Season 4 Episode 10: David Darkbloom is a Hero

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, brother-in-law and sister-in-law.

This is National Public Radio. News Now. November 4, 2019.

The President met today with heads of state from other NATO member nations in a summit with Vladimir Putin. Characterizing the meeting as fruitful, the President agreed to new trade terms. However, the summit was fraught with tension as other NATO states continue to accuse the Russian Federation of aggression in arctic waters, citing covert military exercises that breach international boundaries. Russia denies the allegations.

Human rights organizations have criticized Chinese mega-firm Broad Dynamics, accusing the company, which recently attempted unsuccessfully to buy Google, of using slave labor in their factories. The company is believed to be working on a Chinese version of the controversial Sand Reckoner technology, banned in most western nations. These accusations of slave labor come on the heels of a recent report concluding Broad Dynamics is the "single worst perpetrator" of cyber crime and computer hacking in the world. The report, released last week by MIT researchers analyzing digital signatures in over 1 billion hack attacks, was conducted over the past five years.

Speaking of hacking: Cerise Soliloquy, the reclusive figure at the center of the 3/10 hack, continues her campaign for congress in California's 18th Congressional District. The seat, open following the untimely death of Congressman Devin Isstein, will be up for grabs in a jungle primary on Tuesday, November 25th. If Mrs. Soliloquy can secure a majority of the votes, she will win the seat outright. It will not be easy, however, as sources say that the late Congressman Isstein's widow, Karen Isstein, who was wounded in the accident that killed her husband, is also mulling a run. Party insiders have additionally refused to throw their support behind Mrs. Soliloquy, whose deep ties to the scandal-ridden Darkbloom Analytics make her less than appealing.

And now back to All Things Considered.

---

"Thanks so much for meeting with me!" Whitney says, taking her seat across from the governor. His office is wide-open and furnished with dark wood, adorned with flags, both of the US and the state of California. Whitney does her best attempt at British, which comes out sounding more like a Scottish brogue: "Pip tally, guvnah! Throw another shrimp on the barbie!"

The governor is not amused, and folds his hands one over the other as he leans across the desk. "Ms. Darkbloom, I know you want me to support your sister-in-law for congress, but--"

"Sister-in-law?" You say, looking quizzically over at Whitney. But she shushes you with an upheld hand as the governor continues:

"--Karen is a dear friend of mine and she wants to run for Devin's seat. You understand. In any case--"

"I gotcha. I gotcha. Look, this politics stuff is such a drag, you know? Let's cut to the chase."

You pick the aluminum case up from by your ankles, set it on the desk, and clack it open. The lid pops up, to reveal that 1 million dollars sit inside.

"That's a down payment for announcing you'll support Cerise in the primary," you tell him.

The governor cackles. Loud and long. "This is a joke, right?"

He looks from you, to Whitney, and back, but receives only stony silence. His good humor turns to astonishment: "This is like something out of a damn cartoon, Ms. Darkbloom! There's bribery, and then there's... a literal case full of literal money on my literal fucking desk. Get out of here right now."

(Of course, his eyes are glued firmly to the moolah.)

Vivian, who has remained standing, and whose idea this entire insidious ploy was, steps forward. "That is the carrot. There is always the stick."

"I said get of here," the governor growls, voice going rough around the edges. He's ready to reach for a button that will probably summon security. The last thing you want is a fracas between Noelle and a bunch of statehouse guards. Thankfully, Whitney, pulling out a printed list, cuts him off:

"Okey dokey. Here's a few of your recent googlings."

The governor stays his hand, face already going pale. Then Whitney begins to read:

"Gay for pay. Rentboys Sacramento. Asian Massage Sacramento. How to tell if wife thinks you are cheating. Symptoms of chlamydia. Symptoms of gonorrhea. Symptoms of leprosy. Does incest cause leprosy." Whitney glances up: "The answer to that one is no. I hope." She looks back down, and keeps going. "How to find wiretaps. How to know if under audit. How to know if followed by FBI. When can my attorney break attorney-client privilege. Cayman Island banking. When legal to kill wife." Whitney looks up again: "Never. It's never legal to kill your wife, Mr. Governor. You don't need google for that."

"Stop, god, stop," The governor heaves.

"I haven't even gotten to the really sick shit, though," Whitney says.

"I think he has heard enough," Vivian intones.

"What do you say?" You ask him, smirking. "Can we count on your support this November?"

The next day, you receive an unwelcome meeting invite on your calendar: David Darkbloom wants to have a chat. You visit him prior to a boardroom meeting.

"What is it, David?" You say on your way in the door. "I'd like to keep our time together at a minimum -- you know."

"Oh, I know. And so would I. So I'll make this fast. While you were busy fornicating, I was putting out fires." Darkbloom starts producing some documents, and dropping them on the desk: "Our Taiwanese parts supplier who Whitney alienated? I not only brought them back to us, but used the opportunity to negotiate terms more favorable to our organization. Our competitors? I slammed the Lightflower Company with a cease and desist that has completely frozen all development of their Diogenes copycat for the foreseeable future -- and litigated some former DBA employees back into line, who had defected to them. The Chinese? Our servers have been under a barrage of hacking attempts on a round-the-clock basis -- I've been personally assisting Anna in patching holes that they could have otherwise wormed through, not that you care about any of it. And--"

"You've been working with Gal?" You say.

He throws his arms up. "Yes I've been working with her! Does your egotism know absolutely no bound? Does it upset you to hear that I've been assisting her in keeping you alive?" Your eyes drift down, to an onyx geode on his desk -- he notices this, and adds: "A healing crystal. Meant to promote familial harmony. Yes, she gave that to me -- no, it doesn't work, unsurprisingly."

"Thanks so much," you say bitterly, "for all your help. Want a gold star?"

"Don't thank me, Alabaster!" He roars. "Not even sarcastically! If you died tomorrow, I would shed no tears. I do what I do for those I love, and no one else. You're just floating along for the ride, like a turd that won't flush."

"What an awfully crass analogy for you."

"You're an awfully crass person to be dealing with." He sits again, and pulls his chair forwards towards his desk. "I wanted to apprise you of what I've been doing so that you have some sense of where I stand. I stand with this company: I stand with Whitney and Vivian, and Renee and Anna. Since you at least agree with me on this -- I hope you can trust me to that extent."

"Uh huh."

"Chloe tracked down Alyosha. I could help us establish a direct line of contact."

"Where is he?" You ask.

"Belgium, apparently."

"Who else knows?" You ask.

"No one," he says. "I want this to be a matter with as few people in the know as possible. The more my girls and the others I care about are told, the more danger they face. Thus the reason I tell you."

"I feel the love."

"Good."

You sigh deeply. "And when you manage to meet with Alyosha, what then?"

"It's simple," Darkbloom says. "I will do to him the same as I did to his daughter."

You can't help laughing at that, grimly. "All right, David. What do you need from me?"

The hair on the back of your neck bristles as the door of the office opens again. Without checking, you can somehow tell who's behind you: Qiangxiang.

"I need you to turn me off for a little while," Darkbloom says. "Chloe knows Alyosha's whereabouts but she has no trusted contacts to arrange a meeting. As it turns out, though, Dalton Cantor does. If you disable Penelope long enough to bully Dalton into establishing the meeting -- that's all the opening I need."

"I will assist the operation in any way necessary," Qiangxiang, behind you, says.

>[x] Do it. (Sub-choice: [x] Do it David's way / Ask help from the others.)

[ ] Don't do it; get to Alyosha some other way.

"You want me to help cut your head open?" You say. "You know just how to convince me, don't you."

"Not my head," Darkbloom says. "It belongs to Mr. Cantor. I'm just living there as a squatter."

"Rent-free?" You say, reflexively.

But he's confused: "That's... what I said. Yes."

"Never mind..."

Qiangxiang sidles up to you. "Do you know much about the procedure to install and uninstall implants, Ally?"

"I told you not to call me that," you glower.

She smiles warmly. "And I asked not to be called Chloe. It seems we will both be disappointed."

"He can be taught," Darkbloom says. "He'll do. This is less invasive than an installation since all you need to do is power it down. Less complex, too."

"And," you add, "if I mess it all up and kill him, no real loss."

"Absolutely correct," Darkbloom says, surprising you. When you reply with muteness, he stands, and says: "I hate you so bitterly. But I know that in some way, some twisted way -- you love my girls. I love them too. What we're embarking on is to protect them: this is the overarching priority. We, both of us -- you and I are expendable. You may die soon, Alabaster. Apprehend that. If you die in defense of the people you love, it won't have been in vain."

"Fuck you," you tell him.

"Fuck you too, Alabaster." He gathers his things, and says: "We have another meeting now. Let's not be late. Vivian complains so terribly if we don't keep to the agreed-upon timetable."

---

"Alabaster-chan!" Armstrong roars. "You're just in time for the heated debate!"

"Chan...?" You breathe, sitting down at the conference table. "Since when did pidgin Japanese become your thing too?"

He slaps your back. "I need a fucking diplomat. This is about to be World War III here. See, Gal is upset at Nelson because Nelson isn't going to be watching the new Meguka Magica next season--"

"it's madoka"

"Right, which she says is only the most chino of all anime--"

"it's kino"

"I just never got into it," Nelson says.

"shut up," Gal says. "just shut up. you imbecile. you absolute piece of dogshit."

"Whoa!" You cry.

"She's feisty ever since she became Mrs. Soliloquy," Nelson says. "So opinionated."

"opinion. it's not opinion. it's not a matter of opinion nelson. and when you ignore an important series while watching nothing but ecchi moeshit at the same time--"

"It's not gonna be as good as the original, you know that, right?" Nelson says. "And Nekopara isn't just some ecchi moeshit. It's got a lot of mature themes! And Overflow looks cute, too--"

"Wait. Madoka's got another season coming?" You say.

"oh my god Sir" She shakes her head and rubs her eyes behind her spectacles. "nobody talk to me until the end of time. i'm done with speaking to you."

"We're gonna be watching it together, Ally!" Rose2 tells you. "You're welcome to join us!"

"Does anyone actually invite you to these things?" Rose asks her, showing up, and taking her seat alongside you.

"Uh... hmmm," Rose2 says. "Geez. I dunno."

"The answer is no," you say.

"Then maybe you should g--" Rose begins, but she gets cut off by Whitney's gavel.

During the meeting, which drones on and on, you find yourself focused intently on David Darkbloom. The way he assiduously takes notes and interjects at reasonable junctures; the way he asks probing questions and moves things along. He's not the CEO anymore, but he still has the poise of a man you'd expect to be the CEO. Moreover, you pay close attention to Whitney; the way she watches "bio-dad" and seems to be picking up some of his habits. You never saw her takes notes before Darkbloom started attending these meetings. Now, she does.

She doodles in the margins a lot, though.

"...and Kimberly Manlove will not be coming in to work for the foreseeable future," Vivian continues.

This grabs your attention back. You wait for more. When it doesn't come, you say: "So?"

"So?" Vivian repeats. "She is one of our key systems engineers. So this is a less than ideal situation, wouldn't you say?"

"Hamberly Manlove is a systems engineer?" You sputter.

"You didn't know that about her?" Nelson says.

"You spend enough time with the fat bitch," Armstrong adds. "You really never knew what she does at this company?"

"No... I didn't," you admit.

"What's wrong with her?" Rose2 asks. "Is she sick or something?"

"Revealing any details would be a violation of h--" Rose begins.

Vivian interjects: "She has stage III vaginal trichinosis."

Rose2 puts a hand theatrically to her lips: "That sounds serious! Is she gonna be all right?"

But the rest of the room, who understand what words mean, is turning slightly green at just the implication. Nelson's jaw hangs open. Darkbloom seems to force back vomit. Gal, seemingly subconsciously, reaches down and lightly touches her crotch, cringing.

"I cannot believe you," Rose says. "I would expect impropriety from certain other people, but you should be above this kind of gossiping. You know you can't just go around telling people why an employee took FMLA leave. That's a violation of Kimberly's HIPAA rights."

"Sounds like she's used to having her hippo rights violated," Armstrong laughs.

"Yeah, if she's got worms in her vag," Nelson adds. "Poor hippo."

"Hold on," you say. "How does Vivian even know about this to begin with? She's not HR. Someone told her."

"Yes," Vivian agrees, turning to Rose: "How is it that I know of Ms. Manlove's unfortunate genital malady? Telling me that information was a clear violation of her hippopotamus rights..."

Rose slams her binder shut. "You are impossible. This is the last time I CC you on FMLA issues. I thought you were a more responsible COO."

Vivian giggles haughtily.

"Parastic vaginas aside," Qiangxiang says. "I think we are due an update on the work of Mr. Takagawa."

"Right," Gal says. "We've made some good progress."

It seems Gal's voice kicks up a few decibels and down half an octave whenever she has to speak officially at these meetings.

"The fake dossier we handed him has made it back to Beijing, as expected," Qiangxiang says. "Broad Dynamics and the Chinese government -- not to mention also the Japanese --" (her upper lips curl in disgust) "-- all believe that we are hopelessly lost on Diogenes. We've earned ourselves a little bit of breathing room."

"Good work, Gal," you say.

"Thank... thank you." (Her voice goes back to a whisper, but only for a moment.)

---

After the meeting, out in the hall, Noelle is whispering with Vivian as you pass. Noelle is aghast: "Vaginal trichinosis is a thing? ... It comes in stages? ... Kim's at stage three?"

Darkbloom meets you by the elevators. "I'd like to do this as soon as possible. Do you think you could come on your own to Chloe's condo this evening?"

You glance furtively over your shoulder. This sets off Noelle's spidey sense: she's over by the two of you in no time.

"Skullduggery afoot?" She asks.

"I've heard enough about feet recently," you say.

"That's your own fault. Stop hanging out in /csg/."

"I was just saying goodnight to David," you tell her. "A warm-hearted goodnight and fuck you to cap off the day."

You step into the opening elevator, and Noelle, shrugging, follows you. But Darkbloom holds his hand out and stays the doors. "Ms. Keki, you'd be a good asset. Are you free tonight?"

"I thought we were keeping the people we love out of this," you say, fuming.

Darkbloom doesn't reply. Obviously, Noelle means less than nothing to him.

"I can be there," Noelle says. "Someone has to protect this dumbass from the red menace. It may as well be me."

Darkbloom lets the elevator doors drift closed.

"You wanna fill me in?" Noelle asks in the descending compartment.

"No. But I guess I have to now."

There's a brief silence. Then, Noelle says: "...You love me?"

"I love you," you say.

This simple admission, coming without a petty barb or a snide remark attached, shocks Noelle silent.

"Or maybe you want me to say it the other way?" You ask. "All right. Daisuki."

"You ruined it."

You turn on her, and put a hand against the wall of the elevator, trapping her. With your other hand, you stroke her chin.

"Now you've really ruined it," she says.

You kiss her.

"I love you too," she says softly. "You ass."

When you arrive in Qiangxiang's condo, she's sitting on her sofa eating a Big Mac and fries. She wears a napkin as a bib.

Not exactly how you expected to walk in on the "red menace." She was so absorbed in eating that she didn't even answer the door, just rang you through remotely.

"I got you addicted," you say, sitting across from her.

"You did."

"You'll get fat," you warn her.

"I will. Is that a problem? I happen to know that you like women on the thicker side of things. The woman you married, for example."

"I've been trying to get Rose to lose weight for years," you say. "She's an unfuckable cow, really."

"Unfuckable," Qiangxiang repeats with a smirk. "That might be the worst lie I've heard in my life."

"Oh, so you think she's fuckable?" You say.

Qiangxiang sets her hamburger down in its little cardboard container, and sets the container aside. "Homosexuality is degeneracy of the worst kind. No, I would not have intercourse with Rose."

"What if it's his fetish?" Noelle asks.

"Are you sure it isn't yours?" Qiangxiang replies, resting her cheek on fore- and middle-fingers.

"It's both of ours," you say.

"Hmmph," Qiangxiang sighs.

"Not mine," Noelle insists. "Definitely his, though."

This conversation might have continued, but in comes the evening's patient: David Darkbloom arrives.

Qiangxiang is only too elated at the prospect of scooping out Dalton Cantor's eyeball. As she dons the surgical mask and gloves, you think that she's a vision of the devil herself. So why is it so attractive?

With diagrams and video -- the video of the installation of Catchresis into Camelia all those years ago -- Darkbloom explains where to find the master power switch for the implant.

"We're in a fortuitous situation," he says. "This was put inside Dalton as an aged adult: his brain wasn't plastic enough to become symbiotic with it. Nor was it ever exposed to the full, raw power of Sand Reckoner, as Cerise's mind was. Turning it off for a period of time should have no adverse effects on Mr. Cantor's body."

"Should," Noelle says. She's skeptical at the low level of confidence here.

"Right," Darkbloom says. "But it may. And if it does -- simply be prepared to switch it back on."

Qiangxiang flicks a hypodermic needle, eyeing the fluid inside it. She squirts a little of the fluid out of the tip. Satisfied, she tapes Darkbloom's eyelids open, and readies the needle to inject it into his cornea, bringing it swiftly in.

Darkbloom does not even flinch as she brings the needle down. Then just like that it's inside the jelly-like structure of his eye -- you cringe, and look away -- you hear Darkbloom grunt, but that's all the sign he lets on of his discomfort.

Noelle, fighting back gagging, also can't watch. "I feel like the fucking Third Reich, here."

"You should be numb," Qiangxiang says. She lightly touches Darkbloom's eye with her gloved fingers. "Do you feel that?"

"No."

"Then let's begin."

Qiangxiang does the dirty part. She takes the eyeball out with that scoop you've become all too familiar with. Your role is to handle the implant itself; to switch it off.

The moment you do, Dalton flops around like a fish, straining against the straps that tie him down to Qiangxiang's coffee table. You and Noelle hold him still as Qiangxiang stares icily down at him.

At first, it seems that he still thinks he's in the Mallory rumpus room, all those weeks prior. Gasping, he picks up right where he left off. "Please, Mrs. Mallory -- Vivian -- you can't do this -- you -- oh, fuck -- I can't feel my face! I -- I -- I..." he trails off, staring up at Qiangxiang. His sense of time and place disturbed, he stammers: "Who are you? Where did you come from? Where... where am I?"

"You've been asleep for a very long time, Mr. Cantor," Qiangxiang says. "My name is Qiangxiang Xi. I'm here to rescue you."

Dalton can't see you holding him, from where you stand behind the table. Only Qiangxiang and Noelle.

"N-Noelle Keki...?" He breathes. "Why are -- I... oh, god, is my eyeball -- I can't see! Did you blind me in one eye? What's going on?"

"Calm down," Qiangxiang barks. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know you. You're -- you're from that Chinese company. Broad Dynamics." He's still breathing hard, and has a crazed, panicked catch to his voice.

"Very good. We are competitors with Darkbloom Analytics. Mr. Cantor, I have unfortunate news. Mara Darkbloom is dead, her Vail facility is destroyed. David Darkbloom hijacked your body, and used it to kill her. He's been living under your identity for some months now. Whitney Darkbloom and the rest of the fools at DBA remain in power there. They still hold Sand Reckoner -- and now, Diogenes..."

Dalton is hyperventilating. "My family... where is my family... are they okay? Tell me they're okay!"

"I'm afraid your family is in great danger," Qiangxiang says. "It seems that Alyosha Kerimov thinks you are a traitor. After all, as far as he knows, it was you who killed Mara."

"Oh my god -- Hazel, Finn --"

"Quiet, now. We have very little time. And we've rescued you from limbo, at great personal risk -- thank you, Noelle."

"Anytime," she says, playing her part. "As long as the money's good."

"--And I'd like to get in touch with Alyosha Kerimov myself. A strategic partnership between him and Broad Dynamics portends great things for the future! And of course... safety for your family..."

"Anything... anything..." he says.

"Do you know who to reach out to?"

"Yes. Yes, hand me a phone, I'll do anything!"

"Very well." Qiangxiang says. She's smiling brightly.

Noelle holds the phone for him. He speaks into it, explaining the situation as best he knows.

"Chloe Xi?" Comes a thickly accented Russian on the other end. "Is impossible. She works at Darkbloom Analytics now. She is on their side."

(Qiangxiang is none too pleased to hear that her nickname has gone international.)

She speaks up for the first time: "It was the only way to get close to Sand Reckoner -- and now, also, Dalton Cantor."

The man on the other just grunts.

"Chloe wants to partner with Alyosha," Dalton says. (Man, people take to this nickname so quickly.) "I'm still an ally too."

The man grunts again.

"Whitney Darkbloom and her coterie of morons are unreliable, at best," Qiangxiang says. "I am ready to partner with people who know what they're doing. I am ready to pick up where my uncle left off."

"You killed your uncle," the man on the other side says.

"I did," she says instantly, and adds: "he deserved it, too."

The man grunts.

"Alyosha and I have commiserate goals," Qiangxiang says. "We both would like to find the lighthouse."

"I know nothing about no lighthouse," the man replies.

"Then you are worse than worthless," Qiangxiang snarls.

"Dumb bitch," the man snarls back. "Maybe I should do how your uncle did. No?"

"Do not waste my time with lies and coy remarks," Qiangxiang says. "Can you help me speak with Alyosha or can't you?"

"There were Chinese at Vail," the man says. "Why should we trust you?"

"Please," Dalton interjects. "We want to be partners!"

Qiangxiang shushes him. "I happen to know that Alyosha Kerimov is old and infirm. He has few options remaining if immortality is his goal. He can die if he wants. I'll find the lighthouse on my own."

The man grunts, again. Finally then: "Alyosha will be in touch."

He hangs up.

"When can I see my family?" Dalton asks.

"No time soon," Qiangxiang says. "Thank you for your help."

You circle the table and reach for the eyeball still dangling on Dalton's cheek, to switch the implant back on. Dalton's other eye goes wide with dismay. "Alabaster Soliloquy--!! No!"

That's the last thing he says before Darkbloom resumes control.

At home that night, you've got your pick of the litter.

[ ] A wholesome bedtime story with Amber and Rose.

[ ] Gang up on Rose2 with Mom.

[ ] Vivian's evil scheme!

[ ] Quality time with just Whitney.

>[x] This house ain't big enough for three MILFs. Or is it?

[ ] Something else?

Dr. Carte sits at the edge of your couch as you noisily suck her cunt.

Since everyone's fucking everyone in this house, you have no reservations about doing these things right out in the open. Why not? No one's going to be scandalized by it, right?

You have both the finesse and eagerness to get her squirting on your face in no time. Your wet slurping of her engorged clit and labia echoes off the high walls. Dr. Carte, you've found, tastes a lot like her daughter. And as much as you like to eat Whitney's twat, you like to eat Dr. Carte's even more because hers is meatier, more tender, and hotter to the touch of your tongue. If this is how Whitney's cunt is going to mature... you've got many years of happiness in store.

"Jesus, Alabaster..." Dr. Carte sighs. "You're too good at this. You're way too good at this. How did you get so good at this?"

You decline to state.

Instead, you just take a swig of baby oil, and grin up at her, and then spit. The oil forms a long, gentle, laminar arc, and splashes against her nude upper body, smearing her chest and her naked tits. She becomes shiny under the room's bright ceiling lights. The oil runs down the length of her soft body in dozens of long, slick streams -- under her udders, across her tummy, down to her lap and her thick upper legs. She giggles. The rest of the oil in your mouth, you squirt through your lips directly against her pussy. It's a sharp, forceful stream, like ejaculating against her clitoris. She shivers despite the warmth of the liquid, clutches your hair, and holds your head to her crotch. "Like that," she pants. You begin to lap at the oily mess you made of her fuckhole. "Just like that. Nice and wet... nice and fucking wet... oh god..."

She squirts again on you, hugging your head between her legs as she does. Nice and fucking wet indeed: your face is coated in Dr. Carte's fragrant fuckslime.

Your reward when you come up for air again is just what you wanted. Dr. Carte switches places with you, getting on her knees before you to service your meaty prick with her giant tits. It's why you spat all that baby oil on her -- and she more than understood the purpose of it. Dr. Carte, mashing her jugs together, stares lustily at your shaft pistoning up and down between them. The oil, mixing with your precum, flies up in little droplets that hit her face, your stomach, and the cushions. You sit slumped back, posture wide and loose, and let her do the work. It feels good... it feels really, really good to get paizuri from Dr. Carte.

You hear Mom's voice from the entry to the living room. "Oh my god! What are you doing?!"

So there is someone who'd be scandalized after all. Rather than hide what you're up to, or try to cover up in the slightest, you just stay sitting there as Dr. Carte lewdly works you over. You smile up at your mother; she's come back with Charlotte, just in time to witness the fun.

"Alabaster..." Charlotte breathes. She shifts her weight, mom jeans straining. Her pants are always a couple sizes too small.

"Why are you using that horrible... drunk skank?" Mom demands over the slapping noises of Dr. Carte's tits against your thighs as she fucks her boobs up and down on you.

"Can it, lady," Dr. Carte sneers. She's still staring at your oil-slick dick. "If you want this cock, you'll have to wait in line for it."

Whereas Mom is indignant, Charlotte plays the concerned maternal figure. She strides into the room, and sits beside you. She strokes your bare shoulder and forearm, cooing: "Oh, honey... if you were backed up, all you had to do was tell me. No need to resort to cheap, used goods like Renee..."

"Fuck you too," Dr. Carte says, but she doesn't stop the titjob. You try, and fail, to suppress a groan. Charlotte coos again, and holds your shoulder a bit tighter. "You poor thing," she says. Then, she begins to pull her sweater off, revealing her bare, sweaty torso. "You want me to take over, right? I'll wring all that backed-up cum out of your balls for you, don't worry..."

Mom springs into action. She won't be the odd one out. She sits on your other side, and strokes your other arm, and says: "Don't listen to these sluts. You want your mama's body, after all... right?"

It seems even as your two mommies try to seduce you, they're paying close attention to the way your dick slides in and out of Dr. Carte's supple tit-flesh. Boldly, Charlotte begins to fondle your nutsack, and says: "they're so heavy today, baby. You need a good place to empty that load, don't you?"

Mom circles a finger around one of your nipples. She bites your earlobe. "You can cum inside me... see if you can make a baby with me, okay?"

But all their obscene attempts to pry you away from Dr. Carte have the opposite of the intended effect. Moaning deeply, your balls tighten. Then your cock is spewing a thick white load all over Dr. Carte's chin and the top of her breasts. Dr. Carte smiles delightedly as you hose her down, and doesn't shy away from the load you're depositing on her. She holds her mouth open and lets a few stray spurts land on her tongue. The jizz on her chin hangs down in strands that refuse to snap, and the jizz on her tits lies in a pearly puddle atop the oil it can't mix with, jostling like jelly as she continues to slide her all her delightfully soft meat up and down on you. Your cock becomes streaked white with your own sperm as she continues the titfuck unabated.

"Alabaster..." Charlotte says, guilting you. "Why would you waste your sperm on her face, when you could leave it up my holes instead...?"

"Nonsense," Mom says, joining the guilt trip. "The only hole you want to fuck next is one of mine, right? Which one do you want?" She's already fighting out of her jeans and shirt. She turns, gets on all fours. She leans against the couch's armsrests and holds herself wide open for you. "Mama's pussy? Or mama's asshole? You can pick, Alabaster. Either one is fine with me..."

Charlotte mirrors her aunt's obscene display. Flipping her hair over one shoulder, she stares back at you with fiery eyes: "You don't want some loose fuck that you won't even feel, do you? You want a nice, tight... hot piece of ass... like mine. My pussy is even tighter than Scarlett's asshole is... and my asshole is so tight that it might hurt both of us... I don't mind, though... let loose on me, all right?" She wags her hips, shaking her fat butt and making it jiggle.

Dr. Carte grins devilishly up at you. She's still the one in control of your dick right now, and she won't relent for anything. "Your mothers are the real skanks here," she tells you. "Look at them wagging their asses for you like a couple of bitches. Hey! This kid's your son, you fucking whores -- do you realize that?"

"Of course," Charlotte says.

"That's why I want him to fuck me..." Mom adds. She starts to finger her own cunt as she explains: "It only makes sense that a mother's body is the one most compatible for her son, doesn't it?"

When their attempts to sway you don't seem to succeed -- Dr. Carte's paizuiri is just too divine to quit, even for a moment -- Mom and Charlotte resort to the desperation tactic. They get down on the floor with her, and jockey for position. A rude, three-way, back-and-forth shoving match commences:

"Get off me, bitch!" -- "Fuck you, you skank!" -- "Stop molesting my son!" -- "You psychotic cunt!" -- "He's mine! He belongs to me! Let go of his dick right now!"

You end it summarily: taking the bottle of baby oil in hand, you dump it over them. Like pouring vinaigrette on a salad, you drizzle it over their heads and faces and chests, back and forth across all three of them.

"Alabaster!" Mom gasps, her features becoming blurred and her hair becoming slick. Her voice sounds strange with oil burbling off her lips, like trying to speak underwater. "You inconsiderate-- rude-- nasty little boy!"

"Shut up," you command her.

This forceful demand shocks her quiet. All three women stop -- stop moving entirely -- as you dump the oil over them with a steady glug-glug-glug. They sit there and take this humiliation, as your cock still throbs between the soft, tender confines of Dr. Carte's titties. It's fun to degrade them like this.  

"Share," you tell them.

"But--" Dr. Carte begins. "Don't you want--" Charlotte says. "You shouldn't waste your time with--" starts Mom.

"Share," you repeat, voice husky and thick with lust. "Or I'll go upstairs and fuck someone else instead."

The three women take a moment to pout at each other, proud despite the oil dripping off every curve and prominence of their faces, chests, and torsos, and the cock that they've fallen to their knees to pleasure.

Dr. Carte reluctantly makes way for Mom and Charlotte to get in. With her in front of you, and your mommies on either side, then begins one of the most heavenly experiences you've ever had: a three-woman titfuck. Six huge, swaying hunks of titmeat all pressed up to your horny dick, trapping it, in their oily, sweaty heat and plumpness. The excess of oil you poured now pools at this central point, and so, staring down, you see that your cock is submerged beneath a puddle of warm, clear fluid. It's such an erotic sight, your red veiny penis fucking in and out from between the nubbins of their nipples, each a different shade -- all three mature women working hard to bring you off against their chests. Their mouths curl in pleasure, getting off on simply getting you off, and being treated this way by their dirty little boy; you can smell their arousal tinging the air. When quickly you lose another load, you can see your cock pulsing beneath the surface of the lube, adding your fuckslop to the mess between them all, and they just keep rubbing you until you've shot it all out.

Sighing in sheer contentment, you lean back, and close your eyes. But if you thought your pet MILFs were done with you, you were wrong. You feel weight bearing down all around you, and open your eyes to find them wrangling you, forming into a pile on the sofa with you at the center, climbing up with you and crushing you between their considerable bodies. It is... unbelievably soft and heavy at the same time, like lying on a cloud that wants to smother you. Your face is pressed up against someone's tits, someone else's shoulder, and another's head; they're writhing and moaning and it's impossible to tell who's who because their fleshy bodies are contorting your face and forcing your eyes shut. Their hot bodies, coated in oil, slide frictionlessly back and forth over yours, making an utter ruin of the couch below in the process. You know that your cum, and their cum, is part of this nasty admixture too, but none of them seem to care.

"Mmmmggg-- mmmffffgggg--" You try to speak, but can't get anything out.

"Shhh, baby, shhh," Charlotte says, petting your hair with a slimy hand. "Don't talk..."

"Suck me, honey -- there you go..." Mom whispers into your ear, directing your lips to her chest. You latch on to one of her nipples and suck. Someone, maybe her, or maybe someone else, grasps your still erect cock and starts to tug. Their hand is as slick as anything else, and it feels just like fucking a wet twat. Another hand's wet fingers find your asshole -- don't penetrate you, but just the sensation of the encircling fingers tickling you there is divine all on its own. As the women slide back and forth across you, someone dumps the final dregs of the baby oil over your collective bodies. Your face is all puffy and drippy, now...

"Cum for me, okay?" Dr. Carte whispers.

"No, baby... cum for me," Mom says.

As they tug you off, they direct your face this way and that, making you nurse on them, each in turn... all three women get the use of your mouth. Occasionally, as they writhe and squirm with you, your penis slips into the inviting folds of a pussy or an ass, and the lucky woman fucks atop you for a few moments, before letting another have their turn. They've learned to share, all right. They're going to share you until there's nothing left. There are worse ways to die. Trapped between all this supple skin, these motherly bodies, as they cum on you and you cum on them -- a few squirts inside their bodies too, since all three mommies are so hot to get spermed in their wombs -- you have no choice but to enjoy it to its fullest extent.

You're not sure which of the wads you blow feels the best. The one you blow in your own biological mother's cunt-hole, holding her slippery ass with both hands as you desperately slam up and down into it and paint her insides white? The one you lose, moaning, in between Dr. Carte's extremely skilled fingers, as she masturbates you and makes you suck her tits? The one you pump in Charlotte's asshole, with only the tip of your prick nestled inside, a load you have to force out by straining your abs because she's so, so fucking tight, while she jerks the rest of your shaft off to help you orgasm inside her squishy body? They're all great, and all the cums you have are great too, as you lie entangled with them for hours upon hours, the meat of a MILF sandwich. You could feel like you're being used, but you don't care. Your mommies can use you anytime they want, as long as they're okay with taking all this jism.

"Here you are, Cerise -- the lawn signs you requested."

Cerise is in the auditorium where all those months ago you made memories of sensitivity training with Rose. Vivian is showing her the yard signs she had a local print shop make up for the campaign. The reason this is taking place in the campus's ballroom-sized auditorium and not somewhere else is because Vivian, in her typical fashion, went overboard. She printed an entire gross of grosses of these signs, which were delivered by truck today, and now lie stacked in their thousands along the walls. Cerise, peeling the saran from one stack, and taking the first sign in hand to examine it, smiles.

"This is great work. I love it."

As if on cue, in comes barreling Armstrong.

"What the fuck, Vivian!" He roars. "We're supposed to be managing this campaign together! Am I hearing right that you had over 20,000 lawn signs made up without telling--" he stops in place and glances around the sign-stacked room. "Oh Jesus tittyfucking Christ, you did."

"It is Cerise's design. I think it gets her platform across beautifully."

Armstrong snatches the sign from Cerise's hands. "Asshole!" She shouts.

He reads it. The vein on his forehead throbs as his face turns red. "We're not distributing this shit. Have you gone nuts?"

You walk over to the stack, and take one of the signs to read it for yourself.

>Guns... keep 'em!

>Abortions... have 'em!

>Opinions... speak 'em!

>Soldiers... don't quarter 'em!

>Cerise for Congress!

"You can't be pro abortion, you morons!" Armstrong says, voice so choked with anger that it sounds like he's croaking. "You're pro-choice -- but you can't endorse abortions! And this is California, you can't be touting how much you love guns in a political campaign!"

"Blah blah blah blah blah," Cerise retorts, flapping one hand like Pac-Man.

"And this message about soldiers makes it look like you hate veterans! You have to love veterans, Cerise! You have to do everything short of treat a veteran's dick like it's your brother's!"

"Low blow," you say.

"I learned all about low blowing from watching your web stream!" He shouts, pointing at you.

"This message will resonate," Vivian insists. "It is an encapsulation of Cerise's respect for constitutional principles. People want more of that in Washington."

Cerise snatches the sign back. "The slogans were Saul's idea. I'm not changing it."

Armstrong sighs. Saul was a friend of his. The two men became golfing buddies over the past year, and frequently lunched together on campus. Armstrong told lawyer jokes; Saul told politician jokes. Armstrong won't let on, but he's sad that Saul is gone now -- moreover, he knows he won't sway Cerise on this matter.

He's still angry, though. Next he pulls out his cell and shoves it in Cerise's face. "You need to put a lid on the tweeting. What the fuck is this?"

The first tweet on the timeline is something about a beanie baby that looks indescribably horny.

You read aloud: "'Dear god, someone please take one for the team and suck this thing's dick before it commits an atrocity'... whoa"

The next few down are a bunch of retweeted racy anime drawings, mostly of traps, plus some sort of Ben Shapiro parody copypasta.

"I don't get it," you say, reading the copypasta to yourself.

"You wouldn't," Cerise says.

Armstrong takes his phone back. "You're running for a damn House seat. You can't be tweeting out Japanime drawings of cute boys in dresses and weird stories about daddy's little cumslut! And you definitely can't talk about horny beanie babies!"

"You think the boys in dresses are cute?" Cerise says.

"What? Goddamn it -- focus on the important issues here. This isn't how a congresswoman behaves. It's electoral poison."

"Cerise gets more engagement on her tweets than any congressional candidate in the nation," Vivian says.

"Yeah," Armstrong grunts, "from weirdos on *Chan. They'd engage with her tweets if she tweeted videos of paint drying. Unfortunately, you can't build a political base on people who live in their mothers' basements."

"You sure about that?" You say.

"Sure I'm sure," Armstrong says. "Not here in the valley. Cerise needs to expand her reach. Does Cindy Lou Soccermom want to vote for the drunk NEET who's obsessed with crossdressing?"

"The polling firm I hired shows that Cerise wins independents by 30 points, Democrats by 80 points and even takes a bare majority of Republicans in the district. The election will be a rout. She has truly cross-sectional appeal."

He isn't convinced. "A huge lead can go down the sink, the moment someone points out that you spend half your day looking at hentai."

"Likely voters indicate that her interest in animated pornography only endears her to them," Vivian says.

"Christ almighty," Armstrong says. "Polls aren't everything, kid. Polls can be wrong. Sometimes you need some common goddamn sense."

"And sometimes," Vivian says, "you need to be cognizant of changing political winds. It isn't the same world it was when you served as a Senator. The ground has shifted beneath your feet, has it not? Cerise will do admirably." She turns to Cerise. "I will have these signs placed around town, and distribute them for free to employees also. I may post a link to purchase in /csg/, too -- but I want to make sure we only send them to addresses in the district -- they're wasted otherwise."

"You do astroturf on *Chan," you breathe. "I knew it."

Vivian frowns at you. "Is this a discussion you want to have? Should I inform your sister how much you post in that thread?"

You choke on your words.

Armstrong checks his wristwatch. "I'll deal with you shits later. I need to go meet the generals. Uncle Sam waits for no man."

"Where's Steven?" Darkbloom asks as he takes his seat at the boardroom table with the rest of you.

"Generals," you tell him.

"Oh boy," Whitney says sarcastically. "Situation room time. I didn't see any emails about the generals coming today."

"The generals" are a group of half a dozen high-ranking military and intelligence officials, give or take a few, mostly actual generals but including a few rear admirals and advanced colonels, who occasionally drop by to window-shop your tech. Maybe the only reason Darkbloom Analytics hasn't gone the way of the dinosaurs is because you share your troves of data with the military, not to mention the ongoing promise you have, now enshrined in law, to let them use Sand Reckoner and/or Diogenes at the unspecified future date you perfect the technology.

Armstrong knows a couple of the generals personally, from his days as a power broker in the US Senate; and given his personality too, he's the perfect liaison for them. He's the one who always takes care of their visits.

"I heard nothing of it either," Vivian says. "According to Steven, this was a surprise visit. Very little advance notice."

"Pain in my ass..." Whitney grumbles, and gavels the meeting to order.

It's typical meeting filled with the typical issues:

"I don't think that's legal, Vivian," you tell her. "We can't force Facebook users to pay money if they want to delete their accounts."

"Why not? Deleting an account is a service like any other. Why can we not charge money for services?"

"We'll discuss it later," Darkbloom says, his catch-all response to move his youngest daughter on from topics she's stubborn about.

---

"Server uptime in quarter two was 100.0%," Gal reports. "Except the... Diablo Grande facility... which of course had a much lower uptime."

"Percent?" Whitney asks.

Gal can deliver prepared material but always withers a bit at being questioned.

"erm... something like 72%"

"Why so low?"

"...it... it exploded, whitney"

"Oh yeaaah."

---

"Scuttlebutt is that the Chinese government has some kompromat from your little vacay there," Nelson says.

"Kom-what?" Whitney says.

"Blackmail material," you explain to her, for probably the 50th time.

"Yeah, probably," she says, shrugging. "I'm extremely blackmailable." She points at him. "In theory. In practice I don't give a hoot."

"What sort of kompromat?" Darkbloom wants to know. The worst wounds are always self-inflicted.

"Uh..." Nelson says.

"Go on -- tell us," you prompt.

He rubs the back of his head. "Well, supposedly they bugged your hotel room, and, uh... have you on video peeing on each other?"

"Absurd," Darkbloom says.

"Yeah, we didn't do that there," Whitney agrees. Darkbloom's face whiplashes from relief to dismay between the words "that" and "there."

"We didn't do that there, did we?" Whitney asks you.

"No," you say. "...Pretty sure, anyway." You turn to Rose. "Did we do that there?"

She gazes up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking back. "No... no, I don't think so."

Darkbloom is beyond miserable.

"I've heard no such thing, myself," Qiangxiang says. "Your stay at the hotel in Beijing was dreadfully dull and uneventful. ... Supposedly."

"Rumors, you know," Nelson says, waving his hand, the way you might try to dissipate the odor of a fart. "Am I right?"

"I think this meeting is quite done for now," Darkbloom says, and stands.

But he can't leave the room; because standing at the door is Armstrong, wearing an expression like you've never seen before -- and behind him, the generals.

"We're in a meeting," Whitney says.

The generals stroll in like they own the place.

"Excuse you," Whitney says. "You deaf or just dumb? Armstrong, get these guys out of here. We can talk later."

"We're not going, Ms. Darkbloom," one of them, the highest ranking, whose nametag identifies him as M. Pershing, says. He pulls up a spare chair and sits, very near to Whitney's position at the head of the table; his comrades encircle the table and stand at the ready, behind you all. It's fucking spooky.

"Whitney -- I'm sorry--" Armstrong begins, still standing impotently at the threshold.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vivian demands.

"You've all been keeping secrets from the US government," General Pershing says.

"Privacy is a constitutional right," Darkbloom says. "We are entitled to keep business matters a secret. From you or anyone else."

"No, you aren't," Pershing replies. "Not where it implicates national security." He motions for one of his fellows, who hands him a manila folder. He opens it: "We've been getting chatter from Chinese and Russian channels, who've reverse engineered some of your technology. Sand Reckoner is far more powerful than you've ever admitted to us, Ms. Darkbloom. It isn't just a database of information, now is it."

Both the misses Darkbloom stay mute.

Pershing pulls out some satellite photos next, and sets them on the table: a burnt-out facility in mountainous terrain -- you recognize it.

"Don't think what happened at Vail escaped our notice," he says. "And now with everything else we're getting from intel, plus without even the FBI here any longer to provide a bulwark against the wanton lawlessness of this organization -- the situation has become much more critical than we ever thought. Ms. Darkbloom, tell us now: what is Sand Reckoner?"

"That is none--" Vivian begins, but Pershing shushes her.

"I want to hear it from the CEO. Not her underlings."

"You should go now," Darkbloom says, his voice grimmer than you've ever heard it. "We will file emergency briefings and take you to court over this infringement on our--"

"We can send you all to a place you will never be heard from again," Pershing says. "As of now, you are in a realm beyond constitutional rights. Tell us what Sand Reckoner is."

Whitney stands. "Sand Reckoner is mine. It belongs to me. That's what it is -- a thing that belongs to Whitney Darkbloom. Get out."

"Whitney, please," Darkbloom says, clutching her hand; there is fear quavering in his voice. You turn in place, and Rose meets your gaze with scared eyes.

Whitney won't sit. "Tell me what you guys really want so we can comply with whatever bullshit orders you've got and get you the fuck out of our hair."

"All right. I'll tell you how this is going to work," Pershing says. "You're going to turn over all of your project files to us and vacate the premises."

"Excuse me?" Whitney sputters.

Pershing motions for another of his fellows, who hands him a sheaf of stapled papers; it's a list of names. "We're installing an interim CEO in your absence, and removing any employees we think might be national security risks -- of which there are many. Several of whom sit in this room."

Reality is beginning to set in for her: "What are you... what are you telling me?"

"Put simply, Ms. Darkbloom," Pershing says. "You're fired."

He begins to read: "Vivian Darkbloom, Dalton Cantor, Rose Soliloquy, Anna Soliloquy, Alabaster Soliloquy -- Alex Best -- where is Mr. Best?"

"He's... downstairs, working," Nelson replies, sounding like he's had the wind knocked from him.

Pershing nods, then keeps going: "Oh, and of course, Qiangxiang Xi," he says.

Qiangxiang has been quieter than usual. But now, as two men in vests that read ICE on the back enter the room, and put their hands on either of her shoulders, she begins to seethe. She slaps one of their hands away with a little grunt, but the agent just puts it right back.

"Since you no longer have a job in the US," Pershing tells her, "you are here illegally. We're deporting you."

"Must you manhandle me?" She says.

"No," Pershing says, smiling. The agents force her to her feet and lead her from the room; she's cursing in Mandarin the whole way. You wonder whether you'll see her again.

Vivian sounds seasick as she says: "This cannot be legal. We will fight it."

"Fight it, then," Pershing says. "You won't win. This is a cut and dried eminent domain case. Sure, though, you can fight us in court. But you'll leave today, or die."

One of Pershing's comrades nudges Whitney. "Time to go, Ms. Darkbloom," he says.

"Let me get my--" Whitney says.

"No," Pershing says. "You leave now. No stops along the way. Any personal effects you have, you can enumerate, and we will see what we can do to get them back to you. But that will be a lengthy process. Be thankful we're not sending the lot of you to prison."

Your temples are throbbing and your mouth is dry. Gal looks like she's on the verge of crying. So many thoughts are swimming through your head, the most terrifying of which is this: what if they decide to turn off the servers, or otherwise incapacitate your link to them...?

"Over the coming weeks we may call on you, or any of the other employees we terminate today, to provide us with usernames, passwords, encryption keys, and so on, as needed. I advise you to comply with all of these requests. Becuase they aren't requests."

Hot tears are streaming down Whitney's face. She slumps in her seat, staring up at the ceiling, shaking her head. When another figure walks into the room, she snaps to, and glowers at him. "Muskfucker."

"Hello to you too, Whitney," he says. "I'll take over from here."

"I can't believe you," Rose says. "After that scene you made at the solutions forum about how damaging Sand Reckoner is, now you're taking over the project?"

"I am," he says. "No hard feelings. You should have taken that internship I offered you -- you'd still have a job." He looks up, at the portrait of Darkbloom still scralwed with "ASSHOLE (mostly)" -- frowning, he says: "That's the first thing to go."

"Sorry, kid," Armstrong whispers to you, as you and the others walk down the hall, sandwiched by officers and agents. "I weaseled a stay of execution for me and Nelson. We're staying."

"Seriously?" You say. "But--"

"It's for the best," he says. "Now I won't be able to just show up to your playboy mansion willy-nilly, but... if the situation ever calls for it... it's good to have friends on the inside. I'll see you."

Everything is falling apart. In the campus's main lobby, employees are milling around, dazed, as a good 1 in 10 or so are led forcibly from the building.

You pass Fazil, who's flanked by ICE agents as well. He manages to break free of them long enough to hug Whitney, Rose, and you, each in turn. The agents, apparently charmed by him, let him bid you goodbye.

"Ala-bast-or!" He says. "I am told my visa no longer is going to suffice. Farewell, my friend!"

"I..." you whisper back. "Farewell."

He presses a slip of paper into your palm, secretly. He kisses you on either cheek, hugs you again, and whispers: "I am jobless on my return home, so I go and stay with my little sister in Istanbul. This is her number. If ever you need my help: I am a phone call away. Farewell my friend. May we meet again."

Ken isn't as lucky. He's sitting in handcuffs and manacles on a chair near the reception desk. Whitney flips out: "What the fuck! Why are you arresting Ken?"

Pershing is airy: "He's a spy."

Your stomach does cartwheels; they only think he's a spy because you put him up to it. Revealing that truth would put you and everyone else you love in dire legal jeopardy... but not revealing it could condemn an innocent man, who only wanted to help you, to an unimaginable fate.

Ken looks up at you and Whitney with a sad expression. "Mum's the word I reckon," he says.

While you agonize internally, Whitney proves that she has more of a backbone than you ever did. "He's not a fucking spy. I told him to pass fake bullshit on to the Japs. It was me! I'm the one who did it! Not him!"

"That's another thing you're lucky not to go to prison for," Pershing says.

"Let him go!"

"Don't worry about Mr. Takagawa," Pershing says, and refuses to reveal any more about what awaits the man who prefers to go by Ken Smith.

"Whitney--!" Dr. Carte cries, pulling her into a hug. "Are you okay?" She's just coming out of the elevator with Alex and a few other employees. They're as thunderstruck and shellshocked as the rest of you.

Dr. Carte hugs Vivian next. Emotions burbling to the surface at this affection, Vivian begins to softly cry.

"They're taking everything," she says, voice trembling pitifully, like a scared little girl. "They're... taking everything from us."

Alex looks angrier than you've ever seen him. "They wouldn't let me take anything with me. Not even Sable's things... not the birthday presents I got for her, or the photos I have in my office. What's the national security issue with taking a couple of framed photos!"

"We'll get your shit back," Whitney promises. "We'll get it all back."

In the milling crowd, you spy Mom being led out too, along with Rose2, and Charlotte. "Where's Cerise?" You ask them.

"Already out of the building," comes Mom's reply. "She just texted."

As you pass through the security turnstile for probably the last time ever, with all your girls in tow, Noelle laughs bitterly. "And you guys accused the FBI of being fascists..."

"Just shut up," Rose says.

At the gates, past the fountain and a swarming retinue of even more agents, Noelle pauses and glances back at the building. "Hey. Did any of you guys see Kay coming out?"

Whitney has been sobbing into your chest, lying on the couch atop you, for a good hour or two. The mood of the rest of the people in the living room is maybe not much happier. Except Kay.

"What is your job at Darkbloom Analytics, again?" You ask her. "Help me understand."

"I don't have one," she says. "I'm not on any of the employee rolls. Just a journalist doing research who happens to have some borrowed office space there..."

"So no one knows you're there?" Dr. Carte asks.

"I mean -- they know I'm there in the sense that they've laid eyes on me and know I was physically on-site. But I don't think anyone's stopped to wonder who I am or whether I'm technically supposed to be there. I wasn't on anyone's shitlist so they never kicked me out."

"Why did we never kick you out?" Rose wonders aloud.

Kay shrugs. "Good question. Great question."

"So you'll still be going there every day?" You ask her.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she says. "My visitor badge still swipes. As long as that's true, I might as well keep on keeping on, right?"

"If they ever suspect that you're passing information back to us, they could..." Vivian says. She shakes her head, trailing off. "There could be terrible consequences for you."

"Cool," Kay replies.

"You don't have to," you say.

"Oh yes I do. There's a short list of people I trust less to manage this Sand Reckoner bullshit than you fuckers, and the US Armed Forces is at the top. Or at the bottom, as the case may be. I know the military. They're going to cock this up in epic fashion, as always. The sooner we can figure out a plan B, the better."

"Thank you," you tell her.

"Don't mention it."

You nod, petting Whitney's back to soothe her heaving ugly cries.

"No, seriously," Kay appends. "Don't mention it."

"We need to do the sensible thing, now," Rose says. "It's time to get on a plane to Palau -- have Gustav take those fucking implants out of you all before the army kills you by disabling the servers -- and maybe when he's done, we can just stay put there, forever."

"You want us to move to Palau," you say flatly.

"Yes."

Amber, from over by the dining room, cradling her head in one hand, speaks up. Her voice is equally flat: "It's not happening."

"I didn't ask your fucking opinion," Rose snaps, trying to leverage her maternal authority over Amber, but all of that was just play-acting after all. Amber is steadfast.

"How many times do we have to have this conversation?" Amber says. "We're committed. We're keeping our implants." She looks your way. "This wasn't ever about what's logical, was it. The whole reason you, and Gal, and Viv, and me -- and you --" she nods at Darkbloom, "you miserable fuck -- the reason we always drag our asses about pulling these things from our brains isn't because it makes any sense, or because it's the right play. It's because these little grains are a part of us now. I am Catachresis. Gal, you are Galatea. And Alabaster, you -- you're Camelia." She takes a sip of her soda. "We're in it until the end, no matter what. You wouldn't understand, Rose. It's the one thing about Alabaster you never will."

Rose looks your way. You only nod. She's so upset she can't even speak.

Noelle comes in through the front door. "We've got a visitor at the gates... Chloe. You might want to come talk to her."

---

You thought you'd never see her face again, but here she is: standing uncertainly in the drive, at the front gates of Whitney's mansion. You speak to her from the opposite side of the bars. The others hang back, watching on.

"How did you get away from ICE custody?" You ask.

"I planned for this contingency," she says. "Or one like it, anyway. I have forged documents that give me permission to stay here even without a job -- I am, supposedly, a foreign exchange student at North High."

"North High--" you sputter.

She smiles. "A private joke for myself I never intended you to discover. I mean nothing by it."

You glower at her. She laces her fingers around one of the wrought iron bars, then reaches her hand and arm entirely through. Her reach is just far enough for her fingertips to grasp weakly at your shirt sleeve. She tries a few times to clutch it, failing, before she finally managed to grip a small portion of the fabric. "I am in a precarious position," she says. "It is only a matter of time before US authorities discover that I am here illegally on forged documents. I have only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. They will deport me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," you tell her.

"My position at Broad Dynamics was predicated entirely on being close to Darkbloom Analytics. Since killing uncle, I -- if I do not have my position at DBA..." She relinquishes her weak grip on your shirt sleeve and lets her arm fall back to her side of the gates. She holds the bars with both hands. "They will kill me if I go back to China."

"Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?" You say.

"It is your choice... if you let me stay, I will help you against any forces arrayed against you. You are the only ally I can turn to... Ally."

>[x] Let her in.

[ ] Send her back.

"Let her in," you tell Noelle -- never breaking eye contact with Qiangxiang. Qiangxiang puts on a good poker face, but you see her lips twitch, the barest hint of relief showing through her determined aloofness.

"Oh, fuck me," Whitney says. "This day can't get any worse anyway. Invite the chicoms into our humble abode without asking permission why don't you."

"Do you have a problem with it?" You ask her.

"I have problems with everything on Earth right now," Whitney says.

Vivian takes you aside. "Are you certain about this, Alabaster?"

"Yes," you tell her. "I don't know why, but I am."

Noelle buzzes her through. The gates slide open, and she strolls up the drive.

"Sieg heil, Anne Frank," Whitney sneers at her, giving her a mock Nazi salute. "We'll keep you in our crawlspace, safe and sound."

"Mm," Qiangxiang nods.

She doesn't notice Samantha bounding up, until Samantha is upon her. She takes both of Qiangxiang's hands in hers. "A new master! What's your name!"

"...Chloe," Qiangxiang says, after a moment of stunned silence.

"Feel free to use my cunt tonight okay! It's free!"

Qiangxiang blinks. Dr. Carte leads Samantha away. "Come on, you. Let's get you in the bath."

"Oh yes, please! Use me lots!"

Qiangxiang watches the dirty pair make for the house again, as the others all follow suit. The girls pass her by as she stands motionlessly in the drive, considering her decision.

"This will be an interesting time," Qiangxiang finally murmurs, seemingly to herself, as she too starts towards the entrance of the Nail House.

Kay sets up an air mattress for Qiangxiang on the floor of the bedroom she shares with Noelle. No one else wanted to bunk with her, and she refused any of the common areas in the house, including the tea room. According to her, this is one of the few rooms of the Nail House that doesn't "stink like sperm."

Noelle is beside herself -- upset that Kay unilaterally extended an invitation.

"Listen here, you fucking communist. I'm not gonna let you be the third wheel. If you ever see a tie on the doorknob, stay out!"

"...Why?" Qiangxiang asks.

"Privacy," Kay says.

"I see. Yes, I will grant you the privacy you seek."

"Good," Noelle says. "Kay and I are gonna needs lots of it."

"In your dreams, dyke," Kay says, taking the pump's nozzle out of the inlet. The fully inflated mattress lies between the two beds.

"That thing is sort of useless, isn't it?" you say. "You and Noelle usually wind up sharing one of the beds anyway. Right? You could just give up pretending you need two beds and let Chloe take the other one."

Kay turns red. "What! I don't know what Noelle is telling you, but that's a lie."

Qiangxiang appears to be deeply reconsidering her choice of living accommodations.

You sleep that night in a love pile with Whitney and several of your other girls.

You wake up late, sometime after 4 AM. Heading into the second floor bathroom, you pour yourself a glass from the tap, and quench your thirst.

Maybe it's serendipity, or maybe it's reverse serendipity: your phone buzzes. And when you pick it up, it's Darkbloom.

"Are you alone?" He asks.

You set your cup down on the counter. You stare into the mirror, back at your own reflection, as you speak to Darkbloom.

"Yes."

"Do you know the address of the Cantor residence?"

"Yes."

"Can you come, alone?"

"Is there someone there with you?" You ask him.

"There is. I can say nothing more."

[ ] Go there alone.

>[x] Bring backup.

You half expect to find Noelle with her head between Qiangxiang's legs when you enter their bedroom, but the trio are sleeping chastely. Kay and Noelle are cuddled up together, of course, but at least they're (mostly) clothed.

You nudge the cakes awake.

"Whuh?" Noelle says groggily, stirring. Then, seeing you, she startles, and bolts to an upright sitting position. "I wasn't sleeping with her! What! Kay, what are you doing in my bed! What the heck! I didn't give you permission! This is crazy! What!"

Kay, also rising to her butt, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, sighs. "Shut up," she says.

Noelle shuts up.

Qiangxiang, lying on her back on the air mattress, peers up at you quizzically. "Prowling the house in search of women to ravish?" She asks.

"No."

She seems a bit disappointed at that.

You sit with the three girls around the dining table in the darkened house. You figured it was inevitable that Kay and Noelle would become involved if you stole Qiangxiang from the room in the dark of night, so at least this way, they won't drag any of the other girls into it.

"We have very little time," Qiangxiang says.

"Is it this Alyosha person, do you think -- or someone associated with him?" Noelle asks.

"It surely is," Qiangxiang says. "And given that David wants you to come there alone, I have to assume the worst." She thinks for a turn, then says: "You have men at your disposal, do you not?"

You do: the PMC that gave you some assistance in Vail.

"We go in guns a-blazing, there's going to be blowback," Kay says.

"I can assure you that Alyosha Kerimov does not travel alone, nor does anyone who answers to him," Qiangxiang says. "Alabaster will be walking into a trap -- without considerable force to extricate him from the mess, he may as well kill himself now."

"No," you say. All heads turn to you. "Those men are guarding the house right now. If I take them with me -- any of them I take -- are a few less people here keeping this place safe. Those Russians want Rose2, don't they? They could be diverting our manpower to get to her."

"They want any of the implants they can get their hands on, too," Qiangxiang says.

You think back to the night you lay in bed with Rose after you got back from China, and her desperate question to you: "do you think we're doomed, too?" At the time, you said no, and she said yes. Was she right?

You think also of the night you've had, just tonight -- having sex with her, and Whitney, and Vivian, and Cerise, and Dr. Carte, and Mom, and Amber, and collapsing together in a sweaty, exhausted pile. You think of all the similar nights you've had in the past. So many of them. If you died tonight, wouldn't it have been all perfect, for those moments? And wouldn't it have been worth it?

"I think I should go alone," you tell them.

"Yeah, right," Noelle says. "We're coming too."

She's already loading a pistol, and so is Kay.

"I might have a few men yet at my disposal also," Qiangxiang says.

"How's that?" You ask.

"I do not know if they would still answer to me if I called on them," she says. "It's quite possible that uncle -- erm -- my other uncle, who now heads Broad Dynamics -- has already told them I am persona non grata. But it is worth a try. Do you agree?"

"Sure," you say.

"Kay, Noelle, and myself, will follow behind," she says. "We will keep the perimeter of the Cantor residence surrounded. If things should turn violent, we will be ready to join the fray at a moment's notice."

She reaches up her dress -- and produces a dagger from a holster strapped around her calf. She examines the sharpness of its blade. "Let us commence."

---

Dalton Cantor lives, or lived, in an upscale suburban development that belies his wealth. It's a large home, with a huge backyard, but it isn't a mansion on a hill. Opulent but not decadent. In the predawn, there is no activity anywhere about -- not even the birds are stirring -- and you stroll across the lawn in deathly silence, to the porch, and up to the front door. Do you knock? That would be absurd. You're expected here, right now. You just try the knob, and sure enough, it's unlocked.

Darkbloom is tied to a chair in the foyer. He's placid. You lock eyes with him -- no anger on your end, either. You expected this, and he expected that you expected it.

"Where is--" you begin. Then, a white-hot rush of agony which actually precedes your brain's ability to process the gun's report. You wail, as the bullet shatters your kneecap in a mist of bone-flecked crimson. You fall to your back on the tile floor, still screaming. A man's form shadows you. It's him: Alyosha Kerimov.

"Hello, Alabaster," he says.

You pass out.

---

The back-and-forth of automatic gunfire lights up the night outside. It's a raging battle. Alyosha is displeased, to say the least, as he gazes out the Venetian blinds.

"He didn't come alone," Alyosha says, rather obviously.

He's not the man David Darkbloom knew a couple decades ago. For one, he didn't wear that visor around his head. He looks like Geordi LaForge in that thing -- ridiculous. For another, he has deteriorated physically to an almost decrepit state. In fact, he's a vision of death itself. Even his voice is just barely a dusty groan, no force behind the syllables he utters.

Alyosha turns as one of his men leads a struggling Karen Cantor down to the first floor.

"Is this your wife?" Alyosha asks.

"Yes," Darkbloom says. "Please let her go."

"Dalton! Oh my god, Dalton! What's going on?" She pleads.

"Don't you want to tell this woman the truth, David?"

Darkbloom stays quiet; Karen is still shrieking. "What's going on? Who is that? Who is that boy on the floor? Dalton! Dalton!"

Alyosha nods. "All right." He points his pistol now at Karen's head, and kills her. She slumps, limp, in the arms of Alyosha's man; and then the man lets her fall to the ground.

"Why?" Darkbloom demands, revulsed. "Did she deserve that? Bastard."

"She was annoying me," Alyosha says. "It makes no difference. Once you help me find the lighthouse, all of this will be as if it were nothing but a terrible nightmare."

"I don't know any more than you do, Alyosha," Darkbloom says.

"Oh, no -- you don't," Alyosha agrees. He leans in, face directly across from Darkbloom's. "But Penelope does. I thought this implant was lost a long time ago. Now fate has brought it back to me. With Alabaster's as a spare to experiment with, I should have all I need. Your daughters will be safe. I am a man of my word."

Darkbloom glances down at Alabaster's supine form. Alyosha's man is applying a tourniquet to stanch the bleeding -- seems they intend to keep both of them alive for the time being.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

There's a savage, high-pitched squeal from somewhere by the hallway. A blurred form zips past -- it's Hazel, charging at a full run towards Alyosha with a knife from the kitchen. She stabs him in the gut, and Alyosha trips backwards, croaking in pain. He falls to his butt against the wall, right beside Alabaster.

"Run!" Darkbloom screams. "Get out of here!"

But too late: Alyosha's man has her in hand, and he's subduing her and tying her down already. He rushes to his boss, then, and tests the knife in his belly. Alyosha groans something at him, through the pain, in Russian -- a command not to take the thing out of him, maybe, because the man doesn't touch the knife's handle after that.

Alyosha spits a bloody wad of phlegm. "You told me, when we took the boy -- that he and Dalton's wife were the only other people in the house tonight." (When Alyosha's man in the house hadn't been able to find Hazel, Darkbloom said she was sleeping over at a friend's house tonight; but she was hiding, and hiding well, smart enough to know that something was wrong the second these thugs stepped foot in the front door.)

The boy -- Finn Cantor -- from the living room, is screaming through the tape over his mouth.

"You lied," Alyosha says. The blood is seeping darkly through his shirt.

"Of course I lied. I don't want harm to come to the children."

Hazel looks Darkbloom in the eye. Though she's crying, her face is a mask of raw anger. "You're not my daddy, are you?"

"I'm not," Darkbloom admits. He's starting to cry too.

"I knew it. I knew something was different about you."

He looks to Alyosha. "Please spare them. They've done nothing."

"And the children you experimented on," Alyosha says, nodding at Alabaster who he sits slumped beside. "They did nothing also. Did they not? You are the ultimate hypocrite, as always, David."

His man brings Finn into the foyer with the rest of them, and cruelly, removes the tape from the boy's mouth.

"I'll kill you!" He screams. He struggles uselessly against the man's strength. "Leave my sister alone! Leave her alone!"

"Finn..." Hazel says. "Finn."

He stops raging, and looks at her where she's hogtied on the floor.

"I did steal Harper's joycons," she says softly.

"You did...?" Finn says.

"I'm sorry you got in trouble because you thought I didn't."

He shakes his head. "It's -- okay," he says. "I don't care."

Alyosha kills him.

Hazel trembles for a few seconds, distraught. But steeling herself, and maybe accepting that the same will happen to her in just a few moments, she tells Alyosha, voice as clear as crystal and vicious with hatred: "Fuck you" -- and then he kills her, too.

Darkbloom throws his head back and moans as if he himself had been shot, flexing his hands and fingers beneath the ties that bind him.

"This is because of your lies," Alyosha tells him. "Remember that." He starts coughing, spitting up blood -- he's very badly wounded.

---

You wake with a fuckass-awful kink in your neck, or maybe that's just the weight of your cow of a mother lying on top of you. You wrest yourself free of the "love pile" -- Whitney's term -- and make your way to the bathroom for a piss. As you pull your panties down and sit on the toilet, elbow on knee and chin on palm, something feels wrong. Daddy wasn't in bed, was he? Well, he's probably in another bedroom fucking some other broad -- or some other boy, maybe -- Alex was abusing Sammy in his bed tonight, wasn't he? Maybe Daddy was feeling a little cucked by that and decided to horn in on the action.

Something tells you that isn't the case. You feel ill. Or maybe that's just morning sickness.

No... no, there's definitely a disturbance in the Force tonight.

"OW! Fuck!" You hiss, jerking your arm away from your knee. All of a sudden you've got a shooting pain in it. "Jesus," you mutter. You rub it to soothe the pain. All this time spent getting laid by MILFs and Christmas Cakes lately, has a side effect: their old ladiness is rubbing off on you.

No... that's not it.

You feel like you're ignoring the truth you don't want to face.

You peel back your eyepatch and take a look-see.

---

This happens in the span of about 20 seconds:

Some of Alyosha's jackbooted men, unable to hold back Chloe's little squadron of goons, storm into the Cantor residence, ready to take up siege tactics.

Kay shoots through one of the kitchen windows, and leaps into the house. Noelle is already providing her cover fire as she follows her in. The double-fronted assault, Kay and Noelle from the rear, Chloe's men from the front, forces Alyosha's men to grab him, and Daddy, and Darkbloom, and haul them upstairs towards the second floor.

But you and Chloe are lying in wait on the staircase. You fire and she stabs, remorselessly, together. You kill a few men, and she a few more. With nothing left but to drop their hostages and flee, they do. Alyosha, encircled by a half dozen of his remaining people, make it out, but on their own -- Daddy and Darkbloom are still with you.

Alyosha was already bleeding like a stuck pig, and despite your lack of depth perception, you manage to nail him in the groin, and again in the chest. It'll be a miracle if he lives through the night, but somehow you figure he will.

"Oh my god..." Noelle breathes as she steps into the foyer and sees the hideous things there.

You kneel over Daddy and try to wake him. But he's out cold. Still has a pulse, thank gosh. He's gonna have a bum knee for the rest of his life.

Darkbloom lies on his side, still tied to the chair, at the bottom of the stairs. Kay cuts him free from his binding, and he thanks her weakly.

Chloe enters the foyer now too. It's hard to tell what she's thinking as she looks from corpse to corpse -- she stares for a very long time at the children. But then, nice girl she is, she says exactly what's on her mind:

"The people responsible for this must die. Slowly."

You stand up, as Darkbloom does too.

"This is because of you," you tell him. "I should have killed you in Vail, too. These kids died because of you."

"Because of me," Darkbloom repeats with no affect to his voice. Then, roaring: "Because of me! Because of me?!" He charges you, and pins you against the wall, lips flecked with spittle, neck straining. Kay and Noelle both draw their guns on him. "Let her go!" They're both shouting over and over. But he doesn't.

"Because of me?!" He screams. "No! Because of you! This is all because of choices you made! A sequence of events you created! You did this! I tried to give you everything! I tried to give you the entire world, Amber! But no. You couldn't be happy with that. You spat on it. You rejected it. Because of your pride, and your stubbornness, and your ridiculous ideas! You ignorant child! We live in a ruined reality because of you. You should have killed me? I had every opportunity, for as long as you were alive, plotting against my life, to end you. And I didn't. I let you live. Foolishly I let you live, and this, now, is the price I pay for it!"

"What price did you pay?" You ask him. "It was us who paid. And now them -- Finn and Hazel Cantor. You didn't pay anything. The children did."

He stumbles back, off of you, and falls to his knees, weeping.

"There is no way, after all this violence, that Dalton Cantor can be seen again," Chloe says. "He would be taken into custody the second he showed his face, wanted for questioning in the awful things that happened here."

"I know," Darkbloom says. He stands tall and dries his tears.

Daddy is coming to. His voice is weak and pained: "We have to get you guys out of here... Palau... Rose is right..."

"There is nowhere," Darkbloom says, "on the face of the Earth, where you will be safe. Until Alyosha Kerimov and any of his acolytes are dead, we will be hunted... more than that... until we destroy any trace of Sand Reckoner, we won't be safe."

"Oh, now you want to destroy it," you say.

"Yes."

"Cat's out of the bag, Dave," you say. "Even if we destroy it, someone else will just make it again."

He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Alyosha mentioned taking us -- Alabaster and I -- to Kamchatka."

"Don't talk to me about Kamchatka," Kay says. "I'm still upset over Renee invading me there."

"...What?"

"Levity. Never mind. I'm not in the mood either."

Chloe is talking to one of her men in Chinese. Only a few of them survived the gunfight, and now they're dousing the foyer with gasoline.

"Do you know anything else?" Noelle asks.

"I can help Anna stay inside Darkbloom Analytics systems. There are some backdoors that they won't ever find. At least that way, we can keep tabs on them. I'll help you find Alyosha, too."

"You're bargaining for your life right now," you say.

"No. Just putting it on the table."

"Let him live," Daddy groans. "We need him."

"We don't need the body, though," you say.

"You're right," Darkbloom says. "I suppose Dalton Cantor ought to burn here too. Should we let him say goodbye to his loved ones?"

"Too painful," you say. "Ignorance is bliss."

"You're right. Amber, would you like to do the honors?"

"Don't make a little girl kill you," Noelle says, lips curling in disgust. She hands him her gun. "Do it your fucking self."

He takes the gun and shoots himself in the head.

Or more accurately, you guess, shoots Dalton in the head. Kay digs the implant out and takes it along with you, back home. Black smoke from the burning Cantor residence is visible in the lightening sky for hours after.

END OF EPISODE 10.