Season 4 Episode 11: Cool Devices

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, NEET and cripple.

July 21, 1969

Dave and his friend Billy are out exploring the woods. They're playing moonman: Dave is the brave astronaut sent to explore the ruins of a lost city on the dark side of the moon, and Billy is the alien king who wants to kill him. Even out here in Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee, the first lunar landing has electrified everyone, old and young. It's all anyone's talking about.

But the game is winding down now as the sun dips lower in the sky. Both are due back for supper, and neither wants to get their hide tanned. They trudge back through the bramble together, tromping over stumps and stumping over roots. Through the branches overhead, the moon is already visible in the bright sky. Dave pauses to gaze up at it, and Billy stops a few paces on.

"I wanna go there too," Dave says. "For real."

Billy laughs. "Quit playin. We ain't gonna get there for real."

"Why?"

"'Cause it ain't for us, that's why," is Billy's answer: resigned already at the age of seven to a life as his father and his father's father and his father's father's father lived.

"Ya ever hear the word podunk?" Dave asks, when finally he tears his eyes off the moon.

"Yeah. How come?"

"Apparently we're podunk. But that don't mean we gotta be podunk forever, right?"

Billy giggles. "Apparently. Hahaha." He pantomimes holding a teacup, pinky out. "Apparently we're podunk. Apparently. Apparently."

Dave blushes hard.

"Get over yerself, Davey. We gotta be home soon."

"I'll be catchin up," Dave says. He sits at the base of a nearby tree, sullen, and embarrassed. Idly his hands fiddle with a flower in the soil between his legs.

But Billy is like a shark smelling chummed waters, and approaches. "Hey, Mr. Flowerboy. Whatcha got there?" He knows that Dave likes to collect bugs and flowers, and identify them -- one of many brainy activities that make him stick out like a sore thumb.

Dave shrugs.

"Hahaha," Billy laughs. "Gonna put that one in yer diary too?"

"It's not a diary," Dave snaps. "It's a journal -- for specimens."

"Specimens," Billy snorts. "Apparently you got yerself a new specimen."

Dave plucks the flower. Then he's on his feet. "I do! And it's a rare one, too. I got smarts, Billy. I ain't ashamed of it. That's how I'm gonna get outta bein podunk. 10 or 20 years from now I'll be on the moon while you're down in a mine, and we'll see who laughs then!"

Billy grimaces. "You a little fancy boy, Davey? Everyone says yer a pissant. This is why. You think you're better'n us? You ain't! Just 'cause you can read a dicti'nary! Well so what!"

Dave shoves him in anger. Billy raises a hand to punch back. Dave intercepts the fist, but Billy kicks him in the shin instead. They get into a tussle, a real tussle, not the play tussling of the moonman game. And as they roll around on the ground, Dave passes through a wildberry bush, scratching his skin all over on the thorns and bristles. Then directly on the other side, he goes tumbling over a sheer drop, some 6 or 7 feet. He hits the earth again at a galloping roll, and careens head over ankle down a steep slope, into a little vale.

"Davey!" Billy hollers from the rim of the vale. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Dave calls back, trying to fight his way standing again. He's bruised all over, dirty and concussed. His hide's getting tanned for sure tonight.

A terrible stench fills his nostrils. As he stands, he surveys where he's found himself.

Last winter was unusually long and frigid. Early in May, despite the spring finally having bloomed, there was cold snap that iced things over for a few days. A whole herd of does and fawns hunkered in this vale to huddle and preserve warmth -- but the steep slopes covered with hoarfrost, and insulated from thawing by natural shading, prevented the deer from being able to get back out again, and they died. So what Dave finds in the bowl of the vale is the grisly sight of hundreds of half-putrified, flyblown deer carcasses lying in the tall grass. It's a hideous mass grave. The air is thick with buzzing insects and the whole ground undulates with their young. Millions upon billions of maggots, as far as the eye can see, feasting on rotted deer viscera, and Dave is ankle deep in them. Having fallen among them, he glances down at himself in horror to find that they're writhing around on him, too. He swipes at his shirt and pants, to fling them off, doing a panicked little dance. He feels, with growing nausea, the sensation of the larvae getting lodged inside his shoes and smashed by his feet and toes. He screams, high and shrill, scrambles to climb back out of the vale. Billy, laughing at his friend's predicament, helps him up and out. Calls him a girl for being grossed out by a couple of the bugs he so loves to collect. Helps him swipe the things off his body and shake them loose from his boots.

Dave realizes then that only he can get himself to where he wants to go -- which is far, far away from here. And far from the specter of death, too, like the death which befell those countless innocent does and their issue.

In all the tumult and panic of the moment, Dave dropped the flower specimen he had collected, among the dead deer. It was a Camellia, a brilliant amber-colored one. A cultivar found, in the wild, only in southeast Asia. How it ended up in Appalachia is anyone's guess, and Dave never finds another like it in the woods ever again.

---

"3, 2 -- okay we're rolling. Thanks for being here."

Cerise sits across from a certain notable podcast host in his cozy little recording studio. She leans into the felt-covered mic.

"Thanks. I'm glad to be here."

"I guess I can't call you congresswoman yet. What's the right word? Congresswoman-elect?"

"That's fine. I think that's fine."

"Congresswoman-elect Cerise Soliloquy."

"Sure."

"Do you find that things have changed now that you're in politics? Like do you get people stopping you on the street, 'why haven't you fixed things yet!' -- like that?"

"No--" Cerise says. "Not really, no. Not yet, anyway. When they swear me in next week I guess that might be different."

"Right. Voters are really demanding. You have to watch out." He grins in his open-mouthed way. "I wanna switch this up for a second. We can come back to the issues. I'm sure you want to talk about the issues too."

"Not really."

"Well I just want to ask a few things I never see you get asked by mainstream outlets. Okay, this stuff is super interesting."

"Oh, sure."

"Traps."

"Love 'em."

The host laughs. "Next question!"

Cerise is laughing, too. "But really."

"Yeah, really, though. You have to, like, enlighten me here. This is a debate that's been raging on the internet since... about as long as I've been aware of it." He turns in his seat. "Do you know what we're talking about, Jamie? ... He won't say. He doesn't want to admit he knows." He glances back to Cerise. "I'm gonna get, like, hate mail for this because it's a slur now. Even though -- even though I see people who self-ID that way."

"Oh, yeah. Some people hate it. I've gotten a lot of people responding to me the same way."

"Not woke enough."

"Not nearly."

The host scratches his nose. "But we're not talking about the real life equivalent. These are fictional people here. Japanese animes of boys who dress like girls. Traps. You know, like, cartoon crossdressing."

"Yeah, basically," Cerise agrees. "You've got the idea. Been doing a lot of research?"

"Only, and here's the part that's so unfair. It's so unfair. It's not like crossdressing in real life. In real life, nine times out of ten, you can tell. You can be like -- okay, yeah, that's a dude. In an anime though, that's impossible to see. Okay? What these anime artists do is they're just drawing a woman and then putting a weenie on at the end --" Cerise snorts at that. "I don't mean to be so direct. But that's what it is, right?"

"A lot of the time," Cerise says. "But there's a whole gradient -- you know, of how feminine they are --"

"Sure, sure." He bobs his head up and down. "Oh man. I'm gonna get so much hate mail."

"Your Twitter's blowing up already, I'm sure."

"But now the debate is -- is it gay? To be into a drawing of a girl that happens to have a weenie. That's the question on everyone's mind. This is true. This is older than anything else on the internet. Are traps gay?"

"100% gay," Cerise says. Then diplomatically adds: "In my opinion."

"I agree," the host says. "This isn't even a transsexual thing, right."

"Right."

"This isn't even a person born biologically as a man who wants to identify as a chick or anything like that. This is just a guy who gets sexual kicks from dressing like one. So if you're into that, if you're like, sexually attracted to that, that makes you gay. Has to. It has to."

"But that depends, doesn't it?" Cerise says.

The host points at her, becoming animated. "Right! So here's the thing. This debate goes back and forth all the damn time, but always it's guys having the debate. It's dudes online arguing about hentai like, I'm not gay. You're gay. You like boys in dresses, huh huh huh."

"It's gay, though," Cerise says. "That's what makes it cute. In my opinion."

"For a guy," the host says. "But now, you're a chick. So I'm gonna put it to you: is it gay, for a chick to be into traps?"

Cerise smiles. "Probably not. But maybe. But -- maybe not. It's complicated."

"It's super complicated." He pauses, wrists together, swiveling a little this way and that in the chair. "I guess... are you into the boyness of the trap, or the girlness of the trap?"

"Why not both?" Cerise asks. "What makes it sexy -- to me -- is you've got this almost but not quite masculine body -- androgynous, really -- dressing up in sexy clothes that almost but not quite can convince you he's a girl. But you treat him like a girl. With a little surprise in there."

The host leans way into his mic and whispers softly: "I'm very uncomfortable with this conversation."

"You started it."

He leans back and picks up the volume again. "But now you're a congressional candidate -- actually scratch that, an elected representative. Congrats."

"Thank you."

"And you're tweeting out these incredibly racy, basically hentai drawings of boys in dresses, like, all the time. Do you ever worry about how that makes you look? Like people are gonna be, oh, here's that sex freak Cerise Soliloquy, I don't want her representing me in Washington."

"I don't think people care," Cerise says. "Not in my district anyway. Maybe in eastern Tennessee or something. But not here. Everyone has their things that they're into -- what matters is if I can do a good job representing them on important political issues. I won, didn't I? No one voted for me thinking I'm a Catholic nun."

"You've tweeted out a few drawings of guys crossdressing as nuns, I'm pretty sure."

"Even so," Cerise laughs.

---

"Worry. Worry. Achoo."

"This is fucked up. This is too fucked up. I need therapy after this."

Cerise uses a handheld device with pushbuttons on it to control the surgically modified furby, whose skin lies peeled-off in front of it on the table, revealing the hard black plastic casing beneath, with only the thing's beak and eyes and eyelashes still attached. The camera focuses in on it. It's a demonstration the host asked for, but now he clearly regrets it.

"I -- am -- in -- pain. Achoo."

"Oh my god," the host says. "Put this thing of its misery. What the fuck."

Cerise turns it off.

"I want this banned," the host says. "I'm gonna need you to pass a law that says no one can do this, ever again."

"I'll think about it," Cerise says.

---

"I'm gonna ask the big question now."

"Okay," Cerise says.

"Are you Galatea?"

"No."

"People say it a lot. A lot of conspiracies going around about that."

"People say a lot of dumb shit. People say the Earth is flat. People say the moon landing was faked. I'm not Galatea."

"Do you know Galatea?"

"No--"

"Is she your wife?"

"You've been reading *Chan way too much. People who never even met me think they've got my whole life story figured out. It's bullshit."

"*Chan -- you know, I avoid *Chan like the plague, because it's such a fucked-up space -- but I did do some research there for this episode. You've got quite the following."

She shakes her head. "It's so gross. I don't know why they're so fixated on me. But I wish they'd stop."

"They're -- for those of you who don't know -- it's this web forum for, like, incels with a foot fetish. Mostly foot fetishes. And they decided that Cerise is some sort of goddess, basically... it's kinda like E-stalking, right?"

"They talk about me 24/7. /csg/. They've got pictures of me that I didn't even know existed, videos -- they write fanfic and argue about who loves me the most. Yeah, it's stalking. Stalking mixed with a cult and some sexual fetishes thrown in."

"Super weird and fucked-up."

"I've just been waiting for one of them to crawl through my window or something and stab me in my sleep. It's gonna happen."

"Right? But I've got a theory. Of how to get them off your case."

"Okay."

"If you show them your feet -- just once, like hi-def, 1080p, real close up--"

"Oh my GOD."

"No, no. Hear me out. 80% of these losers are fantasizing about your feet. It's like how if you're afraid of heights, the best thing is to expose yourself to it and, like -- desensitize yourself. Right? You have to desensitize them to your feet." He pantomimes jacking off: "Let them skeet over a high quality close-up of your feet. Then once they skeet, they'll have that post-nut clarity, you know? Like -- oh man. I'm wasting my life on this website."

"I don't buy it. It'll just encourage them more."

"How can they be more encouraged than a 24/7 chat dedicated to masturbating over you? They're at essentially max encouragement right now, I'd argue. The last post I saw there was 2,304 words -- we counted them -- 2,304 words about using a feather to tickle your naked body. It does not get more encouraged than that."

Cerise sighs. He's got a point, unbelievably enough.

A few moments later, she's slipping out of her flats, and propping her pantyhose-clad feet up on the table.

"Let's get a zoom on that," the host says. "Aw yeah. There's the money shot, right there. Wiggle your toes -- oh hell yeah."

"This is so gross," Cerise complains from off-frame. She turns her feet this way and that, and wiggles her toes as instructed. The camera shows everything in all its glory.

"Okay. That should do it." Back to the host's ugly mug: "You just killed a few hundred people with orgasm poisoning. I hope you realize that."

"Good."

He laughs. "So if nothing else -- it'll keep them busy. Right?" He rubs his nose. "Do you have a favorite poster there?"

"No. God, no."

"I don't mean one you actually like -- let's be clear here. I mean how you might have a favorite freak at the freakshow. One of the chimps whose shit-throwing amuses you maybe a little more than the others."

Cerise thinks, silent for a turn. "Well there's the guy who wants me turn him into a couch."

"Couch guy!"

"Couch anon. I think he's got schizophrenia or something."

"We saw him in those threads too. Always with these long, crazy-involved screeds. Jamie, pull that up. Here we go." The host reads aloud: "A permanent human meatcouch, magically transformed meat-furniture for Cerise's personal use... She rubs her sweaty, bare butt on your magic transformed, leather couch-body... yeah, this has schizoid written all over it."

"If it weren't about me, I'd laugh at it. It's so weird that it loops back around into being kinda funny. But since it's about me, it makes me... ugh." She purrs in disgust. "The worst part is that there isn't really anything we can do to desensitize someone to that. I can show people my feet but I can't turn them into couches."

"I dunno. Do you have a magic wand? I'd totally let you transform me into a couch if it'll get this guy to stop posting. I'll take one for the team."

"The only person I've ever used as a couch is my little brother," Cerise says.

The host is briefly silent, taken back, open-mouthed.

"Oh, come on. You know what I mean."

"I'm... not sure I do, Cerise."

"Let's just move on."

"Might be for the best."

---

"I wanna get your wife in here. She's outside, right?"

"Don't ask her the Galatea thing."

"No."

"No. She's a really shy person."

"Sure. I wanna ask her something much more important than that."

"What?"

"Vaping."

"Oh my god."

"She's heavy into vaping - so I've heard. I want her to teach me her ways."

---

Soon the little recording studio is swimming a cloud of sweet-smelling vapor.

"You can put CBD oil in these, right?" The host asks. He puts the pen to his lips and inhales.

"yes"

"Do you ever do that?"

Gal is mum.

"It's legal in this state, you can answer."

"sometimes"

"Can I be honest here?" He asks.

"ok"

"I don't see the appeal. I'm trying. But I have to side with Cerise on this one."

"Thank you," Cerise says.

"Now if you get some CBD in here, some nootropics, psychadelics -- is there such a thing as vaping mushrooms?"

"i've never heard of that" Gal says.

"You should get on that. Pioneer that shit. You'll graduate from billionaire to trillionaire."

"we'll think about it"

"If you're gonna smoke," Cerise says, "it shouldn't taste like candy. It's absurd." She waves her hand back and forth to dissipate the vapor cloud.

"But it's better for you," the host says.

"Is it, though?" Cerise asks.

"studies have shown--" Gal begins.

"Now you've got her going," the host says.

"--studies have shown that it's much less impactful on health than just about any other form of smoking"

"What studies?" Cerise demands. "You always say -- studies show. Studies show. What fucking studies."

"Trouble in paradise," the host whispers into his mic.

Gal takes rips on her vape and blows the cloud at Cerise. Cerise coughs angrily.

"Okay, I don't do this super often on the show, but I thought this was topical." The host is pulling out a few bottles of beer and setting them on the table. "You're a beer connoisseur, right, Cerise?"

"Oh hell yeah."

"This is -- can we get a close up?" He holds the beer so the label shows. "Sand Reckoner IPA. This is from 421st Street Brewery here in LA." The label shows a stylized pyramid with an illuminati-style eye in the pinnacle cap, only the eye glows cybernetically red, like HAL 9000 or a Terminator.

"I hate IPAs," Cerise says.

"Oh shit. Really?"

"I like maltier beers."

"I didn't know that. Supposedly this is really good shit, though. You down to drink one?"

Cerise shrugs. "Beer is beer."

He cracks the bottles open, hands Cerise one, and Gal too. They toast, and drink.

"I like it," the host says.

"It's shit," Cerise says. "Bitter and nasty. Definitely an IPA." Despite that, she takes another deep swig. "I hate it."

"Anna?"

"i'm not into beer." Cerise gently takes the bottle from her, and starts drinking from it as well, while Gal resumes vaping.

"It's really floral," the host says, making a face. "Like it's got flowers mixed in it."

"It's kind of overpowering," Cerise says.

"I'm trying to decide yet if I like it," he says.

"You just said you did."

"I'm deciding, though."

---

Tipsy, somewhat high, and getting loose-lipped, Cerise and Gal enter the second hour of the podcast.

"Whitney Darkbloom," the host says. "Is she as dumb as they say?"

"she's so dumb," Gal replies. "but not. smart dumb. the smartest dummy."

"You know, the weird thing is, I get that," the host says.

"yes"

"I've known a lot of smart dudes who are idiots, and a lot of idiots who are the smartest people you'd ever want to know."

"right"

"We love her," Cerise says. "Smart isn't just what you score on an IQ test. And I wouldn't let her design a rocket ship, but she's got her own set of skills."

"How is she handling retirement?" The host asks.

Cerise and Gal share an uncertain look.

"She didn't want to go," Cerise says.

"But she sold the company. To El--"

"No," Cerise says. "That was forced."

"Wow. Elaborate for me here. What do you mean, forced. How was it forced?"

"cerise..." Gal murmurs.

"The US Army came into Darkbloom Analytics a few weeks ago and told us that they were taking things over. That if we didn't let them do it, they'd kill us. It was forced."

The host's mind is getting blown to kingdom come right now. He can hardly find words; he's fidgeting in his chair. "The US Army."

"Yeah."

"Threatened to kill you?"

"Are we live?" Cerise asks.

"Yeah, man. Live to the world right now."

"Good. Good. Yes, they broke into our company and took it over. They want Sand Reckoner all to themselves. And the guy they put at the top -- I won't even say his name, but he's a friend of yours -- he's just their pawn."

"If this is true..." The host says. "This is maybe the biggest scandal in the world right now."

"It is."

"What does the army want with Sand Reckoner? Do you know?"

"I mean, you fuckers talk enough about it on your show." She takes swig of the SR IPA again. "It's mind control voodoo shit -- in your words. It is. That's how they want to use it, anyway. Look, I know you guys didn't exactly like Darkbloom Analytics, back when Whitney owned it -- but you're going to like it a whole hell of a lot less now that the US government has shadow control over it. Whatever the military wants with it is definitely not wholesome. All Whitney wanted to do was run milkshake restaurants and have sex with my little brother. You're gonna miss having someone that simple in control of this tech. Believe me."

"Do you feel like you're in danger?" The host asks. "Telling us this."

"Yes."

"I'll go ahead and say you probably are," he agrees. "This is heavy shit."

---

You watch Jeopardy with Vivian and Dr. Carte in the hospital room.

"Love didn't keep this famous husband-wife recording duo together -- they split in 2014."

"Who is Captain and Tennille," Vivian says offhandedly. Half a second later, a contestant buzzes in with the same answer.

"Shouldn't it be 'who are Captain and Tennille'?" You say.

"No. Captain and Tennille is the name of the band. The band, taken as an entity, is a singular, and conjugates with the verb 'is,' not 'are'. You wouldn't say, 'who are The Beatles', or 'who are The Who' for example."

"Sure you would," you say.

"Specious. Utterly ridiculous--"

"That's how I'd say it," Dr. Carte tells her.

"Do not take his side just because he is injured. That is patronizing. If he is wrong, as he clearly is here, tell him so without reservation."

"He's not wrong, though."

"Ms. Carte has a soft heart," Vivian tells you. She scoops up a spoonful of applesauce, which you reluctantly let her feed you, as she adds: "She cannot bear to tell you harsh truths at the current moment."

"There's only one person here who doesn't want to hear the truth," you say. You push her hand away when she tries to give you another spoonful. "I didn't shatter my jaw. You know that, right? I can eat solid food."

"Open up," she says, and tries again to push the spoon past your lips.

You push it back. "Vivian. I am not eating any more goddamn applesauce. Not another bite. Okay? You've fed me applesauce every single day for three weeks. Every time you're here: applesauce. I don't need applesauce. Go down to the cafeteria and get me a bag of Cheez-its or something."

"Say aaaa."

"God fucking damn-- oof--" She wiggles the spoon past your lips and forces another dollop of cinnamon-tinged applesauce onto your tongue. You glumly swallow.

"When can I go home?" You ask Dr. Carte.

"Soon. I'm going to assist with the operation to replace your patella. You'll be part robot!"

She's way too excited at that prospect.

"Will I... walk again?" You ask.

"Yes," she says. "You won't have full mobility -- you'll never be a runner, or a soccer player -- but you'll have maybe 80-90% of your old range of motion."

"I guess it's better than nothing," you say. "Still, it really--"

Noelle's entrance interrupts you. She stands at the door of your hospital room. "Your sister is an idiot."

"Shut up," you say. Then: "Which one?"

Noelle walks to your bedside and picks up the remote. She flicks over to FNCNN:

"...erupted suddenly after congresswoman-elect Soliloquy's appearance on the show earlier today. The newly elected representative, who has close ties to former Darkbloom Analytics CEO Whitney Darkbloom, accused the US military of ousting Ms. Darkbloom and taking the company over by force -- a story that stands in stark contrast to public claims of a peaceful buyout by private entities. Now, demonstrators have flooded the gates at Darkbloom Analytics, and are demanding to know what if any role the government is playing in the powerful technology known as Sand Reckoner..."

The screen shows throngs of protestors marching, holding signs, and crowding the sealed-off gates of the campus.

"Oh Jesus," Dr. Carte says.

You feel a knot in the pit of your stomach. "Get me back home soon," you say.

Rose, in the chair beside you, snorts, and bolts upright. "I'm awake!" She slurs. She rubs her mouth with the back of her palm. "What was that?"

She basically hasn't left that chair in three weeks, and it's starting to drive her a bit batty. Her and you both. But you can hardly complain -- she was able to give you a blood transfusion that kept you stable in the immediate aftermath of your gunshot wound. How she knew not only her own blood type, but yours too -- is a question you won't probe too much.

"I think we are making final preparations for Alabaster's surgery," Vivian tells her. "Perhaps we should excuse ourselves, and take an evening stroll around the hospital grounds, to freshen up, and allow Alabaster some privacy."

"No thanks," Rose says.

Vivian, with almost inhuman strength, forces Rose up and out of the chair and drags her from the room with her. Struggling in vain against the pint-sized loli, Rose looks back over her shoulder and calls: "Don't go under without letting me see you again!"

"Yeah," you say.

"I'll kill you if you do!"

She goes.

"When does Cerise go to Washington?" You ask.

"Next week," Noelle says.

"We have to keep her here -- where she's safe."

"She has to get sworn in," Dr. Carte says. "No avoiding that."

"Fuck congress," you say. "She can resign. She painted a target on her back just now. If she goes to DC, she'll get merked."

"Alabaster might be right," Noelle says. She looks at Dr. Carte. "Are you doing the surgery tonight, then?"

"We can push it up, yeah. It'll be for the best if everyone's back at home as soon as possible."

"Good," Noelle says. "I'm sick of standing guard out there and listening to him bicker all day with his cousin."

"Do I need to say it?" You ask.

"No."

>Who do you want to visit you first when you wake up from surgery? Pick between 1 and 3.

>Whitney, Mom, Cerise

"Count backwards from 100 for me," Dr. Carte says, affixing the rubber mask to your face.

"One hundred... ninety-nine... ninety... eight..."

She wheels the gurney towards the OR. Several of your girls follow along with it, but it's Rose who's gripping the siderail up near your head, who leans over you, and who gets your attention as you drift into oblivion: "I love you, Alabaster."

You shake your head dazedly from side to side.

"Ninety... ninety... I... I lo..."

The warm embrace of a drug-induced sleep grips you.

You come back to consciousness with a terrible, throbbing, radiating pain in your knee -- but what else is new? "Errgh..." you groan, reaching under the covers, and touching the incision site. It's still tender, and swollen, and you can feel the sutures in the flesh.

"Shh -- shh," comes a voice off to your side. It's your mother, striding over. She wipes your forehead with a cool, damp cloth. The moonlight makes her look even paler than normal. "How do you feel, baby?"

"It hurts," you rasp.

"Ally! You're awake. Mom said you wouldn't be up until morning." Whitney's at the foot of the bed, grinning broadly. She puts her hands on her hips. "Shows what she knows. She doesn't know that you're only the strongest boyfriend in the universe!"

"It went okay, then?" You ask.

"You're alive, aren't you?" Whitney asks. "Of fucking course it went okay. Don't you think Mom knows what she's doing?"

Mom is stroking your face. "I wasn't worried," she says, an obvious lie. "But I am glad you're up. D-don't get shot next time, y-y-you idiot!"

You glance to your left. Curled up in the chair beside you are Rose and Cerise; they slept like a couple of wombats huddling up together. Cerise stirs, and wriggles free of Rose, stretching and yawning. "Alabaster," she says. "Still alive. Color me shocked."

"I could say the same thing," you reply. "What were you thinking?"

She rubs her elbow and averts her gaze. "So you already heard."

"Trust me, she got her spanking already!" Mom says.

This remark gives you pause, but Cerise pushes forward: "It was the heat of the moment. I just... blurted it out. The world had to know."

"You did the right thing," Whitney says. "Even if consequences aren't ever gonna be the same."

"You gotta call off the swearing-in," you tell Cerise.

"Why?"

"It's not safe for you anymore."

"When was it ever?" She asks.

"You don't actually want to be in congress, do you?" You say. "It was just Whitney's dumbass idea."

"Hey!"

Cerise shrugs. "I kinda got used to the idea. Maybe I could do some good."

"Let's talk about it when we're home," Mom says. "Right now we need to focus on keeping your strength up."

"Uh huh..." Whitney says. She crawls into your hospital bed with you, startling you. On hands and knees she trots forward, like a kitten, smiling. "We'll keep your strength up, all right." There's that all too familiar lilt in her voice that sets in whenever she's ready to ditch her spats.

"Whitney..." you stammer. "I'm -- on so many different schedule II narcotics right now -- I'm basically as high as a kite."

"So?" She says. "Doped-up sex is probably super fun."

"Whitney!" Mom sputters.

"That's rape, you know," Cerise says wryly. "Technically speaking."

"So hot," Whitney says. "And you only get this one chance at it, right, Ally?" She starts to rub you through the covers. "C'mon. You've been out of commission for three weeks. Vivian's jizzing strap-on can't keep me satisfied forever..."

You gulp.

Whitney brushes the hair from your forehead, leans in, and kisses you softly. "Don't be such a wuss," she whispers. "I'll do all the work. You just have to lie there and enjoy it, that's all. I need your dick inside me... I need it really, really bad."

"In front of my Mom?" You whisper back.

Whitney smirks. "She can watch."

You glance over at Mom, where she stands still holding the cloth that she wiped your face with. She fiddles with it with both her hands, chewing her lower lip.

Whitney slowly nods.

"Mom?" You ask.

"Y-yes," she stammers. "I'll go... don't mind me... have fun with Whitney, honey."

"Wait," Cerise says. Mom stops at the threshold, turns. Cerise, frowning down at you as Whitney sucks your neck, says: "I know my little brother. He wants us to put on a show for him, too. Little pervert freak."

"Heeeeeh~" Whitney laughs between nips.

"What?" You demand. "I didn't ask for any such thing."

"I can see it written all over your face," Cerise says.

Mom's wan expression turns slowly sly. "You're right. He can't be satisfied with just his girlfriend's body." She tilts her chin at you. "Can you?"

Whitney is already pulling the covers off your body. The recirculated air of the hospital room is cold against your sticky skin.

Mom joins Cerise's side at the foot of the bed. "Do you want to see how your sister and I have been occupying ourselves?" Mom asks.

"He does," Cerise answers on your behalf.

Mom's hand snakes behind Cerise's back and starts to lewdly grope her ass.

Cerise sighs. "You're getting way too comfortable with that, you know?"

"Am I?" Mom asks.

"Well yeah. Molesting your own daughter and everything..."

Even as she says that, she turns her head and meets Mom's lips with hers. Mother and daughter start to make out while feeling each other up through their pants. It might be a show for your benefit -- but they're doing it for themselves, too. For their own debauched enjoyment. They're perverts just like you.

Your cock starts to stiffen. It pokes up from under your hospital gown. Whitney, feeling it against her tummy, lets out a hot exhalation into your ear. "There he is," she coos. "What are you gonna do with that big hard thing? Huh?"

"I want your ass," you tell her.

"Ooooh," she says. "That's gonna hurt, with it as big as it is. You want to dump your first load inside my asshole, Ally?"

"Yeah."

"Even if it hurts me?"

"I don't care."

Whitney shivers. She kicks her spats off, revealing her toned, tan butt. She slaps it, causing the supple skin to jiggle. You reach around her and feel her up -- her muscled backside is so fun to squeeze and play with. You could probably get off just like that, groping her the same way Mom and Cerise are groping each other, while you rub your horny cock against her navel. You're on a hair trigger anyway. But Whitney doesn't want the fun to end with a milky load exploding across her tummy -- she wants all that jizz inside her body, where it rightfully belongs.

"You're even bigger than usual tonight," she says happily.

"It's been so long," you say.

"Or maybe it's from seeing your sister and your mother getting freaky?"

You can't deny that part of it, either. Mom and Cerise are stripping each other's tops off. Then, bare-chested, they embrace -- tits mashing against each other -- and start to really French. Their slimy tongues entwine and squirm around, and their saliva drools freely in long strands down over their fat jugs. If there's an opposite of a wholesome kiss, this is it; it's like each woman is treating the other's mouth as a cunt that they're licking out. While they make out and breathe hard against each other, their wandering hands drift past the waistbands of each other's pants. Cerise plays with Mom's pussy inside her jeans; Mom plays with Cerise's pussy inside her shorts. You can see the contours of their knuckles through the tight fabric. And, too, you can hear the sound of them fingering each other from across the room, they're so wet.

"You wanna get me ready to fuck my ass?" Whitney asks. She doesn't wait for your answer before doing a 180, squatting over your face, and pulling her ass cheeks wide apart. "Say aaaaa," she commands lewdly. She rests the pucker of her anus against your lips and sighs in ecstasy when you immediately begin to rim her.

"That's it, Ally... you're so good at that..."

She rides your face for a little while, your hands gripping her athletic calves. But the pleasure is too much, and swooning, she falls forward. It's all for the best anyway because lying across you, she can 69 with you. She pulls your erect penis up and starts to rub it all over her face, smearing her skin with your stink. Your already wet dick get even wetter with her spit. Maybe Whitney's fellatio is the best in the world -- it feels that way at the moment, anyway. Paired with the tart flavor of her anus, and the sweet honey scent of her lewdly dripping pussy, the sensation of your cock slipping into Whitney's well-trained throat is heaven. She can service you without gagging -- can swallow all 8 or so inches of your dick without retching or heaving. Even when you hump her mouth. Even when you treat her face like a pocket pussy onahole. She doesn't choke one time. Except for when she decides to amp up the eroticism of the throat-fuck by purposely sputtering -- by deliberately inducing her otherwise nonexistent gag reflex to heave up a wad of phlegmy saliva from deep in her throat, that explodes out from her lips and coats your straining dick in viscous fluid. It feels so nice and hot running down the shaft in rivulets. The fact that she does this of her own free will -- that she willingly degrades herself this way, turning her face into a slobbery, snotty ruin, making your precum drip from her nostrils and her mouth fill with warm spit -- that she does it just to bring you a little extra pleasure, is unbelievably sexy.

Making a strange purr from the back of her irritated throat, Whitney pulls off your member. "Think it's wet enough?" She asks, voice hoarse.

"Yeah."

"Awesome... let's do it. Fuck my ass like you own it."

She spins back around and straddles you, sitting on her knees. With one hand, she lines her spit-slick asshole up with your spit-slick dick.

"I do," you tell her. "I do own your ass."

"You do."

"It belongs to me."

"Only you, Ally. It's your own personal tomboy spunk-hole."

"Oh fuck," you moan -- and at that moment, she slams down, and forces the head of your prick past her rubbery back hole.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. She's gone delirious, just from getting your dick up inside her. "God, it's so hot..." she grunts. "Your cock is so hot inside me..."

But it's her body that's really hot. The grippy walls of her ass almost burn to the touch. Is this what happens when she goes without your dick for an extended period? She gets this overheated and needy? It's too good. This buttery, slippery texture, this radiating heat, and the way her sphincter hugs the root of your dick like it doesn't want to let you go. Whitney wants to keep your dick embedded in her asshole forever, probably... letting out jet after jet of your cream directly into her belly for eternity, while she lies atop you and swells and swells with the volume... or maybe that's your own fantasy.  She hugs you close, and nuzzles your neck with her still slobbery face. She gives you a series of hickeys, and you don't mind.

Meanwhile, you watch the incestuous display your Mom puts on with Cerise. At some point they got totally nude. Mom has sat down in a chair on the other side of the bed, and Cerise is nursing on her titties while masturbating Mom's cunt for her. Mom soothingly pets Cerise's hair and stares into her eyes. "You get me off so good," Mom tells her. "Keep doing it just like that." Cerise does as ordered, and continues to diddle Mom's twat for her.

"Do you think he'll fuck us too?" Cerise asks.

"I'm not letting him go back to sleep before he does."

This makes Cerise happy, and she resumes sucking Mom's nipples. Mom hisses in enjoyment, and parts her fat thighs just a bit wider to give Cerise total access.

"Cerise," Whitney says, and looks back at her. "Why don't you cum on Ally's face a little?"

"...Huh?" You say.

"That's a great idea," Mom says. She nudges Cerise. "Go sit on your brother's face."

Reluctantly, Cerise pulls away from Mom. She stoops over and gives Mom's pussy a lecherous kiss goodbye -- a kiss that turns into tonguing it for a few moments -- but Mom gently encourages her to go use you. She gets into bed with you and Whitney. Whitney, rising back up to a cowgirl position, makes way for your older sister.

"Hold on," you say, worried. Whitney riding your mouth was one thing -- but you're still a bit fucked up on drugs right now, and you don't know if Cerise's weight bearing down on you is the best idea.

They don't give you time to object any further. Cerise swings her legs over your head, and sits down on you.

This is what you were worried about. Cerise weighs considerably more than Whitney does, and she isn't gentle. Her thick, sweaty butt clinging to you leaves absolutely no breathing room -- in the literal sense. With her thighs hugging your cheeks and her wet genitals sliding back and forth over your nose, your lips, and your forehead... you feel quickly deprived of oxygen. You were already lightheaded because of the medication. Now you're ready to pass out. Your entire existence is reduced to just that: Cerise's skin pressing against yours, her pussy leaking all over you, her holes getting off on you. The clean but heady smell of her anus, melded with the aroma of her girlcum -- somewhat like the smell of your own cum, but feminine. And she's so heavy. That jiggly butt and plump mound is like a ten-ton weight crushing your skull. It's cruel -- she's trying to be nice, maybe, but the way she rides your face is still so cruel, selfish, and completely depraved. She's using her little brother as a receptacle for her lust. She's using you as a cum toilet. Your nose pokes past her asshole, your tongue past her cunthole. She squirts on you, down your mouth, and across your chin and bare chest. Your mind is completely inundated with the smell and taste of your sister. You hear the patter-y, echo-y sound of it as she cums for you. You also hear, as Whitney continues to ride your cock, the noise of the two girls kissing above you. They've linked hands to support each other, and they kiss deeply while Whitney gives your dick perfect anal service as only she can do.

"Don't suffocate him," Mom warns. Her voice sounds muted through the fat of Cerise's flesh pressing against you.

"I'll cum soon," Cerise says huskily.

"But-- but he--" Mom says.

"I'll cum soon, it's fine... he can take it..."

You feel motion above you, and you can tell that Whitney is playing with Cerise's clit while she fucks your face.

"Yes!" Cerise howls. "Fuck, that's good..." she starts to bounce up and down while Whitney frigs her. It gives you meager but precious air, that you try to gulp down in the millisecond intervals that her ass lifts off you before slamming viciously back down again. Whitney's ass also starts to slap up and down. The little hospital room fills with meaty slapping. Your cock sings in utter delight, electric pleasure coursing through it. The undulating of Cerise's fatty legs, like half-set gelatin, whaps repeatedly against your cheeks. She shrieks, climaxing, and pisses cum down your throat. Even as you feel your grip on consciousness slipping, your nuts are tightening and you feel your own hot jizz surging up your urethra.

"Oh god, he's cumming!" Whitney cries. "Yes! Breed my ass, Ally!"

You have no choice: you breed her ass. But Whitney isn't happy with just that. As your cock spurts geyser after geyser of spunk, Whitney starts to alternate -- she jams your cock to its root inside her anus, then pulls completely off, and sinks it into her cunt. When you lose a couple more spurts of jizz in her cunt, she pulls off once more and gets it lodged in her ass again. Back and forth, over the course of an agonizingly long, pleasurable ten seconds or so, Whitney takes your orgasm in both her well-used holes. The squelchy, slappy noise of it joins the chorus. And she gets off on it too, sighing dreamily.

Cerise finally pulls off your gasping, sweaty face, letting blessed oxygen fill your burning lungs again. When the stars clear, you see Mom, legs looped over each of the armrests, hands busy in both her holes while she watches. She licks her palm and rubs against her meaty cunt. "Whitney..." she gulps. "Come here... let me taste it..."

Whitney laughs to herself as she dismounts you. She saunters over to Mom. She gets up onto the chair -- standing -- and lets your cum ooze from her fucked-out orifices. She keeps her ass and her cunt held spread to assist gravity's pull. Mom, under her, keeps her head tilted back and her mouth open wide to catch it all. She never stops masturbating.

Cerise gives as good as she gets. She sinks down on her belly in front of you, opens her mouth, and starts to suck you clean. She sucks your leftover jizz off your piss-slit, then starts to deepthroat you. Unlike Whitney, she can't help gagging; but she couldn't care less. She just wants to fuck your cock with her mouth right now -- and to rim you, too. She goes back and forth between these self-appointed duties with equal gusto, orally servicing your dick and ass.

Whitney gets into the face-sitting spirit again herself, and squats over Mom. Mom just latches her mouth to Whitney's holes to suck the cum from its sources. Whitney plays with her slit while Mom sucks. Mom's plump, sweaty body heaves and her neck muscles jostle while she gulps your seed from out of Whitney's body.  So greedy.  "Yeaaah," Whitney sneers. "Fucking eat it... eat that creampie..." She likes to be demanding, and Mom likes to have that demand hurled at her. She cums on her fingers while she cleans Whitney's holes.

Cerise, smiling bright, meets your eyes. "Cum in my pussy next," she says. You don't think you'll sleep much tonight.

---

"It's a design Cerise came up with, actually," Renee tells you. "We were going to do this months ago, but then... other events... got in the way."

You sit at the computer in the Nail House's den, while Mommy sucks Daddy's dick on the couch in the living room. Those animals have absolutely no dignity...

Renee glances back their way. She snaps her fingers. "Uh, hello? You two wanna come over here and take part, or what?"

"No," Daddy grunts, running his hands through his loving wife's blonde tresses. Everyone's been jumping his bones 24/7 since he came back from the hospital. So shameless.

"Okay, well," Renee says, turning back towards you. "It'll give us the opportunity to speak with him again, directly, if we want to."

You examine the mess of circuitry and wires on the desktop. Beside it sits the implant where David Darkbloom lives -- switched off, for the time being, ever since the events at the Cantor residence.

You look back up at Cerise. "You built this yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Shit. You're smarter than you look."

She slaps you across the back of your head.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"Show some respect. I'm your older sister."

"Oh yeah," Daddy groans, out in the living room. "You love it, bitch." You roll your eyes.

"What do you think?" Whitney asks you. "Should we wake bio-dad up? I'll refer to you on that one."

"Defer," Vivian says.

"Blah blah," Whitney snaps back.

"If we turn Penelope back on," you point out, "who's to say that the spooks running your company right now won't know it? They could swoop back in and steal it."

"Well we need to do something," Kay says. "I can run interference with Nelson and Armstrong internally -- and Gal externally -- if they've got any way to monitor whether another implant goes active, we can sabotage it."

"They could know right away, though," you say.

"nelson is running the sand reckoner project," Gal says. "he'd be the first to know -- and i'm sure he wouldn't tell anyone before consulting us. we're safe to turn david back on."

"Yeah! Yeah, fuck her!" Daddy's got Charlotte bent over the couch, and Rose is encouraging him to nail her.

"Pipe down in there!" Kay hollers.

"That's what I'm doing!" Daddy hollers back.

Kay huffs. "The way I see it, we've got three options," she says.

"You and your fucking plans A, B, C," you grumble.

"We have three options," Kay repeats. "We turn him back on now, we keep him inactive for now -- or -- we destroy Penelope and be done with it."

>[x] Turn David Darkbloom back on.

[ ] Keep him off.

[ ] Destroy the implant completely.

"Furbytize the fucker?" Dr. Carte asks Cerise.

"Check," she says.

She begins to gather up the circuit-bent innards of the furby, plus the implant, but Vivian's hand stays her. "Please, no," Vivian says.

"No what?" Cerise asks.

"Putting him in one of your Furby toys would be so... undignified. Is there nothing else we can use?"

"He doesn't have to go in anything, strictly speaking," Cerise says. "I'm just using the voice chip from the Furby to give him something to speak with."

"But he should have some sort of body," Vivian says. "An existence with no body would be awful. A half-life..."

"I'm not letting you put that bastard inside your skull," you tell her. "I'll crush that thing to dust before I let you do it."

"That's not what I'm suggesting," Vivian says. "He doesn't need to go inside a human body -- or even a living body -- but he deserves at least the dignity of some physical form. Something better than a Furby. That's all."

"Then what?" You ask.

---

Cerise finishes stitching up the seam on Johann the penguin's back. One of the stuffed toy's eyes glows a steady blue, just barely discernible behind the nearly opaque black of the glass bead.

You wave your hand up and down in front of it. "Hello? Can you see us?"

There's a pause, and then a sound like microphone interference -- a clearing of the throat, in a sense -- before a modulated voice sort of like Stephen Hawking responds: "Yes."

"You're a penguin now," you tell him. "Congrats."

"We have much to discuss," Darkbloom says.

"We are all ears, father," Vivian says.

"We must destroy Darkbloom Analytics," he says.

"Why?"

Chloe descends the stairs, steps jaunty and smirk... smirky. Her typical haughty self.

"Sable Guiteau was a once-in-a-generation genius," Darkbloom says. "On the level of Albert Einstein or Leonardo da Vinci. She made Sand Reckoner far more powerful than it was intended to be. She made it not only into the eye of God but the hand of God, too. Of the billions of people on Earth -- only she was capable of doing that. If we destroy the infrastructure of what she created, before lesser minds can fully apprehend it -- this is our only hope remaining."

"It is too late," Chloe says. "Your government has seized it and will be reverse-engineering the secrets of Sand Reckoner before you hatch a plan to stop them. The Russians already have theirs -- one possibly more powerful, if rumors of the lighthouse are true. I can personally attest that the Chinese also have the basic idea of what Sand Reckoner can wreak at its full potential. They will pursue it relentlessly until it is realized. What need have you, after all, of a single once-in-a-generation genius when you can just throw thousands of regular geniuses at the problem?"

You sniff at the air. "Chill our with the suntan lotion, will you? You're gonna get skin cancer."

"The world's great powers will each have perfected this technology by year's end," Chloe says. "And perhaps it is for the best. Like nuclear weapons, each government is prevented from using theirs by the threat of retaliation. No one can act."

"Perpetual stalemate," Renee says grimly.

"Not a stalemate," Chloe says. "This is the classic chess situation known as zugzwang. No one wants to recreate Sand Reckoner -- all would like to be rid of it. But they are compelled to move by the logic of their position."

"Then even you agree Sand Reckoner should be destroyed," Vivian says.

"I have no use of normative discussions. The word 'should' has no place in my vocabulary unless there is a way to transform it into 'will'."

"Triumph of the will?" You say sarcastically.

"Yes," Chloe says.

She doesn't get the reference. Or maybe she does.

Daddy's finally getting pantsed back up and strolling into the den stinking like his wife's and his mother-in-law's cum. Chloe distastefully plugs her nose.

"There you are," Daddy says. You can hear the click and whirr of his bionic knee with every step he takes. He's using a crutch to help him get around, and probably will be for a while. Not exactly the Six Million Dollar Man -- but it's cute. You wanna give him a leg massage. "I'm surprised you didn't get raped to death by the lesbians you're sleeping with."

"I've had other sleeping arrangements since you were in the hospital," Chloe tells him.

He gives her a severe look. You begin explain the situation: "I slept in Rose's room. And since you and Mommy were sleeping in the hospital..."

"I've been sleeping in your room," Chloe tells him.

Mommy's back at his side, and she's even madder than he is at this news. "What did you just say?" She demands.

"I hope you don't mind. Your marital bed is quite comfortable. I made myself well at home. Well at home."

Mommy grips her by the collar of her blouse. "You slept in my bed?!"

Chloe is passive. She puts a hand forcelessly on Rose's where it grips her collar. "It belongs to Ally. Not to you."

"Forget it," Daddy tells her.

Mommy shoves her away. "Stay out of my fucking room. You're lucky I'm even letting you sleep here."

"That was not your decision either," Chloe says.

Mommy moves as if to charge Chloe -- but Daddy holds her back. He turns then towards Pengu-Darku, now: "Even if we destroy DBA, we have to destroy the lighthouse too -- if this is going to work at all. Any of these devices with the power to alter reality need to be done away with."

"Yes."

"We haven't seen hide nor hair of any Russians since that night," Kay says. "Do you think Alyosha is dead?"

"No," Darkbloom says.

"That's what I thought," Kay replies.

"He will be back sooner rather than later," Darkbloom says. "I am sure of it."

"Alyosha wanted Rose2," Daddy says. "Now all of a sudden he wants you and me instead. Why?"

Darkbloom replies: "he thought Penelope had been lost. Rose Catachresis is an anomaly created by Penelope harnessing the power of Sand Reckoner. So within that anomaly, you might find telltale information about the implant. But why pursue that avenue at all when you can steal the implant itself?"

"Put simply," Vivian says, "Rose the Second is a fingerprint -- but Penelope is the perp."

"Look at you with the Law & Order lingo," Kay says.

"Mm," Vivian murmurs.

"But you don't know where the lighthouse is," Daddy says.

"No," Darkbloom replies, "but think of this. The same way I can blot out the consciousness of a person, like Dalton or Cerise... maybe I am also blotting out the full capabilities of Penelope. My consciousness is a layer above, obscuring the layer below."

"So it's like this," you say. "If we could get your consciousness out of that implant, we could find the lighthouse?"

"Alyosha intimated as much, yes," Darkbloom says. "I do not know so for a fact. But I believe he wanted to transfer me over to Alabaster's implant, so Penelope would be reset -- and usable then as the conduit to find the lighthouse."

"How can we do something like that?" Daddy asks.

"I don't know," Darkbloom admits. "But there is an alternative. Diogenes can undo what Sand Reckoner does. It could delete me from this implant entirely."

"Father--" Vivian begins.

"Alex is the next best thing to Sable Guiteau," Darkbloom says. "If Nelson recommends that only Alex can finish the project -- which is the truth, as far as I am concerned -- he might be allowed to return to Darkbloom Analytics as the chief project engineer."

"No," Kay says.

"Excuse me?" Darkbloom says -- conveying indignation as best as possible with the use of an affectless modulator simulating human speech.

"That has subterfuge written all over it. The idea of inviting Alex back to the company has to seem like it came from their own heads. If Nelson comes to them with it, they'll smell a rat."

"That's true," Daddy says. "...Where is he, anyway?"

"Upstairs," you tell him, "molesting the bunny."

"Totally hooked on bunny pussy," Renee adds. "It's quite sad."

"Oh, you're one to talk," Kay says.

[ ] Find a way to send Alex back to Darkbloom Analytics.

>[x] Find an alternative way to remove Darkbloom's mind from the implant.

"Hey kid." Whitney knocks on the door of her own bedroom and steps inside. Alex is lying on the bed, sweaty and spent, limbs all entangled with Samantha. Bare chest heaving, he crawls free of her and rises to his butt. He sits Indian-style with the heels of his palms resting on the mattress between his legs. And... with something else sticking up, still twitching.

Whitney explains -- poorly, but passably -- what the situation is.

"Oh," Alex says, looking serious. "Sure. I'll go back to Darkbloom Analytics, if it'll help."

"No," you say, "I don't want you going back there."

"Why not, Ally?"

"Because you'll be in danger. There's another way. I don't know what. But there has to be. You've been through enough... Vail was enough. You don't need to put yourself at risk like that again."

He blushes, hard, all over his pale, wet, nude body. "Ally... you're... you're so sweet."

You're blushing, too. "It's just because I..." you begin. But you stop, sighing. That thing is still poking up from his lap, slimy and twitching. Exasperatedly, you motion at him with a palm. "Could you please put some fucking pants on when we're having a heart-to-heart?"

He giggles. "Sorry." He gets dressed. Samantha doesn't.

Alex, decent again, sits back down on the bed. "In a situation like this," he says, "I ask myself: WWSD."

"Please tell me that doesn't stand for what I think it does," you say.

"When it comes to Sand Reckoner, sometimes you have to think like she does. Or -- like she did."

"Wait, wait," Whitney says. She doesn't know what you two mean. "Let me guess. WWSD... hmm. World Wide... no. We Won't Stop -- hmm. We Will Stop Sand Reckoner?"

"That would be WWSSR," you say.

"Fuck."

"What Would Samantha Do!" Samantha says. She rapidly kicks her feet on the mattress. "Welllll... I know what I would do... since I am her."

Alex slaps her ass. She giggles.

"I'm stumped, then," Whitney says.

"What would Sable do," Alex tells her.

"...Oh. Shit, yeah. That makes sense."

"Sable wanted to destroy Darkbloom Analytics, too," Alex says. "In the end, she got to the same conclusion we did. And she had a way to do it. Without endangering you, Ally -- or anyone else who got their eyeballs tinkered with."

You cock your head.

"I found it in her notes. I'd need access to the central server hub underneath the campus, but -- I guess Nelson could do that step. I can coordinate finishing Diogenes with him, from the outside -- and once it's done, it can be used to upgrade your implants so they function without the need of the servers. And Diogenes could reset Penelope, too, just like David suspects. Once that's all done... well... the sewer system under the campus still has plenty of room for some plastic explosives, right?"

It has the basic outline of a plan, anyway.

---

That night, you lie in bed with Rose. Amber snores softly between your bodies.

"Do you think we're doomed?" You ask.

Rose turns to her side and gazes at you. "Hmm?"

You mirror her. Your chins are practically touching over the crown of Amber's head.

"When we got back from China. You said you thought we were doomed. Do you still think so?"

"I don't know," she says. "Do you?"

"...I don't know."

"I just want to get to the next day," Rose says. "If I get to tomorrow with what I have today... that's enough. Thinking about the future beyond that is too exhausting."

You kiss her.

"I feel gross," Rose says. "Just knowing that that Chloe cunt was sleeping in here."

"Language, language, language," you say.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"You're not going to fuck her, are you?" Rose asks. "I know she's a pretty girl and this is the Nail House and everything -- but even you have to have standards."

You shrug.

"I could beat her ass, I'm so mad," Rose says.

"Are you sure you don't wanna fuck her too?" You ask.

She shrugs.

[ ] Let's fuck Chloe.

>[x] Let's make Chloe really want it.

[ ] Let's find something else fun to do.

>[x] Let's make Chloe really want it.

You kiss Rose deeply. You always like the way she seems a bit surprised whenever you kiss her. She tenses up, her muscles going taut as you pull her towards you and press your lips to hers. Then she swoons, her muscles going soft and squishy again, as she submits to the kiss and returns it. You breathe hard against each other, through your nostrils, as you taste each other's mouths. You've kissed her so many times in so many ways but it never fails to make your cock stir a little whenever you really go at it. Especially when, as now, she makes sweet little high pitched moans into your mouth as your tongues wrap around one another.

You pull back. Your lips are linked to hers by a thin bridge of saliva. "I don't want to fuck her just yet," you say.

"Just yet?"

"Let's make her really want it. Let's make her beg for it."

"And then deny her?" Rose prompts, smirking.

"Of course."

"I love you so much," she says, voice dreamy, and kisses you again.

---

You sneak, as well as you can on a crutch, to the bedroom that Qiangxiang has moved back into. You figure that you'll have to enlist Kay and Noelle as partners in crime for this dirty deed, but they're nowhere to be found: just Qiangxiang, snoozing all by herself on the air mattress.

Kay and Noelle are probably drunkenly sucking each other's cunts out back by the jacuzzi, you figure. Since they have no real privacy in their bedroom anymore, they just fuck out in the open.

Their loss. You and Rose are going to have to go it alone.

Qiangxiang sleeps with one eye open, it seems. She rises to her butt as soon as you step past the threshold.

"Have you come to ask my help on another suicide mission?" She says.

"No."

She pauses. "...Prowling the house in search of women to ravish?"

"Yes."

Qiangxiang smiles. She pulls her covers away from her body to reveal the nightie she wears. A long, conservative silk gown that comes just about to her ankles, and halfway to her elbows. Not the outfit of a seductress, but it's quite becoming in its own way.

When Rose steps past the doorway and joins you at your side, Qiangxiang's smile vanishes.

"Do you know how big Alabaster's cock is?" Rose asks her.

"I've heard rumors," she says coolly. "It's improbably large, or so they say. Three or perhaps close to four sigma above median. And I've seen it through his trunks, so I suppose that is probably a good a estimate."

Rose strides to the inflatable bed and hauls Qiangxiang out of it. She moves so swiftly and with such purpose that Qiangxiang doesn't even begin to fight -- doesn't have time. Rose lifts her up -- Qiangxiang is a tiny, frail, lightweight little girl -- and tosses her onto the the bed that's ostensibly Kay's. Qiangxiang lands on her back with a soft pomf. Rose follows her.

Qiangxiang says something reproachful in Mandarin -- something long and involved. Big mistake. When Rose gets in a mood like this, she's not a person to anger. She hits Qiangxiang across the face. It isn't a playful love-tap. It's a full-force, open-handed slap that leaves a mark and sends Qiangxiang reeling with pain. It shuts her the fuck up, too.

Rose looms over her, on her knees. Qiangxiang tries to sit up, but Rose forces her down to her back once more. The look on Qiangxiang's face right now could shatter glass.

"Do you want Alabaster to fuck you?" Rose asks.

"He already wants to have sex with me," Qiangxiang says. "I can see it in his eyes. He burns with lust for my body."

You flip the lightswitch on the wall to its highest setting. Under the bright ceiling lights, the image of Rose -- clad only in underwear that are a bit too small and pinch her plump skin so deliciously -- and, lying under her, Qiangxiang, wearing a loose, frilly nightgown, face streaked red in the shape of Rose's palm, and scowling in anger -- is really, really hot.

"I didn't ask what you think Alabaster wants. I asked what you want."

"Not with you involved," Qiangxiang says. "You disgusting, fat American cow. How Ally could maintain an erection when looking at your repulsive obesity--"

Rose slaps her again, and harder this time. It's louder than the sound of two hands being clapped together as forcefully as possible. The thwack of flesh against flesh rebounds off the stucco walls. But other than wincing, Qiangxiang doesn't let on her pain -- doesn't moan or grunt, doesn't tear up or beg for mercy.

"Don't call him Ally," Rose tells her. So that's what angered her -- not the accusations of being a fatty. Rose holds Qiangxiang's wrists together over her head, incapacitating her, and looks your way: "Come show this cunt how big you are." Her voice is husky with need.

You strip. Slowly. Shirt first, socks, and pants. Only your boxers remain. Qiangxiang, despite the murderous rage plain on her face, is also desperately curious to see. She can't take her eyes off your underwear. Rose hardly needs to keep her wrists held; she'd lie there watching you regardless. But you know this is fun for Rose, too.

You join your wife on the bed with your victim.

"And so you'll rape me now?" Qiangxiang asks. She tries to sound accusatory, but it comes out sounding a little hopeful.

You say nothing. Neither does Rose. You just reach for Qiangxiang's bruised-up face, and stare into her eyes as you stroke the tender skin. The silence is too much for her to bear. She fills it herself: "I knew it. You can't resist. Can you? You want to have sex with me. Despite all the women surrounding you, who you could use as holes for your lusty whims -- it's me, at last, who you want the most. You would even come into my room late at night and rape me to have your way."

You spit on her face.

The foamy, slimy wad of spit lands on the bridge of her nose, and seeps down either side, over her eyes, forcing her to shutter her eyelids. Her face puckers in surprise and disgust. She writhes, but with Rose holding her hands, she can do nothing to wipe the mess clean.

When at last she narrowly wrenches her eyes open again despite the spit coating them, to look up at you through the filmy slop -- Rose spits on her, too. You didn't discuss any of this with Rose beforehand, but you're of the same mind when it comes to tormenting a horny bitch like Qiangxiang. Qiangxiang winces again, and recoils as if she'd been shot. Again with the cursing in Chinese, and now she's really thrashing, trying to get loose -- she's going nuts with anger and barely-concealed arousal.

Rose shifts in place to make room for you as you straddle Qiangxiang's face. Your prick, straining against the material of your boxers, makes indirect contact with Qiangxiang's slobber-slick flesh. She goes instantly still. You jut your hips, back and forth, roughly rubbing your hardness against her. Rose, cooing and blushing, watches approvingly -- still holding Qiangxiang down. Qiangxiang turns her head this way and that as if trying to get away, but all it really does is smear the spit all around, plus now the dollops of precum seeping darkly through the cotton. The delicate oriental beauty of her face is getting all puffy and slimy.

Finally, you let your cock free, pulling it through your fly. You pull your testicles out, too. Despite her disgust, panic, and outrage, in that moment, all of Qiangxiang's attention focuses squarely on the enormous fleshpole you've just presented to her. Her eyes cross and she stares up at it in pure awe. It casts a shadow over her head -- from your vantage, almost completely conceals her facial features. You squat a bit lower -- only a hair -- so that the sensitive underside of your shaft just barely touches the sharp edge of Qiangxiang's tiny nose. Her breaths become shallow, and rapid, but you know her nostrils are filling with your manly scent.

You let your prick hover over her like that, hard, and throbbing, leaking fuckslop all over her forehead and into the part of her hair. It's her turn to decide what she'll do next. For long moments, all she does is lie there, silent, staring. Smelling you. Letting you leak on her. Neither you nor Rose give her any direction or tell her what's going to happen next. You speak not a single syllable.

Her breaths become shallower, her eyes go vacant. The heat of your prick, its huge veiny size, the stench of it, the way it marks her with its precum, is starting to melt her brain. Does she want it? Oh yeah. Finally, after what feels like forever, she gives in to her own need to be raped. She arches her back, and tilts her chin up -- parts her jaw, and licks you.

Her little red tongue makes contact with your horny dick for only a fraction of a second. As soon as she does that, as soon as she unmistakably signals her own desire to get fucked by this fuckmeat of yours, you raise yourself off her face.

"No--!" Qiangxiang moans. A delayed moment later, her eyes bulge, and she gasps, as she realizes that she just begged you for it.

Rose's butt replaces your cock against her. She isn't close to as gentle as you were. She pulls her wet panties off and sits on her, bearing down. Those panties become a gag, too, that Rose shoves to the back of Qiangxiang's annoying mouth to keep it stuffed -- a degradation that makes her retch. Rose, naked from the waist down then, rests her full weight against Chloe's forehead. Behind her back, Rose continues to keep Qiangxiang's hands held securely with one of her own.

Rose's pretty, puffy little innie of a pussy is so aroused that you can see a rare glimpse of her pink labia, blooming a little with how engorged they are. It only makes her cunt all the cuter. Her entire hairless crotch is shiny, her inner thighs too, and she's dripping all over Qiangxiang. Her arousal mixes with yours; Qiangxiang is your cumrag tonight.

You hold Rose by either thigh, down by her knees, to keep her plump legs spread. She undoes her bra, and tosses it aside -- such a pretty sight, her swaying, jiggly udders. You drink that sight in as you seat yourself to the hilt in the lovely confines of her twat.

"Ungh," you moan deeply -- joined by her own, "ooooh..." A chorus of erotic enjoyment.

As you begin to thrust inside your wife, you peer down. Qiangxiang, ruined and defeated, coated in slime, and gagged like a roasted pig with an apple, watches with bright eyes. You grope Rose's tits, enjoying the way her big pink nipples harden under your rough palms, and the way her fleshy body gives to every bit of pressure you apply. The swampy heat of her moist cunt is almost unbearable -- doing this to Qiangxiang with you has turned Rose on like little else. Her sticky insides are going to milk your load out soon. You're about to cum raw inside her, right above this vain girl's face who wants it so bad.

In the moment right before you burst, you remove the panties from Qiangxiang's mouth. Her lips pucker, as if trying to keep ahold of them, but she lets you take them.

Staring down at her over the length of your thrusting penis, you smile cruelly. It's a wordless question, and one she answers, meekly:

"Please... I... do."

"Do what?" You grunt.

"I... do... want it."

Rose laughs at her. "Too bad," she grunts. You kiss her, and jab your tongue to the back of her small mouth, as your cock unloads its sperm in the very deepest parts of her pussy. She tenses, and cums hard against your spunking dick. Qiangxiang can only watch -- and feel your nuts throb rhythmically against her chin as you inseminate Rose.

When you dismount her, Rose wipes her pussy off with the panties that she used to gag Qiangxiang. She catches the majority of your creamy load in them, then wipes the excess from the edges of her reddened, fucked-out hole. Finally, she wads the soiled garment up, and sticks it in Chloe's mouth again.

You dig through a bedside table and find what you suspected you would -- a roll of duct tape -- Kay and Noelle are a couple of kinky bitches. You use the duct tape to tie Qiangxiang's hands above her head the way Rose was holding them. You use another strip make sure the cummy panties stay firmly lodged in her mouth.

"Sleep on it," you tell her. "Then let me know how bad you really want it, in the morning."

You leave with Rose, laughing, and go to the bathroom with her for a much-deserved bath in the indoor hot tub Samantha installed.

Whitney is there already, bathing, by herself -- arms looped over the edges. The blissful look on her face tells you that she's enjoying the tub's bubble-jet feature. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn't notice you two until you're climbing in with her. You and Rose, shin-deep in the hot water, stand on either side of her. She grins at you.

"Scoot," you command her.

"Heeeh," she laughs. "Don't wanna."

"Is that thing blowing up your ass?" Rose says, craning her neck.

"Ayep. Feels fucking awesome."

"Scoot," you tell her again, more firmly.

Whitney points at you, and tells Rose: "See? He wants it up his butt. Prostate massage."

You shove her aside.

"Hey! Assface!"

You settle in, sitting next to her. Rose sits too.

"Are you pregnant yet?" Whitney asks her. "You two look like you've been fucking enough."

"We're working on it," Rose says.

(That might be the first time either of you have ever admitted it aloud.)

"Got any left in there for me?" Whitney asks, touching your dickhead with a forefinger beneath the surface.

"For you? Always."

"Awesome." She does a 180 and gets in your lap. Underneath the water, you're already slipping into her rubbery fuckslit. When you grab her by her legs and start to full-force hump up into her, she doesn't expect it. She drifts slowly backwards, through the water, until her spine is resting against the opposite edge of the tub. Her body is at a roughly 30 degree angle like this, just perfect for nailing her. She lets her eyelids drift closed again, the way they were when she was getting off with the bubble-jets, and lets you fuck her. Rose watches, and lazily masturbates.

Suddenly Whitney opens her eyes again. "Hey, cow-tits. Get over here. Let me soap you off while Ally screws me."

Rose is more than amenable to that, and wades over to Whitney. Whitney takes a bottle of non-foaming bodywash from the tub's rim, squirts a dollop into her hands, and starts to toy with Rose's huge jugs while you fuck. Whitney's hands work roughly, and lewdly. She comprehensively coat Rose's rippling fleshbags with the shiny liquid -- all over them and in between the cleavage, too. She can hide both her hands up to the wrists at the same time inside Rose's cleavage, which she does, repeatedly. Whitney would never admit it, but she's more than a bit jealous of how well-endowed Rose is, and she finds endless fascination in just playing with Rose's breasts.

You find fascination in Whitney's B-cups, too. Small but perky, and lots of fun to feel cupped beneath your palms. You rub them while you rut in her.

With all this fun going on, it would be easy to miss Qiangxiang standing at the threshold, hands still duct-taped in front of her, mouth still gagged. Her face is bruised and coated in drying cum. Her nightgown is ruffled and wrinkled and soiled.

"Shit," Whitney squeaks, startling as she notices the intruder. "What happened to you? Did these pervs rape you?"

Qiangxiang shakes her head sadly.

"You look like you got raped," Whitney says.

You slowly fuck in and out of her. Her pussy is tightening at the idea that you and Rose raped Qiangxiang.

Qiangxiang shakes her head again.

"She wouldn't admit how bad she wants it," Rose says. "So we held her down and fucked on top of her."

Whitney laughs. "That's so hot." She looks back at Qiangxiang. "So, do you want it now?"

Qiangxiang nods.

Whitney's response is exactly the same as Rose's. "Too bad."

She starts to buck her hips back against you, making splashy waves in the water. "I'm using his cock right now... it's real, real good, too. So big and hard and spongy... and it hits me in all these spots, way up deep inside... it kinda hurts, but that's what makes it feel so good. And it's so hot... and when it cums... it cums so much. It feels like it's gonna burn my womb up when he cums in me."

Qiangxiang is shaking like a leaf. She steps slowly up to the tub.

"Look at you," Whitney says. "You look like a slut."

She nods.

"I heard through the grapevine that you think lesbians are disgusting," Whitney says. "Is that true?"

Qiangxiang is still for a long moment. She nods again. Her eyes are simmering.

"Here's the deal," Whitney says. "I'll let Ally jizz on your face -- if you agree to eat my pussy after he's done. What do you say?"

She's still again for a much longer moment this time -- and then finally, an expression of complete resignation on her face, she nods.

When, a few moments later, you feel your nuts begin to tighten, you pull out of Whitney's lovely twat -- reluctantly -- and sit on the edge of the tub. From either side of you, Rose and Whitney jerk your cock off in tandem. They stroke your shaft expertly, corkscrewing their soft fingers around, teasing the springy head. It's not long before they coax out your second load of the night. Qiangxiang stands before you obediently, eyes fixed on the lewd scene, and lets it happen to her. With a guttural moan, you blow your load on her, and she doesn't flinch. Beneath her gag, you think you even see the barest hint of a smile, as you paint her face white with sloppy ropes of spunk. Maybe, in her own twisted way, she thinks it's a victory to get tied up and cummed on.

You've hardly finished cumming when Whitney claims her fee. She rips the duct tape viciously from Qiangxiang's mouth. She sees, then, the panties waded up in her mouth. "Whoaaaa... wicked. So fucking hot."

She takes the panties out of Qiangxiang's mouth, and puts them to her own face. She holds them to her nose with both fists, and huffs deeply for a few long moments, enjoying the mixed scent of your cum, Rose's cream, and Qiangxiang's runny saliva.

When she tires of that, she takes the utterly sodden, dirty garment, and puts it over her face like a mask, the crotch against her nose -- to wear like that while she forces Qiangxiang's cum-splattered face to her pussy. Qiangxiang, without the use of her hands, can do nothing but acquiesce. Whitney fucks her face. She rubs her cunt and asshole all around, and gets off hard all over her. Qiangxiang's little tongue is skilled at this task, and she scoops up all of Whitney's cream. Although she despises this, or claims to, she swallows it without protest. Whitney's cunt, mashing and rubbing against her, smears the jizz you deposited on her all around, as well -- and this ends up in the bowl of her tongue too, before sliding along with the rest of the slop, down her slender throat.

When Whitney's done cumming on her, you all fully exit the tub and surround her. As she sits on her knees in between you, you take a piss on her. She smiles while you do it, catching the golden streams in her mouth until it fills completely, then swallowing, and catching more. The excess splashes all over her and makes the nightgown stick to her skin, turning transparent. It mats her hair and drips off her sharp facial features. It's nasty, and perverted, and the perfect capper to the torment you've just subjected her to.

As you empty your bladders on her, her hand snakes up under her nightgown, and she begins to masturbate. With the way your piss has made her pajamas turn see-through, you can tell that she has no underwear on. But her tanning regimen has left her with some beautiful tanlines, describing the phantom contours of a tiny bra and a g-string. You piss in her hair, in her mouth, up her nose, and down her shirt, all three of you do; and when you're done, you wipe yourselves off on her face. You leave her there on the bathroom floor, in a puddle of cum and piss, still tied up -- Whitney gags her again, too -- to sleep and dream about the debauchment she just suffered. When she wakes up, she'll be a fully-fledged resident of the Nail House -- ready for the real fucking to come.

---

Rose2 lies across your lap on the couch, sucking you like a lollipop. And alternating that with sucking an actual lollipop. You idly watch TV, petting her (why did she feel the need to wear cat ears?), while she does all the work.

When Rose comes into the living room, stretching and yawning, she sees it. She freezes, growing indignant:

"Hey! You said I'd have first turn this morning!"

"You slept in," you tell her, shrugging.

Noelle, sitting beside you, smiles at her. "That's what you get for living like a disgusting NEET. Early bird catches the worm."

Rose trots hurriedly across the room and tries to get down on her knees in front of you, to force Rose2 to share. You push her back, though.

"Let Rosie have her turn," you say. "You got more than enough last night."

Rose, standing again, stomps angrily.

Rose2 pulls off of you, and grins smugly up at her, chin coated in saliva. "Rose wins," she says.

"Tch -- you little fucking -- I can't even believe --"

"Rose wins."

She resumes her task, as Rose storms out.

Noelle is already back to browsing the web on the thinkpad in her lap. "Excited?" She asks.

"I'm excited to blow my load in a few seconds," you say lewdly, bouncing a little.

"Not that, freak. Comiket."

You glance her way.

"Comiket's next week," she says.

"With everything -- you still want to go?" You say.

She shrugs. "Could be dead tomorrow. Might as well live life to its fullest."

You shake your head and channel surf some more as you enjoy Rose2's skilled mouth. As you flick through the stations, you wind up on the news. A reporter is broadcasting live from the gates of Darkbloom Analytics. The demonstration, now in its second day, is getting unruly. Protestors are setting little fires, banging drums and throwing stones. The network's reporter is on the roof of the parking garage across the street from the gates, which gives a nice vantage of things. Darkbloom Analytics looks like a medieval castle under siege, surrounded on all sides by a sea of humanity.

"...no clear indication of what their intentions might be. The White House, meanwhile, refuses to comment, saying only that it continues to work closely alongside Darkbloom Analytics on all matters that pertain to national security. But as you can see--"

The reporter suddenly stoops, clutching his earpiece to his head and holding his other hand out, the one holding his mic. He stumbles forward, out of frame, as gunfire rings out in the crowd below.

"Jim, get that, get that!" He yells to his cameraman.

The screen becomes a nausea-making whirl of indistinct motion before settling again on a view of the crowd. The image is blurry at first, as if through gauze, but refocuses a few moments later. And so that's when you can see it: police decked out in full riot gear, mowing down the screaming protestors. And they aren't using rubber bullets, no sir.

END OF EPISODE 11.