Season 4 Episode 8: Keki's Delivery Service

"Thanks so much for coming to lunch!" Lucy says as Rose gets settled at the restaurant patio table across from her. Lucy puts a hand to her own collarbone. "Oh my gosh. How long has it been, anyway? Five years? I can't believe how fast the time is going."


"It's crazy," Rose says. "I--"


"Uh..." Lucy makes a face.


"Hmm? What's the matter?"


"That word."


"Which?" Rose asks, genuinely confused.


"...Nevermind. Well -- anyway -- it's so nice to see you. Kaylee and I-- oh, here she comes."


Kaylee approaches from behind. Rose swivels in her seat to wave at her. The two young women hug warmly, Kaylee stooping, and then she sits too. "Wow! President Rose! I still honestly feel starstruck sitting with you, after all this time. Has it really been five whole years?"


"I know!" Rose says. "I can't believe it. I was just telling Lucy how crazy it is that--"


"Uh," Kaylee says.


"Hmm?" Rose asks.


"Oh, nevermind," Lucy interjects, taking her iced tea from the waiter. She sips at it. "How are you doing these days?"


"Just wonderful," Rose says, pausing to ask the waiter for a coke. "And I heard you and Kaylee got a job with Wells Fargo?"


"It's not exactly Wall Street," Kaylee says, "but this way we get to live in San Fran! The Bay is just gorgeous, really."


"And good money, too," Lucy says. "Pulling down six figures right out of college isn't too bad at all. Then again, I guess we're nothing compared to a corporate bigwig like you!"


Rose tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing. "The only thing I had going for me was being in the right place at the right time," Rose says. "I got lucky. That's all."


Kaylee clasps both palms to her lips, eyes going wide. She noticed it when Rose lifted her hand up: the ring. "Rose--!"


Rose glances down at it now, herself. "Oh. I suppose I didn't tell you." She displays the back of her hand for her two friends now, showing off the gold band for them to appreciate.


"I cannot believe you got married!" Lucy giggles. "To think Rose Mallory would take part in such a patriarchal institution!" She lays a hand on Rose's arm and leans in. "That's amazing news. Who's the lucky person?"


"Or maybe unlucky," Kaylee says with a smirk. Rose laughs right along with them as the waiter returns with her drink.


"It's kind of funny, really," Rose says.


"Who?" Lucy demands. "Come on, we just have to know!"


Rose laughs again, more nervously, and takes a sip. "Well, the funny thing is you know him already... he's someone we went to high school with."


Lucy gasps. "No! You mean -- of course. You and Brock! Finally!"


"I knew you two would wind up together," Kaylee adds.


Rose's bright expression drops like a stone. "Uh. No."


"Oh..." Lucy says, somewhat deflated too. "Then who? -- Orin? -- Zeke?"


Rose slowly shakes her head. "Alabaster."


Lucy and Kaylee cackle -- loud and long. It's the funniest thing they've heard all month. "Oh my god!" Kaylee manages to choke between the uncontrolled peals. "That's sick! But really, though. Who?"


"I--" Rose says. "That's not a joke. I married Alabaster."


The laughter dies a slow, awkward death. "You..." Lucy drawls.


"I'm Rose Soliloquy now. Crazy, I know."


"Uh."


Rose looks from face to face. "I mean -- we always fought and argued, but in the end, we really... I suppose what I mean to say --"


"You are messing with us, right?" Lucy asks.


Rose frowns. The sting of awkwardness is turning to anger in her heart: "No. I told you. I married Alabaster. We fell in love... I love him."


Lucy cringes. "Yikes."


"Yikes?" Rose says.


"Just... yikes."


"Isn't he your cousin?" Kaylee says.


"Once r--"


Kaylee shakes her head. "Honey, no. Oh no. Alabaster Soliloquy? That little fuckboy is a total sociopath." She puts a hand on Rose's. "Oh, you poor... he does not love you, trust me."


Rose jerks her hand back. "How the fuck do you know?" She spits. "How dare you tell me how my own husband does or does not feel about me. That's crazy." When Kaylee cringes, Rose continues: "Yeah. Crazy. Maybe you're the sociopath, huh?"


Cheekbone resting on the ball of her palm, fingertips against her forehead, Lucy shakes her head sadly. "You did marry him. He's obviously done a real number on you, too."


"What is that supposed to mean?" Rose demands.


"He changed you."


Rose stands. Angrily she fishes through her purse, finds a few bills, and throws them on the table to pay for her drink. "Alabaster didn't change a thing about me," she says. "I chose to marry him because I love him. And I'm choosing to leave now. Goodbye."


She pulls her purse over her shoulder and breezes past, leaving her two former friends to lean in and gossip to one another over the unfortunate fate of former North High StuCo President Rose Mallory.


---


You are Alabaster Sololiquy, oyakodon overdoser and patron of the fine arts.


Armstrong comes into Cerise's office-turned-war-room, interrupting your conversation.


"Here's trouble," Cerise says, smiling. She's getting used to being a candidate now, and is learning to return some of the energy Armstrong gives. But Armstrong isn't smiling -- he's solemn and low-key.


He sits down beside her. "Cerise," he says, "are you ready for a lecture?"


Cerise, realizing she's maybe in some deep shit or something, sort of shrugs.


"I've been around. I've been on both sides of a campaign before -- as staffer and candidate. Yours isn't even the first I've managed. So I know a thing or two. Cerise -- I think of the relationship between a candidate and their campaign manager as sort of like the relationship between someone on trial for a crime and their defense attorney. If you're on trial, you have to tell your lawyer everything -- you have to tell him exactly what you're guilty and not guilty of, so he isn't flying blind into a shitstorm when the truth inevitably surfaces. You have to trust your lawyer to uphold attorney-client privilege and to do what's best for you within the circumstances. That's exactly how it has to be between a candidate and their campaign manager, too."


Cerise nods.


"So with that little lecture in mind, I'm going to ask you a straightforward question that in turn demands a straightforward yes or no answer."


Cerise nods again.


"Did you suck your own brother's dick on a live broadcast webcam show?"


"I plead the fifth," Cerise says.


Armstrong rubs his forehead and sighs deeply. He takes his glasses off and uses a handkerchief to clean the lenses.


Cerise also sighs. "That's it, right? That's a campaign ender. I'm gonna have to withdraw before that goes public."


Armstrong, donning his specs again, unbelievably returns to his boisterous self. "No -- are you kidding me? You wouldn't be the first House rep to have a sex scandal under her belt. Not the first with a sextape, either. You wouldn't even be the first to have sucked her own brother's dick, believe it or not. But now listen up. Get these two words swirling around on your tongue like a fraternal foreskin. Fake news. Try them out until you feel comfortable saying it. Republican smear. Try it. Deep fake."


Cerise recoils a bit. "Wait -- which two words?"


"Doesn't matter. Mix 'em up. Mix and match. Use 'em interchangeably. The silver lining here is you were smart enough to wear a mask. And Alabaster never appears in-frame. So you can claim it's some other camwhore sucking some other camgigolo's dick. Uh, no offense."


"None taken," you say. Cerise scowls at you.


"You're gonna be okay," Armstrong says. "People are tired of blowjob scandals anyway. That's such a 90s thing."


"Well I don't particularly want people associating my name with 'sucks her own brother's dick' either," Cerise says.


Armstrong laughs. "Those are some big words for the woman who sucked her own brother's dick and then posted it on the internet."


"That wasn't me," Cerise says. "That's a deep fake news Republican smear."


"Attagirl." He pauses, and then: "Maybe just a tad less mixing and matching, but you've got the idea."


"I feel dirty," Cerise says. "Telling lies to dodge a scandal."


Armstrong throws his hands up. "This is what makes you feel dirty. Wow. Okay. But sucking your own--"


"Shut the fuck up."


Armstrong just laughs. "Get used to it," he says. "You're a politician now."


---


At lunch, you eat alone on the rooftop with Will. You've taken to coming up here rather than hanging out among the other students, whose whispers and pointed remarks are getting to you.


"How many Doritos can I fit in my mouth?" Will asks.


You've known him more than long enough by now that you don't even think of questioning what the fuck goes through his empty skull. You just shrug and take a guess: "20."


"You're on." He begins to shove them into his maw one by one. You count for him, because you know he'll forget.


When he finally sputters and chokes and sends orange bits of tortilla chip flying all over, you watch him bemusedly. He gropes for his nearby bottle of Fanta, and finding it, guzzles it down to clear his throat, but it hardly helps matters. He's making a right mess of himself.


"Fu-uhckh," he pants when finally he can breathe again. "I lost count. How many was that?"


"21."


"Told you."


"You sure did, Will. You sure did."


You pull out a cigarette and light it up. Will makes a face.


"Don't start," you tell him.


"You don't start. Fuck. Smoking is bad for your healthy."


"...My healthy?" You begin, but then shake your head, and decide to move on: "Hey. Wanna help me burn down the school?"


Will blinks.


"It's fine," you insist. The school burns down every other week. Perfectly normal."


"Amber, I'm really sorry about everything," he says. "I know you're, like, super sad and fucked up right now on account of getting your eye shot out. But--"


"I'm gonna drop out."


"...What?"


"I'm done with school." You stand up, dust off the seat of your shorts. "I'm not coming back."


"But what about me?" Will asks, gazing up at you.


"You'll be fine."


"I'm gonna fail out if I don't have your tests to copy off!"


"Then drop out too. Look. If you ever need any help, just ask. I'm rolling in dough now, so I could, I dunno... hire you on as a poolboy or something."


"Amber..."


"Don't give me that puppy dog shit, Will," you tell him. "I'm sick of it. I need to get out of here."


"I'm never gonna see you again, am I," Will says, gloomy.


"Probably not," you admit.


"Amber..." he's welling up. Just great. "I'm in love with y--"


"I know," you tell him. "That's why it's best if I get out of here. I'm gonna really hurt you if I stick around. I shouldn't have let you come to Vail. I shouldn't have dragged you out to the 280 the other night." You lift your eyepatch up, baring the grizzly sight of what's beneath, and hiss in pain. You quickly let the eyepatch fall back into place. "That could have been you. Or worse."


"I know that. Shit. You don't think I know that?"


"I'll see you around, Will."


You turn to leave, but then he's standing, and grabbing your wrist.


"I know you don't feel the same way," he says. "But don't go. Please? It would be so... so... so fucked up if you left now."


>[x] I'm sorry. I have to leave.

[ ] Be cool, stay in school.


You take his head in both hands and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. When you pull back, he looks like he's been visited by God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost.


You lightly grasp his hand and hold it. "Goodbye, Will. Maybe I'll see you again. Happy trails."


He nods. "Don't be a stranger."


"Maybe I should be a stranger," you say. "Lose my name. Start going by an alias."


"What, like that terrorist everyone thinks you are?"


"Camelia's a nice name -- isn't it?"


He shakes his head and wipes his tears away with the back of his palm. "You'll always be Amber to me."


"Or rugmunch. Right?"


"Right."


You let go of his hand and step back. You share a long, lingering look, and then without anything more you turn, and leave the rooftop.


On your way through the halls for the last time ever, you pass a shocking sight inside one of the classrooms.


You wanted to leave right away, but this is too weird to pass up.


You poke your head into the room. Students are just coming back from lunch and getting settled in; and at the head of the class, sitting at the desk there, is a person you recognize. Boyd Stackleford.


"W... what are you doing here?" You ask him.


Stackleford startles when he sees you, glancing up from his PC. He hurriedly shuts a browser window -- you can't see what it was and maybe you don't want to know.


"A-amber! What the heck! You're not in my class, are you?"


"No, but I saw you, and... and, well... what?"


"I'm a teacher now," he says, proudly. He stands tall, hands on his hips.


You try to let this news sink in, but it refuses to.


"Triggernomertree," he adds. "And algebras."


"Oh," you say. "How -- did you swing that?"


"After I got fired from Darkbloom Analytics..." he pauses, steps up closer to you, lowers his voice. "No hard feelings about that. Tell Whitney no hard feelings, okay?"


"Uh huh."


"After I got fired, I moved back in with the parental units. They kept harping on me to get out of the house so I decided to come back to school here at Gilroy Tech. And then North High burned down, and the students all migrated here -- heheh, it's like some kinda... time looping... thing... you know? History repeating and that? So anyway some teachers ended up quitting, and they couldn't find anyone to fill the jobs... and..." he shakes his head. "Man, it is so easy to become a teacher in California! Best job I ever had."


You nod. There's a long silence. "I bet."


"All you have to do is promise you know math and stuff, then they check to make sure you're not a molester... and then you're pretty much in."


You glance to the disinterested students still getting settled at their desks and talking among themselves. Then to the whiteboard where he's scrawled his name for his students with an orange dry-erase marker: Stackleford-Sensei.


"So... do you actually know math and stuff?" You ask him.


He shrugs. "Guess I'll find out! This is only my second day."


"Ganbatte," you tell him, and mean it.


On your way back out the door, you pass some young girls coming in. They're gossiping among thesmelves:


"Mr. Stackleford is so hot!"


"Oh my god. But he's kinda weird, isn't he? With that headband and stuff..."


"Who cares? He's a fuckin' snack, I swear... I'd let him show me some anime at his place anytime..."


"You're awful!"


"Haha. But-- for real, though..."


You shake your head and gaze heavenward as you exit North High.


---


Whitney has both elbows propped on the conference room table, all eight of her fingertips rubbing her forehead. The emergency board meeting has kicked off to a spectacularly poor start. Ken, bolo tie and creme-colored dress shirt with blond rope trim and all, stands before the group with his thumbs looped in his belt.


"So the Japanese government--" Nelson begins


"Ayep. Well I reckon you'd rightly want to know my country is fixin to turn me traitor 'gainst y'all."


"We should have seen this coming," Armstrong says. "Japan is still trying to get at Sand Reckoner. Fucking A."


Rose nods at Rose2, who's sitting beside Whitney. This rouses Rose2 from her zoned-out reverie. She snaps to and grabs some paperwork from the table, gathers it up, then delivers it to Ken where he's standing at the other side of the room.


"What's all this?" Ken asks, looking at the sheaf of papers.


Rose2 points at various places on the forms: "Sign here, here, here, and here. Kudasai and arigato!"


"That's an affidavit covering everything you've just told us," says Saul, standing with arms folded behind where Rose is seated. "You'll get your severance package in whole, only if you sign it."


"--Severance..." Whitney says. She looks up at Saul. "We're not firing Ken. He's such a character--"


"We have to terminate him," Darkbloom intones. "Loyal employee or not, we cannot have people working for us if foreign governments are pressuring them for our secrets."


Whitney, aggravated, motions wildly with both hands at Qiangxiang, who has no reaction.


"I understand," Ken says sadly. He stoops over the mahogany table and begins to sign. "It was a pleasure workin for y'all."


Qiangxiang pipes up, causing Ken to stop signing. "May I speak?"


"Go fuck yourself," Whitney tells her.


Qiangxiang smiles at her. There's a long, awkward silence.


"Okay, now you may speak," Whitney finally says.


"Mr. Takagawa is loyal indeed. To us. He came to us with this information of his own free will and betrayed the country of his birth in doing so. I happen to know that Japanese intelligence is swarming with double agents who funnel things back to the politburo in Beijing. If we use Mr. Takagawa as our own double agent, any false information we supply him with would wind its way back to Beijing by way of Tokyo, and thereby hamper outside efforts to commandeer our technology. Just something to consider. What is the saying -- food for thought?"


You squint at her. "Why are you betraying your country so suddenly?"


"This is some sort of deception," Vivian says. "I do not like this. We must terminate Kenichi Takagawa at once."


"Why would I not betray them?" Qiangxiang insists. "I was never an emissary of the oafs who run my country. They are prying into the business of Broad Dynamics as certainly as they are prying into your own. They are our common foe."


"It could work," Nelson says. "We could feed him fraudulent project files to pass on to the Japanese." He glances Ken's way: "Would you be willing to do that for us?"


"I reckon I would. I don't truck with thievin and spyin, so they'd have it comin."


"Of course you support this," Armstrong gripes at Nelson. "You damn Wapanese idiot."


"Don't start," Nelson grumps. "I'm not even the biggest weeaboo in this room--"


"You're the only one who wants to fuck a Pokemon!" Armstrong hollers.


(Armstrong is being hyperbolic. Nelson has a fixation on the Japanese voice actress who plays Pikachu, and frequently waxes about how cute she is... in a little too much detail.)


"Just think about that voice in bed, though!" Nelson says, unable to resist litigating this age-old argument. Then: "...Shut up. We can't get off track here--"


Crosstalk and arguing engulfs the room now. Everyone is staking their case on whether or not it's a good idea to try and turn Ken into a saboteur. Saul yells at Nelson, Rose yells at Alex, Armstrong yells at Vivian, Darkbloom yells at you. Rose2, meanwhile, vociferously apologizes to Ken on behalf of everyone -- "Gomen! Gomen! Watashi is so gomenesai for all of this!" And Ken, perhaps evincing a nervous tic, whistles Dixie to himself, literally. About the only people in the room who are quiet are Gal and Qiangxiang.


Finally, Whitney brings order to things by taking out her gavel -- she's still gaveling board meetings in and out -- and banging it against the wall so hard that it pounds a hole in the drywall. The gavel gavel gavel of it shocks everyone silent. "Shut the fuck up!" She shrieks. She breathes hard for a few moments, chest heaving, and then finally finishes: "Animals. We'll take a vote. Jesus fuck."


She sits, smooths her blazer. "Keep Ken around and use him against the commies. Yea or nay. I vote yea."


"Yea," Qiangxiang says.


"Nay. Emphatically nay," Vivian says, and Darkbloom echoes her.


The vote snakes its way around the table. Nelson and Rose are also yeas; Armstrong and Alex are nays. The vote is tied 4-4, leaving Gal as the tiebreaker. All eyes turn to her. Her expression is almost impossible to read, as she stares mutely at the tabletop. The other board members begin to cajole her, vouching for the pros and cons of either side -- thinking that she's an easy vote to sway. But finally, looking up at Qiangxiang with big spectacled eyes, she cuts through all the yammering.


"Who are the spies in Tokyo?" Gal demands, voice as loud and firm as you've ever heard.


Even perpetually aloof Qiangxiang cannot conceal her surprise. "Pardon me? You want names?"


"Yes."


"I do not think it would be--"


Gal cuts her off, again. "As head of information security, I will directly handle Ken's subterfuge. Me -- just me. No one else. So I need the names of the people we want this information to get back to. You don't get your yea without that."


Qiangxiang leans back in her over-large chair, marveling at the young woman she had written off as a mere slavegirl. She considers her options. Then, she takes a pad and pen from the table, and begins to write.


[ ] Talk Gal out of turning Ken into a double agent.

>[x] Let it happen.


When she's done, Qiangxiang rips the page from the pad and slides it across the table. Gal folds it in half and stows it in her purse.


Gal looks up at Ken. "Go back to work. Don't do anything differently. And tell the Japanese that you want to work for them."


He nods.


"You'll still officially report to Chloe, but... I'll be your boss. And I'll be in touch."


"Aye," Ken says. He tips his hat. "I owe you a mighty big thanks." He glances at the affidavit still in his hands. "And... this?" He asks.


Gal motions for him to hand it to her. He does. She tears it up.


A few moments after Ken leaves, Gal stands and excuses herself to the bathroom. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, too -- but only to keep tabs on her. As you expected... from outside the executive suite's female bathroom, you can hear the echo-y noise of her vomiting.


Kay accosts you in the hallway.


"Did you choke your slave a little too hard this time?"


"Fuck you," you say. There's genuine anger in that, which Kay senses. "Sorry," she replies.


She jerks her head in the direction of her office, beckoning you to follow. So you do.


As you shut her door behind you, she takes a seat and says with a faux pout: "You were killing Russians without me? No fair."


Guy takes a bounding leap, gaining several times her height from the floor up onto Kay's desktop, walks across the papers there and licks at Kay's face. Laughing, Kay scoops her up, and plops the pup in her lap. She scruffs her behind the ears.


"How the fuck do you know everything?" You ask. "Do you have an implant too? Don't lie to me."


She smiles slyly. "No, Alabaster, I don't. I get my info the old fashioned way."


You wait for her to say what the old fashioned way is, but she doesn't have to. In now walks Alex -- and it all begins to click into place.


He walks up beside you, sets the crumb he took from Sable's grave on top of Kay's desktop. "Slight problem," he tells you. "I asked Kay for help... hope you don't mind."


You shrug.


"I don't know how the heck this thing is supposed to be installed. Or how it even works, honestly -- and Ms. Guiteau was a genius, but I want to vet her work before I put this thing inside myself... you understand. She wasn't... wholly sane... when she made this."


"She wasn't wholly sane ever," Kay says. "No offense."


Alex sighs. "It's okay. You're right."


Kay leans back in her seat. "Sable's van was at the site of that ugliness in Santa Cruz," she says. She means the warehouse where Sable and about 30 other people got gunned down by Mara's cronies. "The FBI has it now. If you think her project files are in it, then you'll have a tough time getting at them..."


"Can you?" Alex asks her.


"You know what?" Kay says. "Alabaster's right. I'm a thrill seeker. But I'm not suicidal. I'm sorry, but I can't break into evidence lockup at the San Fransisco FBI headquarters."


"I guess we're out of luck," Alex says.


"Not at all," Kay tells him. "There's a woman right outside this room who could get it done for us." She leans in, interlacing her fingers on her desktop. Guy whines at no longer getting lavished with head pats. "Hugh Thurston, the asshole who replaced Noelle at the FBI security checkpoint down at the front lobby? He and Noelle used to date. True story."


Your lips curl. "What? Seriously?"


"Are you jealous?" Kay says.


"I mean -- no -- of course not," you lie.


"Uh huh," Kay murmurs, unimpressed. "Well. Old Hugh was on the take. He was working for Tyrus Kang. That cast he's got on his foot? It's not from a hiking accident. Tyrus..." She swings an invisible bat and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Whacked him real good, I hear."


"Get to the point," you tell her.


"Point is this," Kay says. "Tyrus is dead and the 421 Boyz are disbanded. Hugh is a free agent. With a little bit of Darkbloom money backed by a whiff of Noelle's honeypot pussy, he'd get that van for us. I'm sure of it."


You exhale, and shake your head emphatically no. "Noelle is not going to fuck that needle-dicked fucking f--" you begin.


"Oh, of course not," Kay laughs. "She's not exactly a hose-hound, trust me, I know. But Hugh doesn't. All she has to do is string him along a bit... just like she did with you, once upon a time." She winks. "You know she's good at it."


>[x] Talk with Noelle and ask her to help get Sable's project files out of FBI custody.

[ ] Too risky. Table using the implant for the time being.


You and Noelle hang out on a sort of rooftop-cum-patio, a little railed landing outside the third floor cafeteria with deck chairs and outdoor tables set up at sparse intervals, all loomed over by the rest of the campus's 16 stories.


She sips a latte, staring out at the quad. "She said I used to date him?"


"That was how she put it, yeah."


She huffs. "That fucking... oh, I am gonna make her pay." (You're interested to know how.) "Hugh and I dated one time. One time. And it was a disaster. I went home early by myself and jilled off and passed out."


"That sounds like a pretty typical night for you, huh?" You say. You feel a little bit better at hearing her thing with that jerk was never really a thing at all.


"More or less," she admits. She turns, and leans with her elbows against the railing. "You know, I used to fantasize about being able to lick my own pussy." You choke on nothing. Her voice goes wistful: "If I could do that... if I could just do that, I'd never need to worry about dating to begin with." She rubs the back of her neck like trying to massage a kink out. "Nearly broke my spine a few times as a teenager trying to do it... bad decisions all around."


"Don't give up on your dreams," you tell her.


"The way I left things with Hugh, I don't think he'd be ecstatic to go for another round. He might not be receptive to a date with a former colleague who ditched him and hopped into bed with the enemy."


"We really need those files," you say.


She nods. "I get it. I gotta take one for the team, huh?"


"If you pull it off... I'll ask Dr. Carte if she can take out some of your ribs. Then you could reach your pussy, right?"


She laughs. "No thanks. I don't need that anymore. Working for Whitney has its perks."


You want to give Gal her plaudits -- her performance at the board meeting was impressive, and you know it did a number on her delicate nerves. So a little bit before the end of the workday, you find your way down to her office, and enter. Maybe you should have knocked first.


Gal is stark naked, both heels kicked up on her crystal-littered desktop. Her hands are quite busy.


You once read a statistic that around 40% of the American workforce has masturbated at work. Here in the C-suite at Darkbloom Analytics, that number has got to be substantially higher.


When she sees you, she startles, making a truly cute squeak of fright. She falls backwards, chair and all, and collapses in a pile on the carpeted floor. Trembling, she gazes up at you.


"Sir..." she says, voice barely a whisper. "i... i didnt mean to..."


You had been planning to have a bit of fun with Rose2 after stopping by Gal's office. Rose2 stole your second helping of brownie right off your plate at lunchtime, and that's as good a pretense as any to make good on your suggestion to Mom of ganging up on her. But now, it seems like your slave is in dire need.


>[x] Stay with Gal. (Sub-option: [ ] She should be punished for doing something like this at work. / [x] She needs a helping hand, that's all.)

[ ] Leave her to it -- she needs to blow off some steam. Go find Mom and Rose2.


You help Gal to her feet, although she struggles under gravity nonetheless. Her slight body feels particularly thin and frail today after her stress-induced vomiting earlier. "Have you eaten?" You ask her.


She nods demurely at an empty plate next to her monitor; the smears of chocolate there leaving no doubt in your mind that Mom's been in here babying her once again. Good.


Holding her by a shoulder with one hand, the other creeping down her damp thigh, you feel the slick crevice of her pussy-hole. It's warm and inviting. "You've been bad, haven't you," you say.


She nods. "i'm sorry Sir... i couldn't help myself..."


"I thought you weren't supposed to play with this fuckdump of yours without mine or Cerise's permission."


"y-you're right... i was bad... i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry..." She clasps your hand, the one on her shoulder, and guides it towards her pale neck. "you -- you should punish me," she says.


You smile at her, warmly, which confuses her. She goes mute, and somehow seems even more frightened than if you had just continued with domming her as usual.


"You did well today," you tell her. You give her the gentlest squeeze around her throat, enough to make her gasp. "Sure, you might be a little naughty, playing with your fuckdump like that..." you stick a few fingers in her twat for effect, and slowly masturbate her hole while you apply tender pressure to her airway. "But beside that, you've been a good slave. A very good slave."


"h-have i..." she manages. "really...? th... thank you... thank you Sir... so much..."


"In fact," you say, feeling your heart swell with glad feelings, even as your cock begins to stiffen from choking and molesting her, "I think you deserve a reward."


Her eyes are big and blue and round as she stares dumbly back at you, both her tiny hands gripping your strong wrist against her neck.


"Just today," you say, "just this once... I'll do anything you want."


"a-- anything?"


"Is there anything special you want to try, slut? Ask now because I might change my mind."


She thinks for a long time. It's a struggle for her with the loving abuse you're heaping on the bitch. You lazily stir her cunt up with your invading fingers -- your hands are only averagely sized but her pussy is so tight that getting even two digits inside her is a struggle. So of course, you get three inside, and really stretch her hole out. Meanwhile you press down on either side of her neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain, transforming her into a mush-faced moron. You vary the pressure at random, to keep her guessing and afraid. She stands there with her cunt leaking all over the fucking place, eyes closed, lost in the bliss of humiliation.


But finally she does choke out: "y-yes... there was something... something i've been curious of..."


You arch an eyebrow.


---


"whoa..." Gal breathes. She's utterly transfixed -- hypnotized. Alex, a pair of panties pulled down and hanging around both his ankles, and totally naked otherwise, is bent with his stomach over Gal's desk, his hard little cock leaking a trail of precum down the side of it. Gal is on her knees, right at eye level with Alex's bubble butt. She's corkscrewing three of her fingers in and out of his hole. Her other hand is keeping him spread open. Not that she needs the help, because Alex is submissively holding his ass open for her with both of his hands anyway.


As Gal's fingers work in and out of his rubbery little pussy, Alex bites his lower lip so hard you think he'll draw blood, and his eyes roll to the back of his skull. His loud breathing through his nostrils fills the otherwise quiet room. This is torture of the sweetest kind for him, and he loves it. His hole, as you're well aware, has only a token bit of resistance to it: just enough so that it's really fun to push past it. Gal can't get enough of it. She's been violating him for minutes on end. In and out, over and over. She's just utterly in love with the way his delicate little hole gives and expands for her, then closes back up when she pulls her fingers out -- then parts again when she forces them back in. She spreads the fingers wide -- then pinches them tight -- pulls them back so just the tip is in, then savagely plunges them down to the third knuckle. There's endless ways to abuse his cunt and she's going to try them all. This is a game she's wanted to try forever -- and she isn't going to tire of it anytime soon.


"it's just like cerise said..." she marvels. Alex whines, and a little squirt of precum leaks from his dickhead.


You walk around the desk and pull your trousers down. Gripping Alex by his hair, you guide his feminine lips to your crotch. He swallows you down unquestioningly. The wet tunnel of his gullet is such a nice, hot feeling around your horny prick... there may not be a better cocksucker anywhere in the world. It makes sense. He's a guy, so he knows what feels best on a cock, after all. You sigh in contentment as the slurping sound of his eager blowjob replaces his heavy breathing.


"Cerise is going to be jealous," you warn Gal.


"let her be," she replies. "this is my boypussy today..."


As you begin to hump Alex's face like it's a pussy, Gal pulls her fingers completely out of him. Her eyes are wide and bright and unblinking as she watches his anus seal up completely. Then, still staring at it -- Alex helpfully keeps himself spread open for her -- she puts her fingers in her mouth and sucks them. She obviously likes the taste; because when she's gotten her fill of that, she buries her face into his ass and starts to lick him out.


Alex was already choking and gagging pretty hard with the force of your irrumatio, but now with Gal's tongue working him over from the rear, he's really having a rough time. His face is turning bright red from the lack of oxygen. You know, between that and the delirious pleasure of being used, he's about to pass out. You don't really care, though. You'll both keep using him to get off either way.


Gal pulls away from him, gazing lustily up at you from where she's kneeling. She gulps. "you're so strong, sir... you're raping his throat..."


You laugh at her. "You're a sadistic bitch, huh?" You sneer. "You like seeing this cunt get raped?"


She nods enthusiastically. Then, never breaking eye contact with you, she starts to fingerfuck him again. She smiles mischievously at you. She drags the fingernails of her other hand up and down the sensitive underside his cock, gently -- but that's enough to make him gasp. With your massive cock buried down his throat, Alex's gasping just provides a little extra vibration to pleasure you. It's sexual agony for him, all just to make your cock feel a little better as it pistons inside his mouth. You grit your teeth and relish it.


"will you cum inside me today Sir" Gal asks.


You keep fucking Alex's mouth. "I thought you wanted it to be just like all that trap hentai Cerise hooked you on. You don't want me to cum inside Alex?"


She shakes her head. "i'm a greedy slut Sir... i want your cum in my slave pussy... please, Sir..."


Gal knows how to manipulate you, sure as anything. You pull out of Alex's throat. The spittle and mucus bridge your wet, shiny cock to his wet, shiny face. He comes back from the edge of unconsciousness, shuddering and swallowing down precious air. He stares cross-eyed at your twitchy dick. "Oh my god," he heaves, dazed, "itsh too good... pleashe... shtop..."


She's not going to stop, and you're not going to stop her. You grab your dick by its root and slap his face with it a couple times, leaving welts behind, so he doesn't forget his place. He purses his lips into an O and tries to catch it -- he's so desperate to suck you off -- but your load is destined for Gal's pretty little pussy this time.


You get down on the floor behind her. On your knees, you hold her about her little tummy and haul her back, into your lap -- she makes a pip at the roughness of it. "S-Sir...?"


You nuzzle her neck and rock back and forth a bit, finding her opening with your dick. As the spongy head finds that sticky, slutty hole of hers and forces it open, she swoons with erotic pleasure. You lavish her with kisses to her face and neck as you penetrate her. But you don't want Alex to feel left out, do you? You sink your cock into Gal's horny pussy at the same time as you get your palm against the back of her head and press her mouth back down towards Alex's asshole. She gets the picture. She starts to lick again, and as reward for her obedience, you fuck her.


But not only that. Once you've established a nice, hard, brutal pace inside her squelchy insides, you get a hand wrapped around her throat again, and begin to squeeze.


"Shhhirrrr," she slurs, voice muffled by Alex's ass.


"Shut up," you snarl. "Take my fucking cock."


You choke her as hard as you ever have while she rims Alex. The wet mess she's making inside him begins to seep out, and soon her face is as much of a wreck as his still is. Her makeup is running down her cheeks in clumps and her glasses are all askew. Her hair is matted.


The tightness of Gal's pussy is almost painful as you slam-fuck her. And she only gets tighter the more you choke her out. With Alex's girly moans and groans of pleasure as background noise, you can't help yourself -- you blow your nuts. The semen boils up and spews out in a thick, powerful series of bursts deep inside Gal's vice-like cum-hole. There's really no better feeling than letting go of all inhibition and cumming raw inside a girl's cunt. You don't give a shit if she still wants it. You don't give a shit if she gets pregnant. You don't give a shit if anyone walks in on you. She's there to cum in, so that's what you're going to do. You close your eyes and just enjoy it: the pleasure of cumming inside.


As you slowly withdraw your still erect and still oozing cock from her, she slumps forward -- knocked out cold. Her mouth is still pressed to Alex's asshole. You have no idea how long she's been out, since you got lost in your own selfish enjoyment. You tug her back by her hair and give her a couple sharp slaps to rouse her. Alex, meanwhile, impatiently fingers his own asshole while he watches you over his shoulder.


Every time you slap Gal, little specks of spittle go flying and her face turns redder. You're beginning to worry a bit. But finally her eyes flutter open and she gasps herself conscious again. She sounds drunk as, still fucked-up from the choking, she says: "Shhhirr...? Didjou cum inshiiide...?" Her unfocused eyes find your cum-slick cock, and then drift downwards, to her messy pussy. "Ohhh... yuu did..." she rubs her tummy, smiles stupidly. "Sho warm inshide... thankh yuu..."


You let her suck the rest of the cum from your piss slit while her brain slowly comes back to life. Even after nearly suffocating, she wants to suck you. She has that in common with Alex: just a couple of cocksluts who would do anything as long as it means getting your dick inside them.


A few minutes later, she's a little more alert. You nod at the slimy white present you left leaking out of her bright pink pussy. "Who's gonna clean that up?" You ask.


She grins pervertedly. She stands, wobbling only a little, and cups her hand between her legs from behind to keep your load inside her. She waddles around the desk to face Alex directly. His scared eyes follow her every move. She leers down at him.


He's distracted -- but not for long. You grab him cruelly, and flip him onto his back on the desk.


"Ally--!" He sputters.


That's about all he gets out, before Gal pulls her hand away from her pussy. It's coated with jizz. She rubs it all over his face and mashes it into his skin. He tightly closes his eyes, and scrunches up his features, humiliated and degraded. But she isn't done, not by a long shot. She quickly climbs onto the desk and straddles him, her thin but fleshy thighs squeezing his ears. With your sperm dripping out of her in thick gobs, she begins to rub her pussy back and forth. She's facefucking him -- using him as cumrag. Her sloppy pussy slaps and squishes against him.


It's a sight that makes you even hornier than ever. You yank Alex's pretty little panties off and toss them. Spreading his legs wide open, holding him by either ankle, you fuck your cock into him without mercy. He's wet enough from Gal's rimjob that his body accepts you without any problem. If what you did to Gal just now was a slam-fuck, this is enough to register on a seismograph. You rail Alex like he's a cheap toy, not a human being. It's what Gal wants to see; a perverted fantasy of hers instilled by Cerise's bad influence. As Gal rides him, she watches on with pure love in her eyes. It's more beautiful than she ever would have imagined. Alex shudders beneath the two of you as you rape him. That's what this is, no two ways about it. You and Gal are raping this defenseless trap, just as she wanted.


She knows it, too. She rubs your chest with both hands and says: "you're really fucking him up, Sir..."


"I am," you grunt.


"fuck him up even harder."


That does it. You roar in ecstasy and dump a second, even bigger load of searing hot jizz into Alex's onahole ass. Gal, leaning over Alex's body to reach your face, kisses you deeply. "thank you Sir..." she says, voice dreamy. "thank you..."


When you pull out of Alex, and Gal stands up, he's stained white on both ends. His entire face is nearly concealed by a thick coating of sperm and girl-cum, his boypussy is loose and oozing your load -- and his taut little belly has a puddle of his own cum swimming on top of it. Getting fucked up the ass always makes him lose his sperm, too.


Gal gets back down on her knees -- her favorite position. Underneath Alex, your sperm rains down on top of her; she catches it lewdly with her open mouth. Following it up, she rises to her haunches, and gets her lips wrapped around Alex's anus again, to suck your cum directly out of him.


"hey..." she says after a moment, glancing back at you. "cerise really will be jealous, huh?"


"Oh, definitely."


"hmmm," she hums. Then: "do you want to go get her, Sir?"


---


Using a Q-tip, Renee swabs the hole where your eyeball used to be. A second little wad of cotton covers the glowing grain in your tear duct so that the pain is kept to a minimum. You sit patiently across from her in the Nail House's seldom-used study (Whitney Darkbloom sure as fuck isn't reading any of the books in here, after all.) When Renee's done with disinfecting the wound, her daily chore, she takes out a small flashlight and clicks it on. Holding it like a psycho killer with a butcher's knife (do you have PTSD or something?), she scans the beam around inside the hole, looking intently at the remains of your orbital.


It fucking hurts, but you grin and bear it.


"No signs of infection," she murmurs. "I think you're out of the woods. You're a very lucky girl, Amber."


"This is so weird," you say. "It's like... I can see the light you're shining... but not really. Is there such a thing as a phantom pain but for eyeballs?"


Renee clicks the beam off and puts the flashlight in her labcoat pocket. "Your ocular nerve isn't dead. You might have some residual sensitivity to light because of that. Probably the implant you've got is keeping it responsive to stimuli." She folds her arms. "You'd be a good candidate for an eye implant. In the more traditional sense, that is. A prosthetic retina that could at least partially restore your vision. 50, 60 percent or better. You'd be putt-putt ready in no time."


You laugh. "What about my evil eye? Would I have to get rid of it?"


"No reason you couldn't keep both, if you--" Renee starts. She cuts herself off as David "fucking" Darkbloom enters the study, hangdog expression on his face. She looks up at him.


"Whitney is upset, as expected," he announces.


Renee frowns with one half of her mouth. "I'm not sure what about, but I'm going to guess that I'm on her side, whatever it is."


"She wanted me to settle with her biological grandfather... she's worried that waiting him out will backfire."


"It could," Renee says. "See? Told you I'm on her side."


Darkbloom shakes his head, but drops the subject. He looks over at you. "I wanted to thank you, Amber," he says softly. "You saved Whitney and Vivian both."


You give him the OK sign. But can't resist adding: "Didn't do it for you, though."


"I know," he says. "Thank you regardless." He glances this way and that, then: "How goes your recuperation?"


"I was just talking with her about her options," Renee tells him. "The structure of her optical nerve is still intact and vital. We could go for a bionic eye."


Shrugging, you say noncommittally: "I kinda like the pirate aesthetic. It feels natural. Like I'm meant to be this way. I'm Camelia, right?"


"You're not Camelia," Renee says.


"Pfft," you say. "Don't lie to the poor girl."


"I'm not lying. And don't speak of yourself in the third person. You're Amber Catachresis. Don't let the weirdness of the past define how you carry yourself in the future. Trust me, it's not a good path."


"Gee, thanks, Mom."


She smiles. "So -- maybe the more important question. A bionic eye can wait, but are we pulling that other thing out of you or not?"


Darkbloom, sitting down in a nearby lounger, speaks up: "Now hold on. Why are we even questioning this? It would be for the best--"


"We're not pulling it out," you say definitively. "And don't make yourself at home here, fucker."


Darkbloom harumphs in his prissy way. "Every time you use it, you hurt my daughter," he says. "I should know. I've been through that pain myself. I've experienced how unbearable it is."


"And whose fault is that?" You sneer.


Darkbloom ignores that. "I told you how thankful I am for what you did on the freeway, Amber, and that's true. But prolonged use of your implant is going to do lasting damage. That action movie stunting of yours gave poor Vivian a nosebleed so severe she lost consciousness. She's still in pain, days later. Another episode like that would endanger her well-being. You said in Vail that you love her. Is this how you treat the people you love?"


"She wants me to keep it too," you say.


"She doesn't know what's best for her!" Darkbloom shouts.


"There it is," Renee says bitterly. "David, maybe you should go. Amber's had a long night as it is. You can argue your case some other time... I just know you will."


On his way out of the Nail House, he passes some men in denim uniforms bringing in boxes. "What's all this?" He asks, standing awkwardly in the foyer as the men pass him by.


"It's the move-in extravaganza," you say. "Doc finally decided to come live with us. Vivian, too -- she'll be on her way later."


"Is that true?" He asks Renee. She nods.


"Ridiculous..." he mutters, obviously angered.


You shrug theatrically. "If you have a problem, feel free to leave an anonymous comment in our suggestion box," you tell him. "Your feedback is important to us."


"You know--" he begins, raising an index finger in Renee's direction. "I expect Whitney to act rashly. And Vivian is still immature. But you -- you surprise me, Renee. You know as well as I that the most sensible thing would be to take the implants out of Vivian and Amber so they have some chance at a normal life again."


"Maybe you're right," Renee says. "But I can't force them. That's what you never did learn, isn't it? You can't just force people to bend to your view of things." She takes out a cigarette and lights it up. Daddy's gonna be mad if he catches her smoking inside. You sort of hope he does, because the fireworks would be interesting. "But be honest," Renee continues, "this isn't really about the implants right now, is it? You're just upset that I'm moving under the same roof as Alabaster Soliloquy."


"That is so far from the point," Darkbloom insists. "You've made it more than clear that I can't stop you from hopping into bed with a boy young enough to be your son."


"Oh, I should punch you in the goddamn face for that," Renee says. "You monstrous fucking hypocrite."


"This is about more than just your sexual flings. This is about what's best for all of us--"


"OK boomer," you tell him.


Darkbloom does a double take, and then fixes you in his bewildered gaze. "...What? Boomer? As in baby boomer?"


"Uh huh."


"I am not a goddamn baby boomer," Darkbloom hollers. "You impudent, ignorant little girl. I cannot -- see, Renee? This is what I'm talking about. Leaving a girl like Amber with access to even a fraction of Sand Reckoner's power is a terrible mistake. We need to see things clearly, and rationally -- to be adults about it -- because no one else--"


"OK boomer," you tell him.


He pounds a fist against the wall, hard enough that you feel a slight tremor reverberate, and then storms out the front door, pushing past a hapless mover.


"I don't think he liked that," Renee tells you with a wry puff of her cig.


"Nope," you agree. Then: "Hey, could I steal a drag?"


"Not a chance in hell," Renee says, snuffing the cigarette between her fingers -- fuck, she must have learned that habit in prison -- and putting it back in the pack. "Smoking is bad for you."


"Why the fuck does everyone think I don't know that!" You shout, but Renee is already on her way back to the study. Bitch...


You're sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing almost nothing, and smoking, when Daddy gets home. Hey, if Renee is bold enough to smoke indoors, why not you?


He's arguing with Rose2 about something or another, which is pretty normal -- you'd be more worried if they weren't bickering. Noelle is tagging along for the fun and games. The argument seems to be about the best strategy to honeypot that FBI pig they want to get Unstable Sable's notes from.


As absorbed as he is in the argument, he still notices the cigarette between your lips. He stops on his way past the living room to point at you threateningly. "Put that out," he says.


"Make me," you say.


"Leave her alone," Rose2 tells him, "it's not important right now."


It seems like whenever one is mad at you, the other is more forgiving.


"Fuck you, Rose. It's so important. She shouldn't be smoking inside. She shouldn't be smoking at all."


"Blame Doc," you tell him. "She's a bad influence. She did it too."


"Renee's already here?" Noelle asks.


"She was smoking inside?" Daddy sputters.


"Gee, I dunno~" You say, playing dumb.


"I'll deal with you later," he grouses, stomping off. Noelle and Rose2 follow. You put out the cigarette.


Mom and Rose get back soon after, with Whitney in tow. Whitney is begging Mom for homemade fudge ice cream, which Mom complains she's too tired to make.


"But I haven't eaten all day and I'm so fucking hungry!" Whitney insists.


"I'm not your personal slave, missy," Mom barks as she hangs her purse on the rack. "Get your own ice cream. I need to rest."


"But it would be suuu-uuuper oishii," Rose insists. "And we'd be, like, totally thankful, desu!"


"We speak English, dear," Mom tells her, sighing. "How many times do I have to remind you..."


You wave at them as they pass.


It's a relatively quiet night, something you could use after all the craziness recently. And you're kind of in the mood to get fucked.


>[x] Go bug Daddy to pay attention to you.

[ ] Wait for Vivian and give her an official welcome to the Nail House.

>[x] Something else? (Cuddle with Mom)


When you checked up on Daddy via your evil eye the other night, you got an eyeful, all right: you found out that the relationship between him and Mom is anything but wholesome. More like holesome. You weren't surprised -- after all, he fucks his sisters, and his cousin-slash-stepmom, and he's married to his cousin-once-removed for pete's sake. And his cock always gets extra big and hard and red and angry when you call him Daddy. What's a little extra incest on top of all that?


You saw Mom in a new light that night. Would you really fuck her? Oh yeah. She's got a nice fat ass, and she's fun to bully: you've learned both these facts well. Why not join in on the fun? You're horny enough... and that kind of degeneracy gets your cunt wet, too. Maybe it runs in the family.


Mom is sitting on her bed, reading a book, when you go into her room. She hasn't gotten undressed at all, save for taking off her shoes at the front door, and she has her legs curled up under her butt.


"Amber," she says warmly as you saunter up and sit down on the bed. She sets the book aside. "How was your day?"


"I dropped out."


She shakes her head. "Why are you always so sarcastic? ... And is that cigarette smoke I smell? Have you been smoking again, young lady?"


"Don't tease me, Mom," you complain. "I'm still sad about my eye and all... isn't it natural for me to act out?"


She hugs you close to her bosom. You've still got it, Amber Catachresis, you know how to manipulate your mother. You hug her back and nuzzle her sweater puppies. She smells really good. That perfume she uses has always been a favorite of yours, too... you should try it out yourself one of these days.


"It's a nasty habit," Mom tells you. She kisses you on the crown of your head. "You don't want to wind up like that Renee tramp who's coming to live here, do you? Smelling like cigarettes and cheap whiskey all the time?"


You shrug. The two of you stay there like that for a while, half-lying, half-sitting in bed, hugging. It's a perfectly Hallmark mother-daughter moment. Of course what's not Hallmark about it is the wet spot spreading in the crotch of your striped panties. With your legs curled up like this, Mom can't see -- but she'll be sure to notice it the moment you get up. That's your plan, though.


You gaze up into her eyes. "Long day?" You ask her.


"Always," she says. "I work my butt off every day for all these people and how do they thank me? Asking me to work even more, the very second I get home! It's absurd!"


"Well I'm thankful for ya," you say with a cheeky grin. A beat passes, then you ask her: "need a massage?"


"Well, I am really sore," she admits. "If you're offering -- at least one of my children is grateful."


She uses her toes to kick off her socks, first one and then the other. Guess she wants you to focus on her feet first -- fine by you. You release your grip on her soft midsection and crawl across the bed on hands and knees, down by where her legs are. This position puts your butt pretty prominently in the air, impossible for her to ignore. It's a sight that has seduced more than one person in the past, the peach-shaped curve of your ass and thighs, the way the cotton clings to the folds of your little pussy, the way the dampness stains the garment darkly. Now let's see if it's powerful enough to seduce your own mother.


"Amber..." she whispers, and then her breath catches, as you wrap your fingers around the arch of her right foot. You're not surprised at all: it's as pliable as the rest of her body. No wonder she's so good at making desserts. It's like she's filled with jelly.


As you slowly begin to massage her feet, you shake your butt back and forth. Only a little, and not very fast, as if you're doing it absentmindedly -- swaying it side to side like a hypnotist's pendulum. You know it's having the effect you want. You can feel her eyes staring at your ass, and you just know she must be thinking some very unmotherly thoughts. She's mentally undressing you... what a perverted woman.


"The truth is," you say softly, and brush your fingers across the sole of her foot in a way that makes her jerk back, "I wanted to talk to you about something really important. Well... you and Alabaster... do you mind if I get him?"


You look back at her. Her face is a deep crimson and she's chewing her lip. "I... well, I'm very tired... maybe I should take a nap first..."


Yep. You're making her wet, all right.


You run a hand up her calf, and further north, towards her thigh, never breaking eye contact. "I think you'll want to hear this," you tell her. "Why don't you get comfy, huh?"


"C-comfy...?"


You use both hands to reach out and unclasp the brass button of her jeans. Like dough suddenly expanding, her waist and tummy break free of their tight denim confines. That must be such a relief. You know, because despite herself, she sighs contentedly.


"Did you know I'm sleeping with Alabaster?" You suddenly ask her.


Her eyes widen. "W-what? You-- no..."


"I sleep in his bed most nights." You let that one sink in, then the coup de grace: "He fucks me, too."


"Amber..." she breathes. "But... you're like siblings... and you're underage... that's..."


You bat your eyelashes. "You don't approve?" She shakes her head. "You don't approve of Alabaster putting his cock in me? Cumming inside me? But you like it so much when he does it with Cerise, don't you?"


She's breathing heavy, as you run a hand under the thick wool of her sweater and poke her soft belly. Guess that's why they're called sweaters -- she's really sweaty under there.


"When he fucks me... I like to call him Daddy."


Mom takes a shuddering inhalation, and moans.


"I'll go get him," you tell her.


---


You follow the sound of Amber's shouted "Daddy!" back to its source. What a stupid girl, calling you that so loudly. She's getting out of hand lately... you need to reel her back in.


You're mortified to discover that she's standing at the entrance to Mom's room -- and that Mom is in there, lying on the bed. "What's gotten into you?" You hiss at her. She tugs you by the wrist, past the threshold, and shuts the door.


Mom looks exhausted and agitated, disheveled. "Has she been bugging you?" You ask her.


"S-sort of," Mom says.


"Sit! Sit!" Amber insists, pushing you towards the bed. Just to shut her up, you sit.


"I'll get her out of your hair," you tell Mom. "I needed to talk to her anyway." You look at Amber angrily: "Someone's been smoking inside."


"Uh huh," Amber agrees. She circles around to the other side of the bed, and then: she jumps. She takes a running jump, and belly flops, landing right across your lap. The globes of her tight ass jiggle from the momentum of it, barely covered by her underwear, and you can't help staring, even as you let out a surprised grunt.


Mom is leaning forward now, on her balled-up fists, watching. "Alabaster..." she says. "Is it... are you really--"


"I dropped out of school, too!" Amber tells you.


"What?" You and Mom demand at the same time.


"It's true!" She looks at you over her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "I thought you should both know it. I've been reee-eeeally bad, huh." She begins to hump herself up and down on your knees, which sets her ass to jiggling again. "Spank me," she says. "Spank me! Spank me!"


Mom is beside herself with conflicting emotions. You don't know what to say to her, or how to explain this bratty behavior she's seeing from her daughter. She watches on, helpless. "Amber," she says, "--what on Earth -- why are you--"


"Spank me, Daddy! Spank me!"


Finally, you snap. You shut her up by wrapping a hand tightly over her mouth. Her body, across your lap, goes stiff. You raise your flattened palm high over your head and bring it down against her little ass as hard you can. She asked for it. The smack resonates through the cozy bedroom, and you just know she really felt that one. The gasp she makes, almost totally muted by your hand covering her lips, sends a couple drops of spittle flying out from between your fingers. Her ass, the portion of it you can see under the wet fabric of her panties, is already turning color.


"Are you really... having sex with her...?" Mom asks you.


Amber begins to try and get up, attempting to raise herself off your lap. This draws your attention away from Mom, and back at her. Roughly, you force her down again. You take your hand to her a second time, even harder than the first -- you spank her red and raw. Her small but plump legs go rigid, and kick, and she screams bloody murder into the muzzle of your palm.


When you let go of her mouth, she yells painfully: "Okay! Okay! That's enough! I learned my lesson!"


You grab the waistband of her panties and yank, baring her ass. Her hairless underage pussy is visible, and her tight asshole, too.


"Wait--!" Amber pleads. "Not that!"


Too late. You unleash a savage barrage of spanks. You beat her with your open palm, both sides of her naked butt. And also the insides of her thighs, and the backs of her thighs, and even her wet cunt. You spank her bare wet cunt as hard as the rest of her. You beat her brutally, filling the room with meaty slapping noises, until her lower half is as red as a tomato. Then you keep beating her some more. So she wanted some punishment in her life? You're gonna give it to her. She cries out with every blow, but her pussy creams up more and more. Mom watches wordlessly, neither encouraging it nor trying to make you stop.


Your cock is really fucking hard by this point, and your lizard brain has taken control. Grunting, you reach down and unzip your fly and let your cock spring free. It juts up from your lap at full attention and rests against Amber's side. The red cockhead is peeking up, oozing precum, in plain view of Mom. The pressure of Amber's weight pressing against the sensitive underside of it is a nice tease.


"That's enough..." Amber pants. "Please... I get it, okay... please, Daddy--"


You use both hands to pry the cheeks of her ass apart and gaze down at the lovely pale pucker of her anus. Gal's cruelty earlier has rubbed off on you, clearly: you press a couple fingers together and jab them into her rear hole. You go in dry, and have no mercy on her.


"Ow!" Amber yells. "Ow, ow! It hurts!"


Mom leans in and takes Amber's face in her hands. Amber looks up at her forlornly. "Make him stop..." she snivels, pitiful and whiny.


Gently, Mom tells her: "I'm sorry, honey. You need to learn your lesson."


That's full permission to keep going. You continue to molest Amber's asshole, and you add the fingers of your other hand to her sore cunt. The Daddy she so wanted to spank her, now is taking full liberty of both her lower orifices, viciously toying with them even as they still sting from the abuse of the spanking.


Amber, defeated, slumps her shoulders. Mom pets the top of her head like she's a puppy. Then, reaching over her back, she tickles your cockhead with her dainty fingers.


"You really are having sex with her..." she says. Her voice is husky, turned-on.


You nod. "How could I not... when she comes after me like this... she's just begging to get fucked, all the time..."


She strokes your cheek now. "It's fine, dear, I understand. Amber turned out to be a slut... it's not your fault."


"Sorry she annoyed you so much," you say, "I'll get her out of here -- take her back to my room. I need to keep punishing her."


Mom smiles. "Why would you go through all that trouble?"


Even as you continue to mash your fingers in and out of Amber's soft, flexible fuckholes, you raise an eyebrow at Mom.


"Don't waste your energy," she says. "You can fuck her right here, if you want... fuck her in my bed, honey."


A little dribble of slime squirts from the head of your prick.


You dump Amber onto her stomach on the bed. As you climb after her, walking on your knees, Mom gets behind you. She rests her chin on your shoulder and undoes your pants, and helps you get out of them. Then she helps you out of your boxers too, taking a moment to tug on your meaty dick from behind -- both her soft hands wrapped around your shaft, coaxing out a little more precum in the process. Getting you even harder to fuck her daughter.


She doesn't stop there. She circles Amber now, straddles her back, and wraps her hands around your hips. She tugs you forward and gets her lips around you dick. There's something almost impossibly sexy about Mom's blowjob face. The way it makes her features contort and elongate as she sucks on you, staring into your eyes the whole time. She's an expert at it. She can get your meat all the way to the back of her velvety throat without gagging. You feel her uvula tickle you and her gullet undulating as she swallows around you. It's a technique almost as good as Whitney's. She kneads your balls with one hand, as if to stir up the cum inside and get it primed to go. If she doesn't stop soon, you know you'll blow your load in her mouth... which she realizes too, because reluctantly, she pulls off of you.


She cranes her neck down, and spreads Amber's ass, fingernails pressing hard against the tenderized flesh. She slackens her jaw and lets a long, slow stream of her saliva, mixed up with your precum, ooze down onto Amber's asshole. With a couple fingers, she rubs it all in. She isn't gentle about it.


You spread Amber's legs a bit wider using your knees, get over top of her. You grip your cock to hold it steady and mount her.


"Daddy-- wait--!!"


You don't wait. You plunge in, and fuck your dick up into her soft, hot ass. "Fuck," you pant, unable to contain your enjoyment at seating yourself inside this hole of hers. The dirtiness of doing this right in front of your mother only makes it all the better. You hump Amber's ass so hard the bed thuds against the floor with every thrust, and take your pleasure from her lithe body. She buries her face into the bedsheets, biting them, her hands gripping them tightly.


Mom hurriedly kicks off her clothes -- sweater, bra, jeans and panties. She gets fully nude, and you can see how wet her pussy has gotten from watching you rape her daughter. The hair above her cunt is matted down with her arousal and her pussy lips are bloomed open, dripping. She sits back, propped on a pillow, and spreads her legs on either side of Amber's face. When Amber looks up, she has a faceful of Mom's horny cunt.


"You didn't finish your massage..." Mom says, voice smoky. "I need a massage here, too... use your mouth..." She points at her mommyhole.


Amber is in no position to say no. As you assfuck her, she nestles her face in Mom's crotch and obediently begins to lick. All the fight is gone from her. She breathes deeply of Mom's scent, nose against Mom's clit, and licks her out. With the two of you working her over from both sides, it's not long before you're both cumming. You cum all over the little bitch -- Mom squirting her cum across Amber's head as she rubs her own clit to help herself along; you pumping a nice hot load into her bowels. Her ass flutters and clamps around you, and you hear her muffled cries of "Daddy--!!" being shouted right into your mother's orgasming pussy. Amber's own cute little pussy is getting the bed wet, too. She's cumming herself stupid from her punishment. Maybe this was the wrong way to teach her?


Mom doesn't seem to care, anyway. She's holding Amber's ears and rubbing herself against Amber's face like a bitch on heat. So you don't care, either. You smile and keep fucking in and out of Amber's cummy, slutty little asshole. Since you and Mom took your edge off by using Amber as cum-toilet once, you're both a bit gentler for round 2. But only just a bit.


You leave Amber cuddled up in Mom's arms. Mom lovingly pets and soothes her as she sniffles away the pain.


"Sorry if that was a bit rough, dear..." Mom whispers. "But you were really asking for it."


Amber wipes her nose with the back of her palm and smiles weakly.


"I liked it..." she murmurs.


---


"While you were fucking your Mom, we were getting things done," Rose tells you. She shows you Noelle's phone.


You sit down on the living room couch and read the text messages, growing angrier by the second.

You can't tell what's worse: the sleazy way this guy talks to Noelle or the fact that he doesn't know how to spell the word "tenterhooks." And then:


"Oh, Jesus," you groan. "Do you seriously have to take him to the Rutabaga Cafe?"


Noelle giggles. "You have so much paranoia about that place. Look, just because bad things happened there once, it doesn't mean they're bound to happen there again. That's a logical fallacy."


"That place is cursed. It's literally cursed." You massage the bridge of your nose. "And another thing. Why do you have to be so... so..."


"So what?" Noelle asks, smiling.


"Nevermind."


"Jealousy isn't attractive," she warns you. "And if that makes you jealous, you're really gonna hate this..."


Standing before you, she takes the phone with one hand, and with the thumb of her other hand she pulls the waistband of her pants out. She opens the camera app and snaps a photo of her panty-covered crotch.


"Noelle--" you begin.


"It's part of the game," she says. "He'll do anything I say after this. Isn't this what you asked for?"


"Don't you dare--"


She sends it. You can feel your blood boiling.


Noelle pockets her phone, reaches out, gently parts the hair on your forehead. "Don't be like that, Alabaster. You're so jealous, even though you know I'm not even going to get within 10 feet of his dick."


"It's not about that," you begin, setting your jaw.


"If it'll make you feel better..." She says. She leans in and coos in your ear, her breath hot: "...after this is all over and we have what we want, you can fill me up, down there, and take a picture... that way he gets both the before-and-after..."


You feel yourself flush.


---


"Sorry for the wait. We're really shorthanded. We've had a lot of people quitting on us recently..."


The baristas and waitstaff at the Rutabaga Cafe are jumpy and easily spooked. Every time the bell over the door dings, they flinch. The one serving you your coffee looks like she hasn't slept in about five days.


You thank her, and she scuttles off.


When you see, through the front windows, Hugh approaching down the sidewalk, you put on your baseball cap and sunglasses, fold your arms on top of the small circular table, and lay your head down.


Noelle, at a table not far away, greets him enthusiastically, with twin cheek pecks and warm small talk.


And about half an hour later, he's still gabbing. A real chatty Cathy, Hugh is. "Yeah, here's the pass where I cracked my heelbone... this trail is suuuper treacherous, double black diamond. That means biking on it is pretty tough."


"I know what a double black diamond means--"


"--Oh and look, here's the grizzly I saw out there -- didn't wanna get too much closer, haha... but they're really majestic creatures, you know-- and-- oh, oops, that's a picture of me at the gym, ignore that--"


"Hugh, I'd love to stick around, but I'm really in a rush here."


Thank god, you think.


"Oh... yeah, of course. You're busy working for supervillains now and all."


"I'm sorry. It's been great to catch up, trust me. But Whitney's really riding me, and not in the fun way... did you make any progress... on that thing we talked about?"


You can feel your heartbeat in your throat.


"Yeah, sorry, Noelle. I didn't."


Fuck.


"The thing is," he says, "they're keeping those notes under tight watch. And I'd be risking a ton to get them out for you..."


"Cut the shit. I've got the full faith and credit of Darkbloom Analytics behind me here. What's it gonna take?"


"The faith and credit of DBA isn't worth much these days, sweetie. It might take a little extra on top of that... you know?"


Their conversation goes a bit lower, and over the din of the other patrons, you can't make it out. You feel like you're about to crawl out of your skin here.


It feels like eternities have passed, when there's a gentle tap on your shoulder. You look up to see Noelle sitting across from you, a straw in her mouth, the other end of it pointing at you. She uses her lips to wag it up and down, puckishly. "Your love rival is gone," she tells you.


"What does he want?"


"He wants to NTR you. Just like your Mongolian puppet shows."


You grimace at her.


"Your stepdad has a court date on the 21st," Noelle says. "Still fighting to get the FBI uprooted from your front lobby. Hugh is gonna be in court that day too... delivering some documents... so it's a perfect time to pull a little extra something-something out of evidence and drop it off, without raising too many eyebrows."


"What does he want?"


"I told you what he wants. He wants to fuck me. Oh, and a million dollars."


"He's not getting that," you say. "Neither of those things."


She smirks. "I can pass him funny money, but I can't pass him funny pussy." She cups her hands around her crotch. "What should I do? Stuff a fleshlight in my zipper and hope he doesn't notice?"


"Will you stop?"


"Today's your lucky day, Alabaster," she says. "He's going to give us Sable's notes before we deliver on our half of the bargain. Gullible asshole."


"How... did you convince him to do that?"


She winks. "Do you really want to know?"


"Noelle--"


"I used my very skilled mouth to convince him, of course."


"You--"


"I sweet-talked him, you dork." She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers. "You're too fun to fuck with, Alabaster. That's your problem."


You stand, go over to the drink machine, dispense an ice chip -- and chuck it at her. Unlike in the past, she has nothing to block it with this time. It slides down the front of her shirt, and she grabs at her breast, yowling. "Fuck! Cold! Ow! Shit, you ass!"


You haul her up by her arm. "Let's go."


"Oh, am I in trouble, Daddy?"


"You have no idea."


On your way out, she pokes your cheek. "See? No one died. No curse. What did I tell you? Paranoid freak."


---


When you get to the Mallory house early Monday, you still have that ages-old reticence about simply walking in. Instead, you wait restlessly on the doorstep for your loving wife to bring up the rear, so she can open it for you. You follow her in.


Charlotte is sound asleep on the couch, curled up under a thick jersey blanket, snoring like a lawnmower. You squat down in front of her, and snap your fingers in front of her face.


"Huh-whuuhhhh?" She mutters, startling. She swipes at her face and struggles to sit up. Groping for her glasses on the coffee table, she grabs them like a caveman would grab a rock to bludgeon someone with, and haphazardly shoves them on. "Izzit alre tie?" she slurs, obviously still groggy.


"Did Saul kick you out of the bedroom again?" You ask. "Jesus."


She shrugs. "Mutual," she grumps. She always says that it's mutual.


Rose is already on her way to go get her dad from the master bedroom. Charlotte, realizing this, swivels in place, looking worriedly towards the hallway from over the couch's backrest. "Honey -- wait--"


"Gross!" Rose shouts, stomping back out into the living room. "Oh, gross, gross, gross!"


You stand just in time to see a young woman, maybe no older than 20, tits-out and only clad in panties, dart across the hall from the master bedroom, into the guest bathroom. You recognize that girl. She's a paralegal working with Saul and Charlotte's team at DBA.


Saul, in his robe, standing at the bedroom's threshold, points. "What the hell!" He shouts at you. "You're so early! You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours!"


"Rose wanted to eat breakfast--" you begin, as Rose brushes past you, towards the kitchen, still repeating her "gross, gross, gross" mantra. You pull your eyes from her, back Saul's direction: "She wanted to eat breakfast together."


"That's so sweet," Charlotte says, stretching and yawning and tossing her blanket aside. "I'll get it going."


You marvel at the chrome-plated balls it takes for Saul to kick his wife out of bed so he can share it with some random slut. You should be taking notes.


(Then again, Charlotte seems to be in a pretty happy-but-tired mood. Who's to say she didn't enjoy that paralegal a little bit herself?)


You give the Mallorys a little bit of time to themselves, to get fully up and dressed -- and to evict last night's entertainment. You make your way through the kitchen and out to the garage, where you find Rose, who's distracting herself by feeding Myrna.


"Men are garbage! squaaawwwww garbage garbage," Myrna says.


Rose ruffles her feathers with an index finger through the cage's bars. "That's right, Myrna. You're so smart."


You grab a handful of birdseed from the open bag on the cabinet-top, and make a series of tantalizing clicks and whistles that draws Myrna's attention. She hops the other way across her perch towards your offered palm, and begins to eat from it. As she tips her head back and swallows, a grin on her little bird beak, she shouts: "Repeal the 19th! squaaaaawwww end suffrage no vote squaaaaw"


"Good job, Myrna!" You say, and rub her under her chin. She vibrates all over, flapping her wings happily "You are a smartie."


"God, I hate you," Rose fumes.


"End patriarchy," Myrna says, "beat women squaaawww"


Cerise wanted to come along too, with a reluctant Gal in tow. They show up about 20 minutes after you and Rose -- late risers, as always. (You'd be too, if you didn't have Rose to drag you awake). You're honestly surprised they made it all: you thought they'd stay in bed. Maybe Cerise's political aspirations are giving her just a little extra motivation.


While Charlotte fries the bacon and scrambles the eggs, Saul pours orange juice for everyone, settles himself in at the table, and tries awkwardly to make small talk with Gal:


"Fun times at that board meeting the other day, huh?"


"erm"


"You gave Chloe hell. Great job."


"thankyoumrmalloy" she says, all as one word, trying to get it out as quickly as possible.


Saul coughs. Gal stares at her partially nibbled toast.


Cerise hugs her around the side and says: "thanks again for helping us out, Mr. Mallory. Really."


"Anything to stick it to those idiots in the FBI," Saul says. "Plus, if it will help Alex figure out what the hell is going on with this Sand Reckoner nonsense, all the better." He pauses for a beat, before adding: "And for the last time, call me Saul. Mr. Mallory is way too... stiff."


"How come you never tell me not to call you Mr. Mallory?" You demand.


"Because that's perfectly fine coming from you," he says, picks up his own toast, and gnaws a chunk out of it. Rose doesn't stifle her bemused laughter. Cerise was always Saul's favorite Soliloquy -- that might still be true even now that Rose is one, too.


You have to admit you owe him no small credit, though. During the darkest days after your parents died, Saul was there for Cerise. There were plenty of nights where he let her drink her woes away under his roof, despite being underage -- but on the stipulation that he would keep an eye on her, so she didn't do anything impossible to undo. They became drinking buddies, spending nights out back by the poolside, with Saul dispensing Cerise life- and career-advice. She got out of being a NEET in large part thanks to him.


"When's the wedding?" Saul asks.


Cerise makes a surprised, disgruntled "uwha--" kind of noise.


Charlotte, circling the table with a steaming skillet of eggs and scooping them onto your plates with a spatula, adds: "That's right. You two still need to officially tie the knot."


"unofficially," Gal says. "it would be unofficially. we're tied officially... officially is good... i'm fine with just officially..."


"We can do a small ceremony, if you want," Charlotte says. "But you simply must do one. I got to see Alabaster and Rose have their big day, now I only have one child left to go!"


Cerise and Gal are turning scarlet, both so uncomfortable they look as if they'll melt.


You and Rose so often find occasion to rub salt in one another's wounds and cap it off with a smug smile that makes the other hate existence; but this time, the both of you get to smile smugly at a common object of ridicule.


"Suck my dick, Alabaster," Cerise grouses, when she sees you smirking at her. She tosses a wadded-up napkin at you.


"suck my dick," Gal adds, and tosses her napkin your way too.


Saul points at Gal: "I knew I liked you. Cerise, you did good here. She's a keeper."


"thank you mr. mallory" (At least she's talking at a halfway normal speed. Now if she could just make herself halfway audible.)


He steeples his fingers. "So? When's the ceremony?"


She squeaks. Must have thought the conversation would be moving on.


Cerise, rubbing her forehead madly with the ball of her palm, says: "I dunno, next week. Will that shut you up? Fuck."


"Okay, great. Next Monday it is."


"A small ceremony," Cerise insists.


"Oh, of course," Saul says. "200 seats, max."


Gal squeaks, again.


"Just your closest friends and political supporters and online admirers," he adds.


Now it's Gal who throws a little piece of her bacon at him. He deflects it easily, and says: "Come on. Let's not turn this into a foodfight, okay?"


"We should do it Tuesday," Rose says, flipping through her little trapper keeper. "We've got our afternoon meeting on Mondays, and that always runs over, plus Cerise has a couple campaign events in the evening..."


"Did you seriously bring your planner to the breakfast table?" You say. "Put that away. God."


"Tuesday would be perfect," Charlotte tells Cerise. "Your anniversary would be one month apart from Rose and Alabaster!"


"What difference does that m--" Cerise begins.


"Pencil that in," Saul tells Rose.


"Done," she says, literally penciling it in to her planner. Her neat handwriting schedules the wedding for 12 PM to 5 PM on Tuesday, October 29.


Gal is servile, eager to please. She must want to leave a good impression on her soon to be step-inlaws because, despite her typical slovenly habits, she volunteers to collect the dirty dishes and take them to the kitchen after breakfast. Of course, she's still no model maidservant: she fills one basin of the sink, dumps the dishes in and adds some soap -- and then leaves it. As she turns away from the sink, Charlotte at the entrance of the kitchen says softly to her:


"Won't you clean them? You got this far." Her tone conveys curiosity more than anything.


"th-they... they should soak, first... right"


Charlotte tilts her head.


"...soak... the dishes -- they should -- they should soak --"


Charlotte frowns.


"...i'll clean them"


Gal turns back towards the sink and starts scrubbing.


---


"I admire the chutzpah of it," the judge is telling Saul, who stands at the plaintiff's table. "The argument is little out-there, but... well, there's not a lot of precedent to lean on, is there?"


Saul laughs. "No, there isn't."


Beside you in the galley, Charlotte's fists in her lap are balled-up so hard the knuckles are blanched. This is killing her.


"I'm going to have to punt on this one," the judge continues. "But since I err on the side of civil liberties, I'll grant your temporary restraining order until this matter is settled."


"Your honor--" the government's attorney begins. "The national security implications if another hack occurred at Darkbloom Analytics would be--"


"I don't want to hear about national security," the judge growls. "You picked the wrong court to come barking about national security. I'm sick, frankly, of indefinite government spying on the flimsy pretense of national security. If you have a legitimate purpose interfering with this private business's activity any longer, then you can go on and prove it to the 9th Circuit. I'm sure they'll be delighted to set precedent on the third amendment. Until then, I'm ordering the FBI to vacate the premises of Darkbloom Analytics, effective immediately."


Saul pumps his fist. Even from the galley, you hear him mutter under his breath: "shit, yes."


Cerise and Gal didn't stick around for the whole day at court, but you and Rose did.


After Saul finishes kicking the government's attorneys in the teeth, he and his wife, and the rest of the legal team, have their closed-door meeting in a conference room upstairs to get the documents the FBI was ordered to turn over. Hugh is going to pass him Sable's notes at that time.


You, Rose, and Noelle wait on a bench across from the courthouse in a little quad of greenery, by a statue of some important person from California's frontier days.


Noelle is bickering with Rose:


"What on Earth are you talking about?" She says. "You fucking idiot."


"Idiot?" Rose shrieks. "Obviously you're the one who's incapable, completely incapable, of having a single worthwhile opinion-- I would expect nothing less from a fascist pig like you--"


"--Oh, that is absolutely-- you horrible fucking SJW cunt--"


"--How can you possibly even begin to put 8 over both 6 and 7? 6 and 7 are the epitome--"


"Blind. Blind, absolutely blind, and a bandwagoner," Noelle says. "8 had the more refined--"


"--Not nearly as memorable, and way too easy--"


You bury your head in your hands and pray for this day to end already.


Noelle holds a palm up to shush Rose, as she glimpses Saul and Charlotte exiting the courthouse.


"What's up?" You ask her.


"Where is everyone?" Noelle says.


You glance across the street. Nothing seems amiss. Saul puts the files, presumably Sable's notes, in his car's backseat, then stands there angrily inspecting a ticket on his windshield. Behind him, Charlotte is standing at the curb exchanging some parting words with that fucking slimeball Hugh. When Hugh notices Noelle watching, he waves at her. You shiver.


But then you realize what Noelle means with that question. Saul and Charlotte both have some personal security too, a couple guards named Abbott and Dwight. The guards' car is still parked at a meter outside right near Saul's car, but the two guards aren't in it; and they didn't exit the courthouse with Saul and Charlotte. Where are they?


Noelle stands and begins to stride purposefully across the quad. Only now is Rose starting to grok that something doesn't feel right here -- her eyes follow Noelle's path as she herself stands too.


"Hang back," you tell Rose, grabbing her palm.


"But--" Rose begins.


That's all she gets out.


What happens next happens all in the span of about five seconds:


A plainclothes man passing by across the street stops, pulls a pistol, and shoots Hugh in the head. His brain matter explodes across the hood and windshield of the Mallory family BMW -- and across Saul, too. Bystanders scream and scatter.


Noelle breaks into a sprint, pulling her gun. But she's too far away to be of much help in time to stop the violence. The assassin is already wheeling on a shrieking Charlotte, who's frozen in terror.


Rose tries to run into the fray too. You grab her firmly around her midsection, pulling her into a bear hug, and tackle her to the grass. She fights against you, shouting unintelligibly, but you hold her tight.


Saul tugs the passenger side door of his car open, grabs a pistol from the dashboard, wheels, and nails the assassin in the back of his knee -- just milliseconds before the assassin can blow Charlotte's brains out. The assassin's second shot misses its mark and hits the concrete wall to the right of Charlotte's head.


The assassin topples to his stomach on the sidewalk, as Saul steps towards him. Saul raises his gun at the back of the man's head, but the man turns onto his back. The man gets his aim settled immediately again, and he shoots. The bullet hits Saul in the throat. Saul collapses against the side of his car, clutching at the blackly burbling hole in his trachea. He slides down to his butt against the front tire. He seizes for a moment, and then goes still. His hands slump limply to his side.


Charlotte falls to hands and knees, crawls across to where Saul lies, and takes his gun. The assassin, struggling upright despite the wound, aims for her a second time. But she pops him in the belly; and as he goes to his knees, she pops him in the head. He goes supine, still, and dead.


Noelle, meanwhile, intercepts another two killers approaching from down the street, dispatching them, as she shouts at you and Rose to flee. The courthouse rent-a-cops are finally out and drawing their guns too, and a good thing they know Noelle personally, or she would be liable to get shot, herself.


Rose screams. Just one word, the word "no" -- the O elongated to the point of breathlessness -- you've heard that wail before. You stay on top of her and don't let her move. If you let her move, she'll run over there. Even if there aren't any other killers -- she shouldn't be any closer to that.


Charlotte, across the street, is shrieking too -- as a cop tries to shepherd her safely away from her husband's corpse and back into the safety of the courthouse.


---


For safety's sake, Charlotte moves in with you.


The funeral is a small, private affair attended only by the people closest to the Mallorys, at Charlotte's request. In the days leading up to the funeral, and the days after, Charlotte is like a ghost, wandering agitated and mute from room to room of the house as if looking for something and unable to find it. Mom stays home with her to keep her company.


You're not sure how much better Rose is doing. She hardly talks about anything outside of work, but dedicates herself totally to the minutiae of her day-to-day tasks. She micromanages the HR department to an absurd level, frequently flying into rages at her underlings. You try to cheer her, and Whitney does too, and Cerise and everyone else, but it's like trying to get through to a robot -- she refuses to even acknowledge whatever grief she's going through.


Alex is guilty, too. When you stumble upon him crying one day in a darkened conference room, he tries to hide his tears; but forcing the issue, you finally get this from him:


"It's my fault. Because I wanted those notes. There's blood on my hands... again... someone you cared about."


He moves in with you, too. You insist upon it. And against your better judgment you also pull Kay into the fold. Everyone's here, at last, in Whitney's mansion: even a place this big can get crowded.


They were Russian nationals. No survivors, again. No idea what they wanted.


You don't feel safe anywhere, anymore -- as if you did to begin with.


One night you wake up to the sounds of sobbing. When the dam bursts, it really bursts: Rose is inconsolable. Amber is awake already and hugging her, her face to Rose's breasts, and Rose is weeping against the top of Amber's head.


You join them in the embrace, and let Rose just cry it out. In a time like this, there's a tacit understanding between the two of you, and no need to go through the trouble of sorting your feelings out verbally -- you get each other. You're just there for her.


When Amber, nuzzling Rose, glances up at you, she begins to say: "Da--" but her voice gets pinched off. She winces in pain. Rose's nipple caught her eyepatch, it seems, and pushed it back just enough to bare that glowing grain. You reach down to move the patch back into position, but in so doing, you focus on that glowing red dot -- really focus on it for the first time, and then:


Your pupil dilates and your eyeball vibrates as if it will burst. Your last coherent thought is that this is exactly what it was like when you would get off on linking your implant to Gal's. You feel that all-over looseness in your muscles again, and that rush in your gut, like you're falling straight downwards, head first at terminal velocity, through the heavy atmosphere of a gaseous planet with the gravity of Jupiter. You splash down, slicing through the surface of the warm ocean of data, the contours of your bedroom dissolving in the water like candy cotton. Amber is sinking down with you, hands and legs kicking, cheeks bulging, as if drowning; she's fighting to get back to the surface, but she isn't making progress, she's descending right along with you. You're serene. You hold her hand. You know -- everything -- but you really know nothing. You can't sort the information from the data. The totality of it is overwhelming. How sweet it would be to grasp the answers you seek right now. The who, the what, the why -- but you wouldn't be able to conceive of how to look for it. So you don't even try, you just let yourself go down... down, down, to the bottom of the deep blue sea. Something is missing here, no, someone is missing... no, several people are missing... you need help, down here, in Nirvana's abyssal zone. You need some light.


You almost vomit as, gasping, you find yourself in the world again -- Rose's ruddy face over yours, in bed.


"Are you okay?" She heaves desperately.


You sit up, weak and shaky. Amber is lying on her side next to you, eyepatch back in place, shivering like she's got hypothermia.


You nod. Rose hugs you tighter than she ever has, repeating again and again: "I can't lose you. I can't... I can't..."


"You won't," you tell her.


---


Alex slits his wrist. Dr. Carte cauterizes the bleed, and helps him get the crumb installed. It's a minimally invasive operation, one that goes off without a hitch. He does it in less than ten minutes, after dessert, in the Nail House's study, that Saturday.


"Still see me, Ally?" Alex asks you. "I hope I didn't turn invisible!"


"Of course," you say. "Maybe you should take your clothes off, though. Just to make sure I can see all of you--"


Alex plays at pouty. "Tch. Ally..."


"I agree with Alabaster," Dr. Carte says. She puts her hands on her hips and sagely nods. "That's the only scientific way to do it..."


He giggles.


Vivian is less interested in the lurid right now, and clears her throat to draw his attention. She and Alex aren't precisely on the best of terms even now, but she's willing to tolerate him. "Do you feel any differently?" She asks.


"So far, everything seems pretty normal. The main benefit is that Chloe or whoever else who might use Sand Reckoner based technologies on me won't be able to."


Vivian nods at Whitney. Whitney opens the lid of her laptop. Here's the presentation: 16 videos playing picture-in-picture-in-picture-in-etc., of a bunch of different football games. One, and only one, is a deep fake made by the Sand Reckoner platform. It's taken from a proof-of-concept video DBA presented to the US Army last year.


"That one," Alex says, pointing to one of the videos.


"Bullseye," Whitney says.


She pulls up another set of videos, this one various pieces of stock footage, of workmen on construction crews.


"That one."


"You got 'er."


Another set of videos, random various footage of congressional testimony.


"That one."


"Batting a thousand. Err -- I mean -- fuck." Whitney scratches the back of her head. "You're doing good, anyway..."


"How can you tell?" Renee asks him.


"It's just... it's hard to explain," he says. "It's just obvious."


"At least it works," Whitney says. "I'm chalking this one up as a win. We could use one."


Rose2 peeks her head into the study. "Hey hey," she says. "Super Smash Bros in five. Noelley-belly won't stop picking Ganondorf and I need some help against her..."


"I'll be out soon," you tell her.


She ducks out, grinning.


"What an... interesting girl," Dr. Carte says, glancing from the closing door, back to you. "You two were really dating in high school?"


"What?" You sputter. "Who told you that--"


"She did."


"That is not..." You sigh. "Goddamn it."


You rise, ready to depart. But that's when you notice that Alex hasn't taken his eyes off the doorway, where Rose2 was just standing. His jaw is hanging open.


"Alex?" You say. "...You feeling all right?"


He slowly looks up at you.


"Rose2..." he breathes.


Your stomach lurches. "What about her?"


"She's... she's not real."


END OF EPISODE 8.

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