are. You haven't walked in a long time, it takes getting used to..."

"I can't feel my legs," Cerise says, in a panic of despair.

"It's okay. Just focus. Wiggle your big toe."

"I can't feel my legs--"

"Wiggle your big toe."

With monumental effort, so much that sweat starts to pearl on the ridge of her brow, Cerise wiggles her toe.

"Hard part's over," Dr. Carte says. "Now walk."

Over the course of 15 minutes, you teach Cerise again how to walk on her own two feet.

---

Cerise is wearing the outfit she came to the hospital in, a tee and shorts, the kind of thing she would always wear when slumming it at home. It's almost hard to believe she's in normal clothes again, after a year of seeing her in nothing but that gown.

She's sitting in a pleather recliner beside her old hospital bed. She's still a little shaken from it all as she sips her coffee.

"Whitney just texted," you say. "She'll be here soon. Rose and Vivian, too."

"Oh god..." Cerise says. "I don't know if I can deal with Whitney just yet. Nevermind Queen Bitch 1 and Queen Bitch 2."

You can understand that. She's still getting used to being back in reality again.

"Wanna get away for a few minutes?" You ask. "Just us. The others can wait a bit."

"Sure. It'll get me used to walking some more..."

[ ] Cafeteria.

>[x] Rooftop.

[ ] Somewhere else?

"Are we allowed to be up here?" Cerise asks, stepping on still-unsteady legs through the heavy steel access door that leads to the roof.

"What are they gonna do?" You say. "We've got what's colloquially known as fuck-you money now."

The gravel rooftop has a view to downtown Palo Alto, still bustling with traffic as the sun begins to droop low in the sky. The golden glow of sunset is giving way to the periwinkle of early evening. A gentle breeze from the bay feels refreshing against your back.

Cerise grips the steel guard rail at the edge, staring out. Pensive.

"I lost a year of my life... just like that. I can't believe it." She pauses, then: "Oh god. I'm gonna be 26 in a few weeks."

"We've still got time, we'll marry you off," you say. "What about Stackleford? He's an eligible bachelor..."

"How about you go fuck yourself," Cerise says.

You laugh.

Her voice goes serious again. "I don't remember anything. I was in Gal's bedroom, then... waking up, just now."

You're silent for a few moments as you let that settle.

"What you did," you begin. You gulp and start over. "The implant... you didn't have to--"

"Of course I did. It was the only way."

"I would have been okay."

"You would have been a million little bloody giblets in a sewer," Cerise cuts in. "I had to do it... after everything... I mean, you saved me once, so..." She glances sidelong at you. "Consider us even, I guess."

"Even," you agree.

A flash of light in the sky catches your attention. You look back: a brilliant blue burst of pyrotechnics glows on the distance. After a delay, the glittery crackle of it hits your ears. Then comes another, and another. Fireworks.

"Is today a holiday?" Cerise asks.

"I don't think so," you say.

You stare at the fireworks for a long time, quiet. Just you and Cerise. Whatever the occasion for the show, you're happy to have it. You're happy to be here with her. You're... happy.

For the first time in as long as you can remember.

You almost don't know what to do with yourself.

"Alabaster, I l--"

"There! You! Are! Al-a-bas-ter!"

You turn, grimacing: it's Rose2.

"We are going to have some tan-o-shii today, believe-you-me! The whole gang's back together!"

Cerise's face is a mask of sheer revulsion and secondhand mortification.

"Why the fuck--" you begin.

"When you ghosted me again, I was just about ready to go super saiyan on your butt! But then Whitney texted, and she said that Cerise was wakey-wakey again! Oh my gosh! I came right away..."

Cerise frowns. "Alabaster, are you responsible for this?"

"I--" you say.

"Of course you are. I'm holding you personally responsible for the fact that Rose2 is the third human being I ever saw after waking up from a yearlong coma. You went from being even with me to being in infinite debt just now."

Rose2 hardly seems to notice this back-and-forth. She blathers on, unfazed. "When we got here, we couldn't find you! Dr. Carte said you wandered off, and Whitney was getting all anxious, but then I said to myself: now where does an otouto take his onee-chan when she wakes up from a coma and they finally reunite? The rooftop, of course! A-durr."

She strikes a pose.

"Well played," you admit. "You figured it out. But we'd really like a little alone time, you know..."

"Uh, for sure, of course!" Rose2 says. "But Whitney is getting mega-super antsy because she has a RESERVATION at only the best, most exclusive restaurant in town! And we're all invited!" She makes finger guns at you. "It'll be a party!"

"Why do you even exist?" Cerise says. "I can't even begin to describe the level of disgust--"

"You're silly!" Rose2 laughs. "Just like back in anime club at North High. If I didn't know better I'd say you're just being tsuntsun!"

"Say some weeb shit out loud again," Cerise growls. "I will put you back in the circle of shame so fucking fast your head will spin. Try me."

"We made the mistake of bringing her aboard as an intern," you explain. "It's been..."

"It's been awesome!" Rose2 says. "Especially now that Alabaster and me are boyfriend and girlfriend!"

"Now hold on," you begin, trying to think of a way to diplomatically correct the record before Cerise can explode.

Cerise takes your arm, and turns with you so your backs are to Rose2. "You fucked her," Cerise whispers. "Didn't you."

"Kind of."

"You don't kind of fuck someone. You fucked her. Now she's imprinted on you like a lost puppy."

"I think that's about the size of it."

"I knew you had shitty taste, Alabaster, but... Jesus fucking Christ."

"It's a long story... there was a legitimate reason, I swear."

She rolls her eyes.

"And some things we need to talk about..." you say. "Things are-- crazy."

"I hope you know that your dick is going to smell like pocky and fanfiction for the rest of your life now. It's a disease. She's the carrier of a disease--"

"Uh...?" Rose2 says, standing on her tiptoes as if this will allow her to see over your shoulders, or overhear the low conversation.

"Just a minute!" You call over your shoulder. Then, to Cerise: "Are you hungry?"

"Hungrier than I've ever been in my entire life."

"Are you up to being social?"

"Depends. If we go out, are you going to trip and land with your dick inside another weeaboo for totally legitimate reasons?"

You sigh.

"Your call, Alabaster. I haven't seen these people in a long time, so I'm sure it's the right thing to do to hang out with them."

"But you'd rather go home."

"Do I still have one?" She asks, seeming genuinely curious about the answer.

"A mansion."

"Whoa."

>[x] Go to dinner with everyone.

[ ] Skip out on social obligations, go home with Cerise.

Downstairs, in the hall on the way back, the first person you bump into is Makoto. She's sitting in a chair by herself, scrutinizing a songbook -- what else?

"Is everyone in Cerise's room?" You ask her.

"Yes!" She says, not looking up.

Cerise is gobsmacked. "Is that..." she breathes. "Is that Makoto fucking Kik--"

"No! I am Whitney Darkbloom!" Makoto says, finally glancing up. "Hello to Cerise, my favorite sister!"

Great. Method acting. Cerise has no clue what to say to being confronted with a pop idol who claims to be your childhood friend.

"She's playing Whitney in a movie..." you explain.

Cerise has hardly any time to process this before your conversation draws people out of what was once Cerise's room.

Whitney is first. When she sees Cerise standing there, she simply bounds the short distance between her and Cerise in an uncharacteristically wordless gesture, and embraces her in great big a bear-hug. Cerise awkwardly hugs her back. When Whitney pulls away, her eyes are dewy, and a single tear runs down her cheek.

"I knew you'd wake up!" Whitney says. "You kicked that coma's ass!"

The reunion between Cerise and Rose is less emotional, but still heartfelt. They nod at each other, and that's that. Charlotte Mallory wears her heart on her sleeve though. She's a blubbering mess, and begs off hugging Cerise because she doesn't want to get snot on the poor girl. Saul is also clearly moved to see Cerise awake again, but stoically so.

The only thing he says is directed at you: "Word gets around. That bitch Keki wants to talk to her. I said she'd have to wait until we've had a chance to reunite and get Cerise some rest."

"Keki..." Cerise says. "The FBI?"

"I'll be there," Saul says. He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You won't have to say a word."

Vivian is walking out with Dr. Carte now. Cerise is clearly not used to having to spend time with Vivian as a relative peer -- nor is Vivian. But Vivian puts on a polite (if wan) smile and says: "Hospitals are dreary places. Perhaps we should begin for the restaurant."

Baumé is the kind of chic, ostentatious setting you've had a year to get used to now, but Cerise is in awe. "I bet the food here costs more than the GDP of an African nation," she says as you step with her through the door.

"That's the wine," you say. "The food is more than the GDP of a southeast Asian nation."

"Baumé is typically closed on Sundays, isn't it?" Vivian asks Whitney.

"It's not closed for billionaires," she says. "I told the chef here that I wanted him on standby for the moment Cerise woke up again. You bet your ass I got him over here as soon as I heard the news."

Alex is in the reception area already, and his eyes light up as you enter. "Ms. Cerise!" He says. "Oh my goodness. I can't believe you're really back."

"Hey kid," she says warmly. They embrace.

You laugh: "I finally found the thing that'll get you out of the office."

Alex is abashed, but begs it off with a wave of his hand. "I'd never let anything stop me from being here!" The smile on his face is one of the first genuine smiles you've seen from him in a while.

A hostess escorts you back to a private room and passes out menus printed on heavily textured cream-colored paper -- even the menus here are gaudy and pricey-looking, of course. Cerise scrutinizes it, muttering: "wine, wine, wine... where's the beer?" She glances up. "Do you serve beer?"

"Oh --" the hostess says. "Yes. Ms. Darkbloom said there would be a guest who wanted beer, so we got some special for the occasion. I assume this is you?"

Cerise shoots Whitney an astonished look. "Heeeh," Whitney laughs.

"We have Sapporo and Kirin Ichiban. Which would you like to begin with?"

"Both," Cerise says.

"Of course." The hostess goes around the long table now, taking wine selections from the others, and fielding questions about the baroque entree descriptions. Although Vivian and Rose2 are both underage, there's not even a mention of carding them.

More guests begin to arrive and filter in now. First is Fazil. He gives Cerise a hug and exclaims: "The best boss on the planet Earth is here again! Very good, yes? Yes?"

Still holding Cerise by the shoulders, he nods again and again until Cerise agrees with him: "Yes. Very good."

"Yes!" He parrots. "Very good! And here is this." He presents her with a rugged green bottle that has a dead snake suspended in it. Cerise seems unsure if she should even take it, but he practically forces it into her hands. "I go on holiday to Vietnam earlier this Summer. On my travels, I find this: cobra wine. And rather than drink it, I am think to myself -- Cerise is a purveyor of the eastern cultures also. She would enjoy this if she wakes-- no, WHEN she wakes. It is your present!"

"Th-thank you," Cerise stammers.

"It is good! Yes? Will get you mega fucked-up! Shall we have a glass?"

"Um," Cerise says, "I really like it, Fazil, but I want to experience being NOT fucked-up for a little while. I did just wake up."

"Oh, of course!"

"You can still have some, though--"

"If you insist!" He grabs the bottle back, pops the cork with his bare hands, and pours the foul-smelling liquor into a fluted wine glass. "Şerefe!" He cries, and knocks it back.

Less happily, Stackleford is next. "Bitchin'!" he says, going for a high five which Cerise doesn't reciprocate. His prosthetic fingers make him look part Terminator. So does his newfound physique. He awkwardly lets his hand fall to his side.

"Stackleford...?" Cerise says. "No fucking way."

"Cerise, you were always my number one nigga. I'm glad you're awake."

"What did we say about that word?" You demand. "I swear to god, if you get us in the news again over that shit, I will put you in the ground."

"Uh -- sorry."

"Jesus," Cerise says. "Did you get lipo? What the hell happened to you?"

"Got tickets to the gun show, that's what!" He flexes one of his biceps and slaps it with his other hand. "After all that crazy stuff happened last year, I thought I should know how to defend myself... and I dunno... I kinda liked working out. I just imagine it's like I'm training to be the next hokage."

Cerise cradles her face in her hands in donated shame. All the exercise in the world couldn't exorcise Stackleford's personality.

Rose2 claps, though. "It's sugoi, isn't it? You really are looking just SO great, Stacks."

He stammers and can't find anything intelligent to say, so he just takes his seat.

Kay slinks in.

"Oh shit," Whitney says. "Here comes Deep Throat."

"For the last time," Kay says, taking a seat, "Deep Throat was the source. Not the reporter. If anyone is Deep Throat, it's you."

"What the fuck ever, Deep Throat. Who invited you?"

"I know all the best places in town to be. That's a reporter's job."

"Well get the fuck out. This is a private dinner."

Kay laughs, her voice silky and haughty. "Hmm... I'll take it into consideration." She turns to Cerise: "How are we feeling?"

"A little crazed," Cerise says.

"Yeah. Waking up in a brand new world will do that. When you've got your sea legs, let me know. I'd love to talk one on one."

"Um."

"No pressure. It can be off the record..."

"Bullshit," you cut in.

Kay's eyes twinkle.

Conversation passes into multitudes of side-bars, from person to person, as salads come and go, wine gets poured by the bottle and pleasant -- if unusual -- smells begin to emanate from the kitchen. The mood is light, carefree, although of course the events of earlier are nagging at the back of your mind... seeing Camelia, and Mom... and you don't notice that Cerise is also looking a little careworn too. Until she calls your attention to it.

She tugs on your sleeve, leans in to whisper: "Alabaster... do you -- know how Gal is doing?"

Leave it to Gal to ruin a nice night without even being here.

"She's all right," you say. "She has a nice place downtown here in Palo... and right now I guess she's probably at her computer watching porn or something."

Cerise nods. "That's good... I'm glad. You keep in touch with her?"

You sort of half-shrug.

"I'd like to see her later."

You won't rain on your sister's happiness. In fact, the thought strikes you that maybe this is the kind of thing that Galatea would be willing to leave the house for. Her loft is only a couple blocks away.

>[x] Go get her.

[ ] Forget it.

You pick the napkin up from your lap and set it on the table. "Gotta hit the bathroom," you say.

"Thanks for the news flash," Cerise says. "Fucking weirdo. You want my permission?"

"Just thought you'd like to know. I'll let you know how it all comes out, too."

She groans.

(Best not to get Cerise's hopes up, in case Galatea decides she doesn't want to come.)

---

"Ki-ki-ki-KIMOCHIIIII~~"

Galatea has her ankles propped up on either side of her desk and her hands between her legs as the hentai on the screen plays at max volume. When she sees you walking in, she startles, tips back in her chair, and falls to the ground.

The incoherent wailing of an anime slut getting railed is the only sound for a few moments, until you walk over and shut it off. Galatea peers at you from the floor where she still lies prone and pantsless.

"im sorry"

That's Galatea for you: apologizing for masturbating in the privacy of her own home because you walked in uninvited.

"Get dressed," you tell her. "I'm taking you to dinner."

"what"

You grab her and pull her upright. "I said get dressed. I'm taking you to dinner."

"i don't underst--"

"You don't have to. Just do as I say. And do it quickly."

She looks at the ground. You tilt her chin up to meet her eyes.

"Gal."

"yes," she finally says.

"Wear something nice," you tell her as she roots through a hamper. "It's a fancy place."

"yes sir-- uh-- yes alabaster"

That's a new one. The porn must have gotten to her head.

"Is that really the nicest outfit you have?" You ask when she's done.

"im sorry"

"Whatever. We don't have time to get you anything better. Let's go."

---

"I thought you pulled an Elvis on us," Cerise says as you walk back into the dining room at Baumé. "You were gone for--"

She freezes as Galatea mousily shuffles in. And for her part, Galatea nearly faints. She goes woozy and you have to slyly get your hand behind her back to steady her again.

"Oh? Who's this?" Asks Vivian.

"A friend of Cerise's," you say. You don't have to explain any further. She's smart enough to know.

Vivian watches as Galatea circles the table and approaches Cerise like someone finding the ark of the covenant. Cerise, tearing up, nods and smiles at her, beckoning her closer.

She sits in what was your chair, right beside Cerise, and puts her head against Cerise's shoulder. She nuzzles Cerise, rubbing her cheek against her in a lovingly tender way, and clasps Cerise's arm with both of hers as Cerise pets her gently. Their reunion is utterly wordless.

You pull up another chair and wedge yourself in on Cerise's other side, next to Whitney. As you settle again, you notice Armstrong and Nelson at the other end of the table -- the only other members of the board who cared enough to show, or maybe the only ones Whitney invited.

Whitney stands and taps a spoon against a wine flute now, drawing the attention of the room. "I just wanna say --" she begins. "We're all so glad to have you back, Cerise... it's fucking wild, seriously. And it wouldn't be possible without the work of my mom -- the smartest mom in the UNIVERSE --" She nods at Dr. Carte from across the table. "Stand up, mom. There you go. Let's give her a fucking hand, huh?"

Whitney begins to clap, and though it feels kind of awkward, you all join in. Dr. Carte seems less than enthusiastic about the attention. She dithers and stares at the table.

"All right, that's enough--" you say as the applause dies down. "Don't embarrass your mother any more."

"Heh. I'll embarrass you all I want," Whitney says, to Dr. Carte.

"Please don't," Dr. Carte replies, sitting.

Whitney stays standing. She puts her hands on her hip and crows: "Dr. Renee D. Carte is smart. Smart!" She pokes Dr. Carte's shoulder, and though Dr. Carte rolls her eyes, she can't help smiling too.

"Anyway," Whitney says, looking down at Cerise. "I'm glad to have you back, big sister."

"Don't call me that," Cerise says.

"Fine. I'm glad to have you back, onee-sama."

"Oh my god," Cerise says. "What did I tell you, Alabaster? Didn't I tell you? It's a fucking contagion."

Whitney snorts.

The entrees begin to arrive and people dig in -- although the portions are a little small. As Cerise nurses beer four or five and tears into her steak, you promise that you'll get her something more later on, if she's still hungry for it.

"Defffntly," she says through a mouth full of food, getting a couple flecks of blood from the meat on your face. Classy as always, your sister.

You scan your eyes around the table.

>[ ] Who to strike up a conversation with?

>[x] Renee

"I'm sorry on behalf of Whitney," you tell Dr. Carte from across the table.

"Don't you fucking apologize for me, dorkass!" Whitney says. "Mom, I am so not sorry. 100% not sorry."

"It's fine," Dr. Carte says. "Whitney's enthusiasm is good. It's gotten her this far in life."

"Fuck yeah it has."

"So tell me," you ask Dr. Carte, "is Cerise back to normal now? What do we expect moving forward?"

"The implant is still inside her, but it's on a low-voltage mode. I put a resistor in it that keeps it electronically isolated from her brain... in simple terms. I thought doing that would let us remove it, but for some reason, taking it out entirely seems to have an adverse effect."

"Then how did she wake up?"

She shrugs. "All I can think of is that her brain was separated from the implant by that resistor for a long enough period of time that it must have started waking up on its own."

"Do we take it out now?" You whisper.

"Best to leave it unless it starts causing problems," she says. "Right now... just enjoy having your sister, Alabaster."

"Thank you, Dr. Carte. For everything."

"Call me Renee."

"Call her mom," Whitney corrects.

"Oh?" Dr. Carte says, quirking an eyebrow. "Is it time to make it official, then?"

"Ah-" you say.

Dr. Carte nudges Whitney. "You better tie him down soon. He's a keeper."

"Hehe. We'll see~" Whitney says.

"If you don't act quick, I will," Dr. Carte says. "So be careful..."

Whitney flicks a carrot at her with a fork. "Back off, old woman."

Dr. Carte frowns. "I'm hurt. Wasn't it only a few days ago that an orderly at the hospital mistook me for your sister? I still have that youthful look..."

"Pfft," Whitney says. "Sure. Whatever makes you feel better."

Dr. Carte tugs at her eye and sticks her tongue out at Whitney.

"She just wants someone to dominate bar trivia with," you say.

"What!" Whitney says. "The fuck is bar trivia?"

Dr. Carte puts her hands behind her head. "Trivia, at a bar. There's this place not too far from my house that does a trivia night every Thursday, teams of two... Alabaster would be perfect. We'd wipe the floor with them."

Whitney slaps her knee. "Trivia at a bar! That's the lamest thing I've ever -- holy shit."

"I don't know," you shrug. "It does sound fun."

Whitney squints at Dr. Carte. "Are you sure you're not HIS mom? You and him might be the only people on the planet who'd get psyched over drunk Jeopardy."

>[x] Fazil

Fazil is more than a bit tipsy on his self-supplied cobra wine and grins broadly when you walk over.

"Ala-bast-or! So glad you could make it."

"I've been here."

"It's great to see you."

You move on. "How was Vietnam?"

"Terrific. It was absolutely beautiful. Except for the minefields. They have the greatest cartoons on Earth. Now I know you are saying to yourself: no, Fazil, the country with the greatest cartoons is Japan. Until recently, I promise you, I was of the same mind. But then I saw Vietnamese cartoons. My life was changed. As Allah is my witness, it was a beatific experience."

"I'll have to take your word for it," you say.

"The people of Vietnam are good and wholesome," he says. "I have no complaints, except for one complaint." He raises a hand as if taking an oath: "they eat dogs, and I solemnly do not agree with this."

"You're okay with snake, though," you say, nodding at his half-empty bottle. "I thought that was for Cerise?"

"Oh shit!" He says. He's recently taken to using "oh shit" as his favorite English profanity of the month. "I will buy her yet another one."

"Actually -- that's just fine--"

"No! No! I will not hear of it. I will buy her another one immediately."

You should have kept your mouth shut.

>[x] Rose2

You don't decide to talk to her; she decides to talk to you.

"Ally... you look so happy."

"I guess I am," you admit.

"Me too." She puts her hand on your arm and whispers, in a voice that isn't too quiet: "I can still feel your sperm inside me... it's really warm... hee."

Right beside her, looking at his plate, Stackleford's face seems to pass through all five stages of grief at the same time.

"We need to clear something up," you whisper back. "What happened earlier... was fun... but this boyfriend and girlfriend talk..."

She stares back at you with wide, expectant eyes.

"You had fun too, right?" You ask her, easing her in to the letdown.

She nods enthusiastically.

"Maybe it's best if that's what it was -- just fun?" You prompt.

"Of course! It was super fun! The best kind of fun a boyfriend and girlfriend can have!"

"Yeah, the thing is -- I'm with Whitney, of course, and--"

Still those big doe eyes.

"So what I'm saying is, maybe it's just fun. We can have fun like that without it being anything else."

"Yeah! And other times we can have other kinds of boyfriend-and-girlfriend fun too!"

You close your eyes and sigh. This one is going to take a different setting and more time to think it through.

>[x] Armstrong and Nelson

"Alabaster, my man, congrats!" Armstrong says, jerking your hand from your side and practically dislocating your shoulder with the force of his handshake. "What did I tell you? Eh? I said -- that Cerise, now THERE'S a fighter. She's a real fighter. Didn't I tell you?"

"Yeah..." you mutter, wrenching your hand free from his grip. You rub your arm and try not to let on that the handshake really hurt.

"I'm sure you're as happy as anyone," he continues. "But be careful now -- don't you go and fuck her like all the other girls, too!"

You stare at him, jaw slightly parted.

"That's a joke, son. I know you wouldn't have sex with your own sister. You're a regular Hugh Hefner, but come on, let's get real, right?"

"Right..."

"Will she come back to work now?" Nelson asks. He's deep into what looks like his fourth glass of wine, judging by the empty flutes around his plate. Must have some minor neurosis about drinking twice from the same glass. "She's a great employee. I'd absolutely have her on the slate for promotion if she was back at work..."

You're not sure about that. You give a non-answer, something like "we'll see," but it leaves you wondering.

[ ] You want Cerise to go back to work.

[ ] You want her to stay away from Darkbloom Analytics.

>[x] Cerise's choice.

That's a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

On your way back to your seat, Rose catches your eye. She jerks her head slightly to one side, signalling for you -- she wants to talk in private.

As suspicious as it might look to step out with Rose all of a sudden, you figure she's got a reason. And she did tell you earlier that she found "something" in Amber's bedroom.

So step out you do -- and Rose joins, pushing her seat away from the table where she sits between her parents. Charlotte and Saul give each other a glance that's hard to gauge. They both seem to get a little uneasy when you run off with her because it usually means you're plotting something. Or doing other things.

Out in the reception area, away from the din of conversation, you say: "all right, cow. Make it quick."

"Sure thing, asshole. I found this in Amber's closet." She holds up a USB drive. "You probably already know what's on it."

"North High?"

"You did burn it down after all. I knew it."

"Brilliant work, detective. Let's get back on track. The fact she has the same USB drive with the same video that Camelia used to blackmail me proves she's the same person. Doesn't it?"

"Well I don't know how else a girl you remember as Camelia would end up with Camelia's things. This is..." She lets the hand holding the USB stick fall to her side. "This is crazy, Alabaster. Do you understand how crazy this is?"

"Do I? That's what I've been TELLING--" you realize your voice is getting too loud, so you bring it level again and hiss, "that's what I've been trying to tell you. Now how's this for a second scoop of crazy--"

"Please," Rose says. "I cannot handle two scoops right now--"

"I saw my mom."

"What?"

"I saw my mom at Other Rose's house. She's acting like she's Rose2 and Camelia's mom, but she isn't. She's my mom."

Rose closes her eyes and shakes her head. "This is too much."

"You're telling me that? I just saw my dead mother. Yeah. It's too fucking much."

She looks at you. "Well. We do know at least two other people whose eyes got fucked by Sand Reckoner. Maybe they see things the way you do."

You glance back at the dining room, then to Rose. "I don't want to shit on Cerise's first night awake," you say. "I'll talk to her about it later."

"Don't wait too long," Rose says. "Who knows what the next tear in the fabric of spacetime is gonna be. Good lord, Alabaster. I--"

Rose stops herself short, and you turn around, following her gaze. Rose2 is standing just around the corner of the dining room's entrance, watching the two of you talk. You have no idea how much of this conversation she overheard.

"Are you two coming back to dinner?" Rose2 asks.

"Were you spying on us?" Rose asks.

"Should I have been?" She asks in return.

"Don't you turn stalker just because Alabaster ejaculated inside you," Rose says. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but he doesn't feel the same way about you that you do about him."

"Rose--" you say.

"I don't know who you are to say how Alabaster feels," Rose2 hums, not perturbed by Rose's obvious aggression, or even seeming to notice it. It's more like she's just stating a fact, not fighting back. She puts a forefinger to her chin, stares at the ceiling. "Or who you are to accuse people of being a stalker. My gosh. That's, like, the kettle calling the pot black or something."

"Answer the question. Were you spying on us? What did you hear?"

"No... I don't spy... are you all right, Rose? I hope you don't mind that I'm seeing your cousin."

"Once removed!" Rose shouts.

"If that's what this is about, please... don't worry... we can still be friends. Me being with Alabaster won't change us being buddies."

"Being with him? Seeing him? Buddies? You're the stupidest piece of shit in the world. You are, unironically, a retard if you think--"

"That is such hurtful language," Rose2 says. "Isn't that ableist or something?"

"Go shove a railroad spike up your cunt."

"I can see you're mad. I'll make it up to you later, I'm sorry."

You return to dinner, though it's starting to wind down.

You keep casting uncertain glances at Rose Episode V, but if she heard you telling Rose Episode IV that you think her mother is your mother's doppelganger, she isn't letting on. Maybe she didn't overhear anything after all. She's busy debating with Stackleford whether Light or L was right, and doesn't seem weirded out or upset in slightest.

"I should -- hic -- go home." Dr. Carte seems all the worse for the wear after hard drinking at karaoke followed by a couple bottles of wine at dinner tonight.

"You're not driving, are you?" Whitney asks.

"Of coursh I'm friggin driving, how elsh could home get back to me?"

"Okay, yeah," Whitney says, standing up. "I gotta get my drunk mom home safe. You all have a good one. Cerise -- I'll see you back at my house. There's a room for ya. Ally'll show you."

But Cerise has been murmuring and giggling with Galatea all night, and tells you now that she might spend the night at Gal's loft -- Gal seems too afraid to let Cerise out of her sight.

"You don't mind, do you?" Cerise asks.

You do mind, but you don't have it in you to say so.

"You can check out Casa Del Darkbloom-o in the morning, then," Whitney says. She reaches in her pocket. "Oh yeah. I got a key for you, too. Catch."

She tosses it, and Cerise catches it.

"You're living the good life now," Whitney says. "You want anything else, just ask."

"Thanks, Whitney. I -- still can't believe you're a CEO."

"The best!" She agrees, all toothy smile.

Cerise looks at you. "You can come with us, back to Gal's, if you want. I know you probably wanted to spend the night with me, too. Gal and me were just gonna watch anime together, so it's no big deal."

[ ] Go with Cerise and Gal.

>[x] Go with Whitney and Dr. Carte.

"Am I... a monkey?" Whitney asks.

"No," Dr. Carte says.

"Well..." you drawl. "She would probably say she's a monkey."

Whitney crosses her eyes and rolls them up, as if trying to read the card stuck to her forehead, the one that says "Donkey Kong."

"Don't help her, Alabaster! She's not a monkey."

Whitney scrunches up her face, thinking. "So I'm a monkey who's not a monkey... fuck. That's a tough one."

"Take your time," you say.

She drums her fingers on Dr. Carte's living room coffee table. "Monkey who's not a monkey. Shit. What monkeys aren't monkeys... hmm."

"Ask another question," you say. "Maybe you'll figure it out if you try something el--"

Her eyes light up. "Am I fake?"

Dr. Carte frowns. The deduction is dubious, but coincidentally correct. "Yeah."

"Oh! Fake monkey! Of course! I wear a tie, right?"

You grin. "You do."

She's pointing wildly, bouncing up and down on her knees. "I'm -- ooh! Konkey dong! I'm konkey dong!"

"Uh--" Dr. Cate begins, but Whitney is already ripping the card away. She flips it over and peers at it. "Fuck yeah! I knew it!" She cries, triumphant.

"You have got to be shitting me," Dr. Carte grumbles. "I swear."

"You're pretty good at this," you say. "Nice job."

"Why are YOU Mr. Positivity all of a sudden?" Dr. Carte says. "She only got there because you helped her! And even then, it was luck! And she didn't even get the right answer!"

The unfortunate thing about Dr. Carte is that when it comes to fun and games, her competitive streak is a mile wide -- and she angers easily. Especially when she's wasted. It's kinda cute. And this tendency of hers isn't exactly helped by the fact that she's still drinking -- still in a celebratory mode, it seems -- knocking back homemade screwdrivers with Whitney while you play the game.

"She shouldn't get the point," Dr. Carte insists. "She didn't actually get the right answer."

"Salty salty," Whitney says, pantomiming shaking a salt shaker.

"I'd give her the point," you say. "She knew who it was. She just mispronounced it."

"Konkey Dong is NOT a character! She didn't get it right!"

"Sucks to suck," Whitney needles. She sticks her tongue out.

"Don't you back-talk me, young lady! I will--"

"Relax," you say. "You can still make the comeback. It's your turn, anyway."

She pouts for a moment, to make her displeasure clear, but then she acquiesces.

Dr. Carte's efficiency with this game is brutal and unforgiving. Am I a person? -- Real? -- Living? -- American? -- European? -- English? -- French? -- German? -- World War II? -- Nazi? -- High command? -- Doctor? -- "I'm Josef Mengele," Dr. Carte says, smirking smugly. She pulls the card away and confirms it. Then her smugness passes and she flicks the card at you. "Jerk. That's a cruel thing to put on my card, don't you think?"

"I have my fun where I can," you say.

You play a few more rounds with Dr. Carte but she's set on winning and pulls out some really dirty tricks to make sure she maintains a lead. Putting Alvey Augustus Adee on Whitney's card, a name even you don't recognize, strikes you as incredibly low and petty -- despite Dr. Carte's insistence that he's an important historical figure that anyone who passed high school should know.

"Dr. Carte, you gotta learn how to cut loose and have some fun once in a while," you say. "It's not just about winning..."

"Winning is fun," she says. "It's the most fun thing."

"Well -- congrats," you say. "It's lonely at the top, isn't it?"

"Hmmph." She folds her arms. "Sucks to suck, doesn't it?"

"I'm putting you to bed," Whitney says. "You're getting fussy."

"OH! Screw you!" Dr. Carte yells, standing. But she loses her balance and tips over. She smacks her head on the edge of the table and lands with a thud on her carpet. She rolls over on her back and groans. "Errrgghh..."

With Dr. Carte's arm over her shoulder, Whitney walks with her to her bedroom and helps her lie down. "Get some rest," she says. "And don't come pissing to me tomorrow morning because you've got a hangover. I don't wanna hear it."

"Goodnight," Dr. Carte mumbles as she settles in. "Get home safe, you two..." Any anger she has over competition is always quick to pass, at least.

"See ya~" Whitney says, turning out the light.

Back in Dr. Carte's living room, Whitney wavers. "You feeling up to driving?" She says. "I think those screwdrivers mom fed us are starting to get to me."

"I'm all right," you say, "but I have to go and pick Cerise up. If you don't mind tagging along--"

"I gotcha. No. I'll sleep here, it's fine." She wanders over to the couch and settles down, curling up like a cat. "Have fun with your big sister, Ally."

You watch her for a few moments. "I might be a little over the legal ABV," you say. "Maybe I'll hang out a little longer."

The truth is you're not sure Cerise wants you to interrupt her time with Galatea. It feels weird, being the third wheel. You don't like it.

You go over to the couch and force Whitney to scoot. You lie down as well, and she wraps herself around you. Chest to chest, she gazes at you. The look you share is long and tender and loving.

After four or five minutes, she breaks the silence. "You're kinda ugly."

"What the fuck."

"In a cute way, though. It's weird. You're cute-ugly. Fuckably cute-ugly, even."

"You give the worst compliments ever. No joke."

"Heeeh." She grins and wheezes, but then her face goes serious: "Ally, can I ask you something without you thinking I'm weird?"

"Too late. I already know you're weird."

"Fuck you."

"Go ahead and ask me."

"Well -- maybe you're the exact wrong person to ask about this. I mean, you're the kind of guy who fucks his own cousin--"

"Once re--"

"Yeah, once removed, fuck. Jesus. Once you remove your dick from her pussy maybe that'll start mattering again. She's your COUSIN--"

"Fine. What's your point? If I'm not mistaken, you've been taking part in that too, and you've never complained..."

She chews her lip.

"Is it... kinda fucked up if I think my mom is hot?"

You quirk an eyebrow.

She buries her face in your chest. "Oh god. It is fucked up, isn't it."

You try to soothe her. "Well... she is hot... so..."

Whitney, face still concealed, slugs your shoulder.

"Close blood relatives who meet later in life are often attracted to each other," you say. "It's a well-documented phenomenon. There's been a lot of research showing that if you don't form familial bonds with someone in childhood, then--"

"Of course you know about this shit. Been doing a lot of research on why it's not fucked up?"

You wrap your arms around her. "Stop worrying about it. Even if you're a pervert, that's fun too."

Whitney finally meets your eyes again and smiles. Then she leans in for a kiss that lingers. Her warm mouth still tastes like orange juice and her tongue is eager against yours, invasive. She likes to make her kisses extra wet, as if she's giving you every single part of her. You respond in kind. Your saliva mingles and mixes and she moans into you with sheer enjoyment. You can feel the resonance of it, in and against your chest. She writhes in your grip, as if unable to stop herself, and you already begin to smell the growing need between her legs. Whitney's list of fetishes and turn-ons is almost as long as yours, or maybe even longer, but nothing gets her going quite like making out with you. Kissing is all the foreplay she ever needs.

She pulls away, leaving a bridge of drool dangling between your lips, and says in a husky voice: "I really need to fuck you. I need your cock in me."

"That's good," you say, leering at her. "Because I really need to blow my load in you..."

She grins mischievously as she slides down the length of your body, rising back onto her knees so she can undo your button, zip down your fly and tug at your pants. You help her by shaking your hips a little. Your boxers quickly follow, and you pull your shirt off too. It feels wrong to be doing this in Dr. Carte's living room, to be lying naked, and hard, on her couch while she dozes just feet away in her bedroom. But how wrong and forbidden it feels is also exactly what makes it feel so good. Whitney seems to enjoy the idea too, and gets naked as fast as you.

She settles back atop you, her bare tits soft on your chest. She might be small-breasted but it still feels just wonderful being skin-to-skin like this, her nipples firm and the meat of her tits nice and squishy, and so, so warm. She reaches down between you, grabs your cock with her hand, and in a practiced motion she helps you find your way home. No matter how many times you do it, she's told you, this is her favorite part: that instant when the fat spongy head of your prick pops through the entrance of her pussy and spreads her open. She sighs through a drooping jaw, her eyes rolling back in her skull, as she relishes the sensation once again.

And then she's back to kissing you, her hands gripping either side of your face, as you hump against her in a reverse missionary. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" is all she can coherently say between wanton, smacking, tongue-waggling kisses. With your dick sawing in and out of her at this angle, it keeps forcing her little pearl of a clit against your pelvic bone. The pleasure of it soon has her juicing all over you, her sweet wetness flowing between your legs.

It's not long before she's so overcome that she cannot even manage kissing you, and just has to nuzzle your neck, and hold on tight, while you fuck her stupid. You grab the back of her head with both hands and use it as leverage to rut deeply into her body. In a distant part of your mind you imagine that you've fucked her so many times in so many different ways that it's really true her pussy has conformed to the shape of your dick, has become the perfect mold of an onahole for your exclusive use. The way her soft, sucking insides wrap around you is too perfect to think any differently.

Some sixth sense, a subconscious cue that you're not aware of until it's already happening, makes you turn your face and glance across the living room. Dr. Carte is there. She's peeking from the cracked door of her bedroom, watching you mate with her daughter, and though the lighting is dim, you can tall there's motion down lower. You know in an instant that she's masturbating. She's playing with herself while she watches you fuck Whitney.

She sees that you see her. Her eyes go wide and she shuts the door, quickly, quietly. You keep fucking Whitney and you're so lost in the moment that any trace of inhibition is gone. You brush your cheek against the side of her head and breathe into her ear, "we had an audience just now."

"Wh-what?" Whitney moans, too dazed by getting railed to comprehend human speech.

"Your mom was watching us."

"--For real?" This gets Whitney's attention, though neither of you break the pace of your fucking. You're both too horny and getting off too hard to stop. But now she's looking at the now closed bedroom door.

"For real..." you say. "She was standing in the doorway... playing with herself..."

Whitney's cunt tightens around your prick. A little gasp escapes her lips. She liked hearing that.

"Should I...?" You prompt.

She nods enthusiastically.

You call: "Dr. Carte... Whitney says you can come out. It's okay."

You fuck Whitney a little harder, your balls slapping against her soft butt, so there can be no mistaking on the other side of that door that the two of you are still having sex as you say this.

There is no response, and you worry, although not too much in the throes of pleasure, that you've made things awkward with Dr. Carte. You'll deal with that later though, after you get your cum up Whitney's womb where it belongs.

But then there is a response. The door cracks open again, and you meet Dr. Carte's uncertain eyes with a smirk. Tapping Whitney on the back, you get her to glance over as well. Her face lights up when she sees that Dr. Carte is watching.

"I hope you don't mind..." Whitney says, punctuating her words with forceful humping, sliding all the way up and all the way down your shaft each time, so that your cock glistens in the light from the ceiling fan before repeatedly disappearing back inside her. "I just reee~ally needed to get Ally's prick up me... so we used your couch... is that okay, mom?"

Dr. Carte's mouth is hanging slack and you can hear her labored breathing.

"We don't mind it if you watch us," you add, "if you like what you see..."

She closes the door again.

"Ugh... she must be a prude," Whitney says. "Oh well... cum inside me, Ally..."

You fuck her now with a determined, even pace, getting close to that delirious release. But then, unbelievably, there she is again, Dr. Carte, standing at the entrance to her bedroom, the door swinging fully open. The devil on her left shoulder must have finally beaten the angel on her right into submission. Whatever dithering she went through in the past few minutes is over, and now she's committing to this.

"Hey mom~" says Whitney.

She's naked. And her body could not be any more of a contrast to Whitney's. Taller, paler -- less toned, but fuller -- huge, swaying tits, with fat areola, and a tummy that isn't round but definitely looks squeezable. Thick thighs, the insides of them running with her wetness, and then the part of her that most resembles her daughter after all: a pretty, dark pink little pussy. She keeps it well-groomed, just a small strip of hair over the top.

Her fingers are to her lips and her eyes are glued to the scene before her.

"You can get closer," you say. "It's fine. Really."

She does, her entire body shaking, her steps halting and unsure. But she makes it across the room. She takes a seat, her naked butt on the surface of her coffee table, close enough that you can touch her. Her legs are tightly pinched together, one hand pinned between her fleshy thighs, as if trying to stop herself by force from masturbating.

"So?" Whitney says. "You're watching... does that mean you like what you see?"

"I'm -- I'm sorry," is what Dr. Carte finally gets out, still transfixed.

"Don't be... I like what I see, too."

Dr. Carte almost recoils she's so surprised, and meets Whitney's gaze. "You..."

"You're hot," Whitney says. "And you've got a pretty pussy..."

When it comes to these matters, you and Whitney are usually in agreement.

"Can I see it again?" Whitney asks.

Lips quavering, breath uneven and heavy, Dr. Carte spreads her leaden legs one at a time. The motion draws her forward so only her tailbone is resting on the edge of the table. The last obstruction left is her hand. As she slowly draws it away, she leaves herself exposed completely to her own daughter. She rests her hands on her knees to steady herself and lets Whitney gawk. Whitney, practically drooling, stares at it unashamedly.

"I'm gonna cum," you warn Whitney.

Whitney slides up and off of you. Cool air rushes over your cock and you grimace in pained frustration as your balls tighten up, aching to get you back to the place they want to spew their cum in.

Languidly rising to her feet, Whitney takes Dr. Carte's hand. "You've got a thing for Ally. I know you do. Like mother like daughter, right? Right..."

"Whitney, is this... okay...?" Dr. Carte asks, still overwhelmed by it all.

"If you wanna fuck him, you definitely can. I wanna see you... we can share..."

She gets Dr. Carte to settle on the floor in front of the couch, so that she's at eye level with your straining dick, so she can see up close and personal the angry red shaft and the fat droplet of precum oozing from the tip. She gulps. "I haven't been with a man since... oh my... it's so..."

Whitney is cupping her mother's ass now, taking liberties with impunity, her chin on her shoulder, leering. "It'll fit. If it fit inside me, it'll fit inside you, too..."

"Touch it," you say, half commanding, half begging. Dr. Carte reaches for it, and wraps her dainty fingers around it. Her soft hand is warm and she holds you loosely.

"You want it, you know you do..." Whitney whispers, becoming the new devil on her shoulder now. "Once he cums inside you, you'll never look back... it's nice and hot and gooey, and he always cums a whole lot... you'll love it..."

Dr. Carte is a leaf in the wind, utterly bewildered by this lewd tirade, and yet as Whitney goes on, Dr. Carte slowly begins to jerk you off. Whitney is right. She wants it.

"Are you okay -- to have sex with someone like me --" Dr. Carte asks you.

You pull on her arm and get her upright, then tug her down, onto the couch, on top of you. "More than okay," you say.

She gets on her haunches and straddles your waist. Whitney, ever helpful, holds your cock for you, and Dr. Carte, focused intently on it, lowers herself.

Like mother like daughter indeed. Dr. Carte's reaction to getting your dick in her is exactly like Whitney's. The drooping jaw, the sigh, the rolling eyes. But more intense than Whitney's: this is a woman who hasn't been properly fucked in a very, very long time, and the satisfied sigh she makes is more like a pained whine, a noise that belies the deep need that has gone so unfulfilled for so long.

Whitney circles around now, gets up onto the couch herself, and straddles your face.

"Eat me out," she begs you.

You're a conscientious boyfriend and you do as Whitney says. You latch your lips onto Whitney's pussy and let her wetness drip straight into your mouth. The tangy fragrance and taste of it sticks to the back of your tongue as you swirl it around. It makes you salivate, a natural reaction that drives Whitney's pleasure ever higher. Little gasps and whinnies come out at irregular intervals as you alternate between flicking her hard clit with your tongue and seeing how deep you can get it up her pussy.

Dr. Carte's motions on the other side of you are impassioned but inexpert and she drives up and down at awkward angles that leave you longing. Then you become aware of a shifting weight, the center of balance moving forward. You realize that, above you, Whitney has linked hands with her mother -- to guide and support her.

"Like this," comes Whitney's voice, your hearing muffled by the weight of her ass sitting on your face.

"It's -- so deep --" Dr. Carte moans. "So... thick..."

"I know... it's great..."

With Whitney assisting, Dr. Carte can get you all the way inside, your heavy nuts resting against her ass on the instroke. She gyrates her hips each time you're full inside, before drawing you out again and coming back down. Over and over she uses your cock to bring herself off.

"This is wrong-- this is wrong--" Dr. Carte says, panting, in a voice that indicates she doesn't care, even if she knows she should.

"Just shut up and have fun~" Whitney coos.

All their conversation, all their moans and squeaks suddenly die off. You understand, though you cannot see for yourself, that Whitney is kissing Dr. Carte, has shoved her tongue inside her mother's mouth. And now you can hear the muffled smacking, the slurping, the gasping.

Dr. Carte's hips buck hard now, and you pass the point of no return too. You fuck back against her just as hard and frenzied. Whitney's cum erupts like a geyser all over you, spraying your face, and down to the back of your throat, as you do just the same to Dr. Carte's hot cunt -- as you unleash spurt after searing spurt of cum directly inside her. Dr. Carte is just as fun to cum in as her daughter is, has insides that are just as welcoming and silkily textured, a perfect place to deposit your seed. You didn't think you had a thing for older women, but you'll make an exception. You let go of all other thoughts in your mind, except the blinding need to inseminate your girlfriend's mom as much, and as deeply, as you can. You ejaculate into her, fully, until every last drop oozes from your piss slit to her womb.

GIRLS FUCKED: 7/12

Whitney is like the cat who killed the canary as she holds the sleeping Dr. Carte close on the living room couch. If she was concerned before that this is fucked up, she seems to be over that particular hang-up now.

"You two gonna be okay on your own tonight?" You ask.

"Mm. We'll manage."

"Good. I'm gonna go pick up Cerise and bring her home. I'll probably be late to work tomorrow morning -- if that's okay, boss."

Whitney laughs and waves you goodbye.

At Galatea's apartment again, the scene you walk in on is -- in retrospect -- unsurprising. But somehow you're surprised all the same.

On the bed, Galatea has her face between Cerise's legs, and Cerise has her hands tightly gripping the back of Galatea's head. She grunts and humps Galatea's mouth. "Eat me. Eat my fucking cunt. Oh my god... that's it..."

They're so into it that neither of them notice you coming in.

You debate whether or not to interrupt, but the decision is made for you as Cerise happens to glance your way in her ecstasy. Her eyes go wide. "Alabaster-!! What the fuck! What are you doing here!"

She backs off of Galatea's face, her legs kicking wildly and looking for purchase. She finally gets herself up against Galatea's headboard, and pulls the sheets up over her lower half. Galatea, on her stomach, wearing a shirt but no bottoms (of course), crawls forward and hugs Cerise's legs. Galatea peers up at you as well now, waiting to see what you'll say, and doesn't bother trying to make herself decent.

"I have a key," you explain. "I let myself in."

"Freak!" Cerise cries.

"Freak. Sure. When you sit underneath me and watch me fuck a boy you dressed up in a maid costume, that's perfectly normal, perfectly healthy. But I happen to walk in on a lesbian camshow by accident, and I'm the freak."

She tosses a bottle of water from Galatea's nightstand at your head. You dodge it. "Weren't you and Gal just supposed to watch some anime tonight?"

"we did..." Galatea says happily. In the pale light of her computer screen, as always the only illumination in the room, her face is shiny; covered in Cerise's cum.

"I guess you're preoccupied," you say. "I was gonna take you home, but..."

"Preoccupied!" Cerise says. "Big words for a guy who comes over here smelling like a French brothel! How many people did YOU fuck tonight, huh?"

"I'm surprised you can detect that over the clam bake you've got going on in here," you say. "Did you spend ALL night sitting on that poor girl's face?"

"I haven't cum in over a year!" Cerise says. "I have needs!"

"That's fine. I'll leave you two alone if you want. But... given the history..." You tilt your head, bend your knees a little so you're more on Cerise's level where she sits. "Are you sure you mind me being here?"

Cerise is indecisive. Surprisingly it's Galatea who offers this one up: "i don't mind..."

You reach out, with halting motions that offer Cerise the opportunity to shout you down, tell you to fuck off, but she doesn't. She lets you pull the sheets down from her legs. In the low blue light you can see that she's sitting on a wet spot. Her pussy was was drooling the whole time, even despite the interruption and the arguing. A year of having no sexual release really did leave her in sexual overdrive.

Galatea is already pawing at Cerise's thighs and trying to pry them apart, her eyes on the prize. You wondered whether there was something romantic between the two of them but you had no idea their relationship had ever gotten to this point. The minor sting of seeing Cerise with someone else passes quickly; you can appreciate the sight of a girl as admittedly cute as Galatea licking your sister's cunt. As Galatea settles in again for another round of cunnilingus, Cerise uncertainly plays her fingers across Galatea's head as if petting her, but her eyes never break contact with yours.

"I hope you're not 100% lesbian now," you muse.

"I'm as lesbian as you are ga-- ahhh--" Cerise can't finish that thought as Galatea elicits a shudder of pleasure from her that cuts the sentence off.

You get up on the bed sit Indian style, watching contentedly. Galatea's eager mouth is making a sloppy mess of Cerise's genitals. This impossibly shy, mousy girl is uninhibited when it comes to servicing a cunt. She runs her tongue back and forth from the top of Cerise's clitoral hood all the way down to her asshole, no hesitation at any point. She happily swabs her tongue around the inside of both of Cerise's juicy holes. Despite having cum less than an hour ago, it has your cock quickly hardening.

"Enjoying it, pervert?" Cerise demands, looking over at you with a grin.

"Of course," you say. "I'm gonna join in."

You give Galatea's ass a little smack. Muffled, she squeaks.

"You eat each other out -- have you ever used toys on each other, too?"

"Hmm, sometimes," Cerise says between moans.

You spread Gal's cheeks now and peer at the little puckered rosebud of her asshole, as pale as the rest of her. "Ever played with her ass?" You ask.

"Once or twice..."

You spit. With a thumb, you smear it over Galatea's lower hole. She tenses, obviously a bit afraid of what comes next, but she isn't going to say no to you. It's Cerise who takes Galatea's face in her hands, pulls her up, lets her breathe. Cerise says: "is this okay for you?"

Galatea thinks for a moment. The nod she finally gives is enthusiastic and needful.

"You are such a darling," Cerise says. She kisses Galatea, tastes herself on her lips. And then she directs Galatea's head downwards again. She can't get enough of Galatea's mouth.

You get Galatea up on hands and knees so you can mount her properly, like the bitch she is. You're going to make her feel this one all the way in her guts. Cerise watches, hand on her cheek, through half-lidded eyes. You stand on the mattress, bend your knees and squat above Galatea's waiting ass.

"Alabaster..." Cerise gulps, "can I just say --"

"What?"

"I missed seeing your cock."

This is the only encouragement you need. You drive your cock forward, against the spongy resistance of Galatea's hot little asshole. The lubrication of your spit and her own cum is barely enough to allow you entry. You have to push as hard as you can and even then it's slow going. You sink in by milometers, with gritted teeth.

Galatea is grunting and struggling in her own breathy way. Cerise doubles down on the petting and encouragement. "Good girl... good girl... you're so good for me..."

"She is," you admit. "She's good..."

Galatea goes rigid, like being electrocuted. These words, from you, are the first and only nice thing you've ever said aloud to her. Cerise's bad habit of treating her decently is rubbing off.

Galatea's ass is so tight that even when you've gotten yourself inside it, it's still hard to actually fuck. "Relax," you tell her. "I can't fuck you if you don't relax..."

Cerise seems to get an idea. She spins around, gets on her back, and slithers underneath Galatea -- face directly below the point where your cock is wedged into her. Galatea has separation anxiety from Cerise's pussy it seems, and practically dives to get her face back into your sister's muff. Like this, they've wound up in a 69 position beneath you.

Cerise returns the favor and suckles sweetly on Galatea's carnation pink cunt. With a free hand, she masturbates her, too. Galatea's tiny mewls and coos signal that it's having the intended effect. And like magic she's loosening up enough that you can actually screw her at a reasonable pace, one that feels good on your turgid dick.

"You like that position, don't you?" You ask Cerise. "Getting right up close while I fuck someone..."

"Mm-hmm," she admits, her mouth full of Galatea's sopping pussy.

You piston in and out. Occasionally your dangling nuts slap against your sister's forehead, but that doesn't bother her, so it doesn't bother you.

Galatea manages to pull herself away from Cerise for long enough to plead to you: "please choke me sir"

Cerise's brow furrows, confused by this new dimension to the relationship as much as you still are -- this "sir" thing -- but she won't let that bother her right now, either. She rolls with it, smiles at you and says: "Yeah, Alabaster... choke her..."

Majority rules. You reach down and wrap your hands around her delicate throat. It's not the first time. Galatea almost gags from the force of it. Firmly, you press down, to make her bow her head again, to continue eating Cerise. You're not going to deny your sister the use of Galatea's mouth just because Galatea wants to enjoy getting choked like the dizzy cunt she is. She'll have to lick Cerise out whether she's got an air supply or not.

The noises Galatea makes are almost inhuman, a choking, sputtering, dazed grunting as you and Cerise work her over. Galatea's asshole is shuddering around you, clenching and unclenching, as her body reacts to the hard use. Cerise brings her off again and again, sucking and rubbing her. Galatea's a real squirter: you can actually hear the force of it spattering against the mattress and Cerise's face.

It's too much, watching this dumb slut cum on your sister's face, and with a deep growl you let loose with a load of cum. You deposit it into Galatea's ass without any warning, and she practically seizes as your cock balloons, and pulses, and seeds her. Sighing deeply in satisfaction, you pull out, hard as you can. Galatea's now-ruined asshole dribbles your cum out of it, to join hers on Cerise's face. Now there's a sight you've missed, too: your sister getting plastered with your sperm.

You sit back and enjoy watching the two of them eat other. Without the pressing need for release yourself, you can focus on really choking Galatea the way she likes -- the way she deserves. Straddling the two of them, knees on either side of Gal's back, you tighten and loosen your grip on her neck at random, enjoying the reactions it draws from her. When she seems to be really losing it, you let her go, slap her back into consciousness. Each time she draws shuddering, gasping breaths, and says in the loudest voice you've heard from her: "Thank you sir!"

Over the course of the next hour you choke her back and forth from the edge of unconsciousness as she and Cerise ride out uncountable orgasms all over each other. You're happy to be of assistance.

Cerise is insistent on staying with Galatea overnight, and you're pretty tired yourself. Somehow you end up in a heap together, the three of you, on her bed -- Galatea the filling of the sandwich.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long," Cerise murmurs as she drifts to sleep.

"Don't be," you murmur back. "It's her fault."

Between you, Galatea tenses.

"Don't say that. It's not her fault. It's not your fault, Gal."

Galatea loosens up again, nuzzles Cerise's chest. Cerise pets her soothingly. It's more than she deserves, but you're too tired to argue the point. You fall asleep.

---

It's almost noon when you wake up.

"Late for work?" Cerise says, stretching and yawning.

"I kinda come and go as I please. Whitney's a pretty lenient boss." You stand, peering down at Galatea, who's still snoozing.

"You don't like Gal, do you," Cerise says.

You shrug.

"What I did last year was my choice. She didn't want to put that implant in my eye. She begged me not to make her. She cried and pleaded with me. But I made her. I did -- me. And if I hear you saying some shit like that to her again, I'll beat your ass. Do you understand me?"

You frown. "Yeah." Then after a pause: "Do you want to come check out the new place or hang around here a little more?"

"I'm gonna make Gal some breakfast. She hardly eats."

"Right... I'll see you later, Cerise."

"Thanks, Alabaster."

You stop at the threshold and look back.

>[x] Talk to her about Camelia.

[ ] Go to work for now and let her enjoy the day.

Over instant coffee, you chat with Cerise. Galatea has nothing like a dining room table and the only chair in her loft is her computer chair. You sit in it, and Cerise sits on the bed. Galatea softly dozes.

"Do you remember Rose2's sister -- Amber?"

Cerise rolls her eyes. "This is going nowhere good. It's bad enough you're fucking the candy-coated cringe. Don't go for the jailbait version too."

"This is serious. Do you remember Amber?"

"Sure. I mean, I've met her once or twice."

You shake your head. It's strictly possible Rose2 always had a sister and you just never bothered to internalize this fact about her. The person posing as her sister now is most certainly Camelia, but maybe she had a real little sister before that.

You try something else: "And do you remember Camelia?"

"Of course I do. What's up with these questions?"

"Just humor me for a second -- What did Camelia look like?"

Cerise chuffs. "I dunno... like the chuuni from hell."

"More specific. Anything like Amber?"

"Well, she had that -- wacky eyepatch, of course... and that crazy blue hair, and the contact that made her good eye look red-- I don't remember Amber too well but I don't think there's a resemblance..."

"Okay. Okay. Thanks." You bow your head, heartsunk.

"Alabaster -- what's wrong?"

"That girl you're describing - the girl everyone remembers as Camelia - it's not her."

"What do you--"

"The real Camelia is living in Rose2's house and pretending to be her little sister."

"You think Amber... IS Camelia? What?"

"There is no Amber. Amber never existed. It's her -- it's Camelia --"

Cerise recoils. "That's crazy. I KNOW Amber. I met her years before we ever knew Camelia."

"I understand how it sounds. But... I'm not the only one here. Rose agrees with me. Uh -- Rose 1, that is."

"Oh! Rose agrees with you! That settles it, then. This definitely isn't some psychotic delusion! Rose, paragon of mental stability, agrees with you!"

"I know Rose isn't all that put-together all the time, but... look, I've had to deal with her for the past year as the next-best thing to someone with brains who I can tell stuff to, and she's not that unreasonable, not really."

"You really have gone nuts."

"Just hear me out. She broke into Amber's bedroom--"

"Oh my God--"

"And found the USB stick Camelia was using to blackmail me last year. The one with the video of me burning down North High. Now how would she have that if she was who she says?"

Cerise is positively bug-eyed.

"And another thing. Wasn't Camelia's real name Amber Langley? Don't you think it's just slightly unusual that Amber Catachresis is named is Amber too?"

"No! Amber is a pretty common name. I mean, not super common, but who the fuck are the two of us to judge people for having uncommon names?"

All this yelling has roused Galatea awake. She rubs her eyes, sits up on criss-crossed legs.

"Gal," Cerise says. "Tell me. Camelia - what did she look like?"

"uhh..."

"It's okay, go ahead."

"blue hair... red eyes..."

"Fucking hell," you say.

>[x] Mention Mom.

>[x] Drop it for now.

You set your coffee down on the desktop and rest your elbows on your knees, tenting your fingers. Your legs are jostling up and down like crazy.

"I feel like I'm going insane," you admit. "I don't know what's happening anymore... I don't know where my head's at.. or what's real..."

"Things have been nuts," Cerise says, taking a gentle tack. "You need some time to clear your head."

"What do you think Sand Reckoner is really capable of?" You ask. "Do you know? Does anyone?"

She sort of half shrugs and half shakes her head.

"Gal?" You ask.

"it would be -- almost limitless... if darkbloom's idea of total knowledge was real..."

"Powerful enough to change what we only think we know? Powerful enough to... bring people back to life?"

"Dead is dead," Cerise says, staring at the nothing between the two of you. "No AR platform can change that."

"Is it?" You say. "I saw Camelia again. I know I did... and..."

Cerise is looking at you.

"Can you at least admit it's possible -- do you think it's anywhere near the realm of possible?"

"I guess it is," she says, and she doesn't seem to be just placating you. "Camelia was a crazy bitch. I wouldn't put it past her to come back from the grave."

"If it could be Camelia, do you think it could be -- anyone? We saw Damon last year. You know it was him."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking of," Cerise says. "I thought I was just imagining things, but..."

"So if it could be Camelia, or Damon, maybe it could be... fucking anybody. Hitler. Kennedy. Nelson Mandela. ...Vasily Kerimov... David Darkbloom... or..."

"Mom and dad?" Cerise asks.

"What did mom look like?"

"Fuck, Alabaster. I don't know. Taller than me. Black hair. Thick but not in the gross way? Like MOM. What do you want from me?"

"I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm going crazy now, too."

"We'll worry about it later. It's not actually hurting us, right? Things are okay."

"Yeah. For now."

You stand up, cross the distance between you, and hug her. "Forever."

"As if you can make any promises."

"I'll do my best."

"Get your weeb ass to work."

At work, past Darkbloom Analytics' in-house security, is the much more rigorous and painful FBI security checkpoint. Unusually, it's Noelle herself at the checkpoint, rather than some low-level agent. You can guess why.

"Name and purpose," Noelle says, scanning her eyes down a clipboard, already looking for your name on the list of employees.

"Alabaster Soliloquy. I work here."

She ticks your name off. "Awfully late to be showing up for work. It's past lunchtime." She glances up. "And you stink like cum. FYI."

"Spare me."

"Are you bringing anything into this building not expressly authorized by your employer?" Noelle asks, reciting from rote.

"No."

"Open your bag, please."

You open the satchel you use to tote around your laptop and notebook. She inspects the compartments, and comes away satisfied. Next she demands your employee badge, which you hand her.

"How's your sister?" Noelle asks, looking at your badge.

"Go fuck yourself."

"Uh huh. This badge was recently taken out of its housing. Why?"

"I like to keep things clean."

"Makes sense, cumstink. When will Cerise be up to an interview?"

"Ask my lawyer."

On the distance, from the mezzanine, Whitney calls out: "Fuck you!"

Noelle glances back, grimacing. She turns again and faces you, begins to say something, but Whitney -- perhaps thinking that Noelle didn't quite hear -- cups her hands over her mouth and calls even louder: "FUUUUUCK! YOOOOOUUUU!"

"I'm -- sorry, for Whitney," you say.

"You just said essentially the same thing to me," Noelle replies, frowning.

"That was a friendly fuck you. Whitney's was an unfriendly fuck you. There's a difference."

"You know, Alabaster -- it doesn't hurt to have someone watching you. Maybe one day you'll realize that."

"Is that from the 1984 Director's Cut?"

She hands you back your badge. "You're free to go."

You're just in time for a board meeting where Whitney is announcing the good news.

"Vivian's a genius. Smartest kid sister in the universe. Tell them."

"We have recently been in negotiations to acquire several startups which promise to go viral."

"Hear that? Viral. I don't know why I was so worried. After that Genosis bullshit--" (Whitney is talking about the incident last year when she was almost convinced by the rest of the board to buy a startup that turned out to be fraudulent. But Whitney's instincts prevailed, and saved the fragile Darkbloom Analytics from ruin.) "--I mean, I've been touchy about buying any other companies. But these are great."

Vivian pulls up a Powerpoint slide. "The first under our consideration: Yeeple. I dislike the name, and I think we should all agree, so we will have to brainstorm."

"Yeeple?" You say, skeptical.

"It's like Yelp, but for people," Whitney says. "You rate people on a scale of 1-5 stars. Then you can look people up to see who has high ratings or who has low ratings."

Rose, also sitting in, makes a face. "Now hold on just a moment. Wasn't that an episode of Black Mirror?"

"Black Mirror?" Vivian says. "We should not be making decisions based on television programs. Please, let us hew to the topic at hand and the merits of the concept on its own terms..."

The rest of the board continues discussing the idea. They all like it, the psychopaths. Rose glances across the conference table at you, and you share a commiserating glance and a nod. You can at least agree on this: "yelp for people" needs to get squashed, ASAP.

"Let's table that one," you say. "Maybe there are more -- attractive ideas?"

"I agree with Alabaster," Rose says.

"Neither of you assholes get a vote," Tyrus says. He smiles at Rose. "Sorry, sugartits."

Nathan P. Chalmers, the sensitivity coach who's been shadowing Whitney, seems uncertain whether to speak up here or not.

"Whitney --" Rose says. "Can we discuss this one later, please? Before you decide?"

"Pfft. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden? Wait -- I know why. You're just mad that I'm more popular than you."

"Popular? Whitney, you're the face of the most evil company on the planet. Do you grasp that?"

"Evil!" Whitney chuffs. "The PR girl is calling her own company evil! What the fuck?"

"Notice how no one else on the board is disputing it," Rose says. She motions at them, but they sort of look away, embarrassed.

"Well I'm still popular with some people," Whitney says. She takes out her phone, types something in, scrolls for a bit. "See? Listen to this: Whitney Darkbloom is goals. Hashtag Whitney Darkbloom, hashtag goals." She looks up from her phone with a shit-eating grin. "Fuck yeah I'm goals."

Rose rises a bit in her chair to peer over the top of Whitney's phone. "That's fake," she says flatly, staring at the screen.

"Fake? What?"

"It's not a real account. It's a Twitter bot designed to drum up good publicity for the company. I bought about... 20,000 or so, last week."

Whitney shakes her head, aghast. "You bought a bunch of robots and didn't tell me about it?"

"I did tell you about it. Apparently you forgot."

"Why are YOU buying robots?" Whitney cuts in. "Shouldn't that be Mara's thing?" She turns to Mara. "Isn't that what you people do these days?"

"What is 'you people' supposed to mean?" Mara says. When she gets no response, she glances away and adds: "My contacts at the Kremlin said their American-focused bots are working on 'more important projects'... whatever that means."

Rose shoots you a meaningful look that makes you uncomfortable.

"Okay, fine," Whitney says. "Maybe the account is a fake but what they're saying is still true. I'm goals and you're just holes, Rose."

She rolls her eyes. Chalmers is a little bit more animated: "Whoa! Now let's not have this sort of misogyn--"

"Shut the fuck up," Whitney says. "Oh my god. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. If I'm not talking to you specifically, assume I don't want to hear your voice."

He looks angry, but he's got no clue how to respond.

None of the other startup ideas are any more promising, although you do manage to divert Whitney's attention to something that's not going to blow up like the Hindenburg. Something about screen-printing custom T-shirts. You don't catch a lot of the details, but it can't be worse than motherfucking Yeeple. You wind her up and get her excited about that one.

What comes next is Nelson's update on Diogenes. Predictably, Alex isn't here, so Nelson has to stand in.

"We've added 50 headcount to the project as of today, so progress should pick up. Mr. Best is onboarding them now. Based on the Solutions Forum last week... it would probably be best to get out ahead of the game and move on digitally-signed blockchain fingerprinting... I know it's not the full Diogenes package, but it keeps us in line with our apparent competition--"

"Say that again," Whitney interrupts.

"Say-- what, again?"

"Blockchain. I love the way you say that word."

"I don't..." He starts. Whitney is staring at him expectantly. "Blockchain," he finally says, deflated.

"That's great. One more time."

"Blockchain."

"You're such a hoot, Nelson. Whatever you need, you've got it. Do the blocky fingerprinting, that's great. I'm sure it'll make us money. Listen, I gotta skedaddle -- meeting adjourned."

As she and the rest of the board shuffles out, Nelson sidles up to you.

"I hope you're keeping her good and fucked," he mutters.

"--Excuse me?"

He turns to look at you. "I said I hope you're keeping her good and fucked. The future of western civilization lies in that girl's hands. If she's not happy... no one is going to be happy, for a very long time."

He goes, leaving you to your unhappy thoughts.

You bring Cerise home that evening to the splendor of what Whitney affectionately calls "Casa del Darkbloom-o." Cerise's bedroom is right next to yours, same as old times -- it's ready and waiting, and has been for a year.

"This is nuts..." Cerise says, standing and turning in slow circles. "My bed, my bookcases, desks and drawers... you got all my old stuff out of storage?"

"We've got room for it now," you say, shrugging. "All the stuff from our old house is here... mom and dad's things too, and the stuff from the living room, and all the rest... if you want to check it out later. And here..."

You pull a box from Cerise's closet, root around in it. The Soliloquy family photo album is here, a trinket you were keeping ready for when Cerise came back -- and now, imbued as it is with importance by recent events, you figure you may as well look at it with her.

Heart palpitating but trying not to show it, you crack open the dusty leatherbound binder of photos.

"Holy shit, you were an ugly baby," Cerise says, gawking.

"At least I didn't look like a tomato..."

She slugs you.

You flip the page. And then there she is: Mom.

On her wedding night with dad -- although it's a terrible photo -- the fucking photographer managed to snap the picture right as a balloon floated past the lens, obscuring dad's face. They kept it in the photo album as some kind of joke.

But more critically... it's the same woman you remember, albeit younger. And the same woman you saw at Rose2's house.

"Jesus," Cerise says. "Mom was gorgeous. I swear, dad was batting way out of his league. Must have had super pheromones or something, to bag a girl like her."

Your heartbeat returns to normal. Cerise recognizes her too. She recognizes mom.

Like a weight being lifted, you settle, and enjoy reminiscing with Cerise for a long time.

When you're done, you stand return to the closet, putting the photo album away. As you push the box back under a shelf, you say: "so, what are you thinking for dinner? Any ideas? I was kind of in the mood for burgers--"

Turning, you see Cerise is still sitting on her bed -- as motionless as death, with that horrible dead-guppy expression from when she was catatonic.

"Cerise?" you exclaim, crazed with sudden, horrible, heart-rending despair.

She blinks. Once, twice, shakes her head. Thank god.

"I don't..." she begins. "Am I--" she looks around, as if dazed, but seems to quickly get her bearings back.

"Are you okay?" You prompt.

She smiles, and you can tell it's forced. "Sorry. I'm fine. It was just a brain fart." She stands up, shifts her weight. "I'm hungry -- I think I'll go and find a bite to eat."

She goes for the door, but you stop her just before she opens it.

"It's just... your eyes," you say. "Your eyes are blue again."

Cerise touches her face. "Oh. Is that so?"

"It is. Your implant must be acting up... you're still not 100% yourself, are you."

Cerise bows her head. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't want to worry you."

"It's fine," you say. "But Cerise, you gotta tell me this stuff. We can't help you if you don't tell us when something's wrong. If your implant is doing weird things... making you forget, or causing trouble like that... we need to know about it. Can you agree to that, for me? Please?"

She seems unsure, but finally nods. "Yes... absolutely. Thank you. I'll be more forth-- I'll tell you these things in the future."

You chuckle. "You better. Because I'll know anyway. You're the easiest person in the world to read. I can tell when something's wrong."

She shakes her head. "That's my brother for you, huh."

"Yeah..." you get closer to her. "It's, hah -- it's like that time you came home drunk, remember? And you insisted you were sober, so mom had you say the alphabet backwards, but you couldn't even say it forwards -- you kept insisting you knew your 'ABGs'..."

Cerise laughs. "Well, that was a long time ago... I definitely know my ABG's now, of course..."

You pound a palm flat against the wall, trapping her.

"Alabas--"

"That never happened. Who are you."

"Alabaster! What the hell? You're scaring me..."

"You are not my sister. Who are you."

The mask of fear and shock on Cerise's face melts away like ice off a windshield. A grim blankness replaces it.

"I need your promise that you won't go berserk when I tell you," says the person pretending to be your sister.

"No."

A moment passes. You don't move a nanometer, don't say a word. Finally, rolling Cerise's jaw, this other person uses Cerise's mouth and vocal chords to say: "David Darkbloom."

You nod. "That's what I thought."

"I -- don't know how this happened," Darkbloom says. "The last thing I remember is... Amber, shoving a knife into my stomach... a gun in my face... pain, agony -- black -- and then waking up in the hospital, in... in Renee's arms..."

He's way too happy at that last memory, so you bring him back to Earth. "Renee hates you," you sneer.

"I... suppose she does," Darkbloom says. "But for just a moment, I-- oh, nevermind. This isn't what I want, Alabaster, you must understand. It's some unintended consequence of Sand Reckoner."

You step back, give Darkbloom some room to breathe.

"I'm truly sorry," he says. It's bizarre to hear this monster speaking through your sister, in your sister's voice, wearing your sister like a meat suit. "But know this -- that I am on your side. I want to fix this. As badly as I'm sure you do. We should work on this, together -- as a team -- as, dare I say -- a family."

"A family," you repeat. "Yeah. A family! Of course." You motion at him with a flattened palm. "We'll figure it out like a family."

"So the first thing--" he says.

You massage the bridge of your nose, putting a hand on your hip and shuffling your weight to another foot. You look back up at him. "Did you kill my parents?"

He studies you for a moment. "If I told you no, would you believe me?"

"Well if I'm not going to believe you either way --" you bob side to side like a pendulum, or a scale, with every syllable -- "then what difference does it make to tell me the truth?"

"Of course. You make a good point. So the absolute, unvarnished truth is this: I did not kill your parents. I swear it. I had no part in their deaths."

"Then who killed them?"

"I don't know. As far as I'm concerned, I remain unconvinced their deaths weren't an unfortunate accident. But if it was foul play, then -- unfortunately -- I have to say that it was probably my wife. It was Mara."

"You would say that, though."

"It's as I thought. You don't believe me."

"No. I don't."

"Be that as it may," he says.

You hold up a hand. "Yeah. I understand. This is difficult for everyone. We need to call a truce here. At least until we figure out what's going on."

"Yes. Precisely."

You put a reassuring hand on Cerise's shoulder. "We'll find a way to get you out of my sister's head. For sure."

He seems a little taken aback. "Thank you, Alabaster -- thank you. You're being extremely reasonable about this. Based on your history, I half expected you to fly off the rail -- to let your emotions get the better of you. I'm quite happy to see I was mistaken. You've matured so much in the past year--"

He winces as you slowly tighten your grip on Cerise's shoulder. He looks down at your hand. He gulps. "Alabaster, you are are-- hurting me--"

"I already helped kill you once. This time, I'll make sure you stay dead for good."

He's trying to step back, to get away, but you won't let him.

"For the love of God, man-- stop it-- this is your sister's body. You're going to leave a-- ah--" He stumbles and nearly falls over as you continue to squeeze.

"I'll kill your wife, too," you add. "You should also know that I'm not only fucking both of your daughters, but I fucked Renee last night too. That's the first of many. Maybe I'll keep you alive long enough for you to watch me put a baby in her. And then I'll destroy Sand Reckoner. I'll dismantle your company. I'll sell all your assets. I'll keep the last spark of your consciousness in a jar on my mantle forever. And then you can sit up there for all of eternity regretting the fact that you tried to use my sister's body as your personal walking sarcophagus. Ohhh... you thought you fucked up when I found out that you murdered my parents? You have no idea what's coming now. Welcome to hell, David."

END OF EPISODE 3.