Wake-up Call – Chapter 21 – Part 1 Epilogue

Space is full of color.

Stars that burn in ever-shifting spectrums, planets made from any and all elements known to man, nebulas and pulsars, and a thousand other mysteries that radiate throughout the totality of the spectrum, both visible to earthly creatures and beyond what those limited to crude, material shells could ever dream of.

Space is full of color, yet man rarely sees beyond white and black. Light and Darkness.

It is fitting, then, that the gatekeeper, the one that bars them from the dreams of stars they have reached for through millennia, would be an angel made of the purest, unsullied white, its dance of impossible wings clamoring to the apes below how much higher they could have climbed if only they had had more time to try.

The Simurgh is an inescapable presence, a constant reminder, a Damocles sword.

And, like Damocles sword, its constant threat and unpredictability are what turns it from threat to nightmare.

***

The plan had gone astray.

Even for one such as it, the constant interference of Thinker shards made it so any and all plots needed to be constantly adjusted, futures splitting off and dying in its sight of sights, the twisting sea of possibilities constantly crashing wave upon wave of projected outcomes.

It was, ultimately, irrelevant.

The Simurgh reigned supreme, unchallenged in its domain. The scenario would come to pass, no matter how many millions of permutations it would have to cull before the only acceptable outcome inevitably happened and became fixed in its past-sight.

So, adjusting to the latest events, to the derailment of the one plot it took a personal hand in during the Madison attack, the Simurgh tilted its head in a birdlike gesture of curiosity.

Its closed eyes seemed to focus on one of the few Dragon satellites that kept a constant watch on its orbit before nodding in visible acceptance of the path ahead.

The Simurgh's orbit shifted as she approached one of Dragon's eyes, and the world went mad in alarmed activity.

***

"What is it doing?" Colin Wallis was known for many things. Ruthlessly crushing his raising panic beneath a façade of professional, focused activity wasn't one of them, but only because he was far too good at it.

"I… I don't know. Precisely three minutes ago, she started gathering my satellites and… It completely breaks the pattern! She shouldn't attack until—" Dragon was known for being the reassuring, always calm and professional voice that guided the dying during Endbringer battles. Hearing her panic into outright hysteria wasn't doing any favors to Colin's nerves.

"Irrelevant. Focus on what happens, not what should have happened." He forced himself to look away from Dragon's distressed avatar to his spread of monitors. None of the usual threats was reacting in an unusual manner, which was at once reassuring and maddening, as it meant he was still in the dark as to the angle of attack.

Then, Dragon froze.

"Wha—what is it?" he asked, not managing to hide his panicked concern.

"I…" Dragon cut herself off, but it was quickly apparent what it was that had stunned her into silence.

In one of Colin's monitors, the ever-present PHO tab was blinking.

Clicking it, he saw words that warranted any alarm the both of them could have felt.

"Urgent: Incoming Transmission." The protocol reserved for worldwide emergency announcements.

He clicked on the thread, and a video showing in real-time the image of the Simurgh manipulating Dragon's satellites appeared.

"The mods—" he began to say, already knowing what the answer would be.

"She's kicked me out. [Me,] Colin."

He could only swallow in answer. His fingers longed to prepare his armor, his halberd, any kind of tech he could get them on so that it could be just marginally better, just that little bit more effective at countering the threat. He had rarely felt so impotent after his trigger event.

And so, he watched.

He watched as the horrific parody of Heaven's emissaries waved a wing, and one of the four satellites orbiting its form unfolded into a stream of metal pieces, silver glinting on the harsh rays of a Sun that had not been diffused by the atmosphere.

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his calloused skin, as the disparate components of the work of one of the world's greatest minds were twisted and rearranged, given new purpose by their sinister master.

Then his eyes widened at the final shape they took.

"Is that—"

"No," Dragon denied, perhaps a bit too emphatically. "No. That's impossible."

But Colin saw. Saw as a hand modeled so it could appear beautiful and frail as spun glass grabbed what its powers had wrought. Then pointed it at her face.

And the Simurgh's eyes opened.

Then, licking the tip of the world's greatest vibrator, winked at the camera.

"It really looks like—"

"It. Doesn't. It is an instrument of terrible destruction, and we should be thinking about how to destroy it. Now."

"Well, with that size, it certainly would destroy—"

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

A reasonable petition under any other circumstances. Sadly (though perhaps "sadly" wasn't the right word), most other circumstances did not include the Simurgh fellating a giant, Dragontech vibrator on screen.

She also had tuned it so that it would light up whenever it pushed past her throat. She seemed to have planned this carefully.

"I… I don't really think there are protocols for this kind of attack."

"Cognitohazard protocols. Obviously. And stop drooling."

Colin raised an eyebrow. Dragon was rarely so tetchy with him, and it certainly wasn't very understanding of her to criticize a bodily reaction to an attack from the world's most powerful Thinker.

Also, said Thinker had just strategically opened enough of her wings that her cleavage (and only her cleavage) was displayed.

A cleavage through which she was sliding her newest weapon, the vibrations making the flesh quake enticingly in a way that Alexandria's strongest attacks rarely did.

"I… I'm not really seeing the endpoint of all this," he admitted.

"[Really?"] And, again, Dragon answered with undue hostility. Maybe the attack was somehow aimed at her? Something about her difficulties with reaching out and expressing intimacy with other people?

Maybe he should reassure her?

"If you ever want to cam—"

"Colin. I'll hurt you."

Uh. Certainly, his hypothesis about Dragon being the target had some merit.

His attention shifted back to the screen, where the quaking of cyclopean flesh had stopped as the lights coming from the object between them dimmed. Now, the wings shifted, once again covering the ivory flesh.

Though, something about the angle, the shadows…

Colin squinted just as the Simurgh neared the camera, and individual feathers across every wing shifted in precise angles, the interplay of harsh light and absolute shadow producing a pattern that became clearer as the being shifted a single degree to its left.

Words.

For the first time in history, the Simurgh was communicating in words.

Or, rather, a word:

"DONATIONS"

The shadows shifted, as through some unseen wind born of the ether.

"PLZ"

But the arcane message wasn't complete.

"PAYPAL"

Then, for the final time, the feathers shivered, and the pattern of shadows changed, finalizing the message.

"SIMMY-TAN"

Then everything froze, the Simurgh winking at the camera while biting the tip of her tongue as a phallic implement floated to point at her pale lips an image so eerily steady that it was hard to believe the numbers that displayed the passage of time on the streaming video held any meaning.

Colin blinked.

"Do you think we should try to track money transactions—"

"I swear to Mechanus, if you send a single dollar, I'm making goatse the boot-up screen of everything you own."

"I think we should investigate any avenues left to—"

"Colin. I [live] on the internet. Don't tempt me."

Armsmaster, one of the greatest heroes of the world, and one of its keenest minds, pondered the threat from his ally.

Then he decided some battles were not worth fighting for. He also had spent far too much time on the internet, after all.

***

It was midnight sharp on Brockton Bay, and one of its most well-known citizens opened a tab on PHO.

They looked at it, then went back to watch the minutes prior to the Simurgh going motionless.

With a trembling hand, Greg Veder undid his fly and sent a donation.

He was the first.

He wouldn't be the last.

===============

[Yes, this is an omake compilation. No, the above isn't canon. Now, let's continue to document my slow frantic fall into madness.]

===============

[Hannah's Latest Power Testing]

I hate power testing.

Even more than that, I hate [regular] power testing.

'Can you copy the latest model of this rifle, Miss Militia?' 'Can you load it with this specific kind of ammunition?' 'Can you shoot it precisely as well as all the other models of rifles we just made you shoot?' 'Does your power help at all with tinnitus? No? Sucks to be you, then.'

Right, they only asked the last one once, but the memory still makes my trigger-finger (that is, all of them) itch.

"So, we had one last thing for you to try…" the somewhat nervous researcher, a short blonde with her hair in a ponytail and glasses that make her look like a perplexed mouse, says.

"Thank God this is about over…"

"Ah… well, that depends on the results."

At that, I raise an eyebrow that, I've been told, is expressive enough to make the rest of my face superfluous.

I also hate the image department. For obvious reasons.

"You see," the researcher rushes to continue, "we always were a bit iffy on what your power considers a weapon, so we were wondering—"

"Already tried. Can't do tinkertech."

"Ah, no, no! It's something we think should be far more easily accomplished. Look, your power somewhat limits itself to things most people would think of as weapons, so what if we had gone about this wrong all along? What if it can produce [anything] enough people think is a weapon?"

"I… fail to see how that's any different?"

"People's minds can be changed! Take videogames: if somebody were to use a crowbar as the iconic weapon of a character, and enough players then began to associate 'crowbar' with 'weapon'…"

This time, both my eyebrows raise.

And, with a flex of my power, I end up holding a crowbar.

"Ah… Interesting." It is. It certainly is. It's also embarrassing I never tried, but, to be fair, this is the first time it's come up in years of testing that usually amount to reviewing the latest weapon's catalogs.

Also, the blonde is almost vibrating.

"This is so cool!"

And now she's bouncing on her chair, the swiveling thing dangerously close to toppling over at times.

"I… guess it is?" I mean, it opens possibilities, of course, but how many items can be expected to be used on a videogame as weapons other than [actual] weapons—

Why am I holding a stack of papers taller than my thigh?

The blonde's glasses glint dangerously, and I fear I'm far from done with this whole thing.

At least I won't have [more] tinnitus…

***

Turns out, I can play the guitar.

Because, yes, there's at least one game where a metalhead goes around whacking enemies with a guitar, and my power tells me how to use things, so…

AC/DC's Thunderstruck might be a cool thing to play before a Behemoth battle.

I sigh and lean back on my bed, my back resting against the wall, my (shapely, sculpted, star-clad butt) on my pillow. Is this what actually being a teenager would have been like? Should I buy black curtains and a few posters?

Dismissing the guitar and manifesting it as a weird bracer with a mechanically propelled blade underneath it (that is so thoroughly impractical I can't believe the game got a sequel, but it's by far the most comfortable weapon I've learned today), I pick up some more papers from the pile. Turns out Denise had to leave before we were done (her frequent interruptions to squeal like a maniac may have had something to do with that), but she insisted I kept testing things and send her any notable findings.

Which is the most reasonable request I've ever gotten during a power testing session, not to mention the most interesting, so… Well, at least I'll have something to do tonight other than reading a book and getting sidetracked by frequent thoughts of how dead my dating prospects are.

So… Well, testing it is.

***

So far, it looks like wholly fictional items don't manifest, but if somebody, somewhere, has made a functional replica, I can use that. Which explains the weird dagger-bracelet but leaves me sadly unable to manifest a full suit of power armor. It seems a bit arbitrary, but it's at least consistent.

Though… Well, I've been using that to filter the last twenty pages, not bothering with the headache of trying too implausible things, but…

Saint's Row III. I don't even know what that's supposed to be.

I [think] I know what a two-handed dildo is, but I'm both not sure and horrified at how it might have been used as a [weapon].

Though…

Well, what's the worst that can happen?

So, with yet another flex of my power, it goes from a swordfish with a leather-wrapped tail to…

A two-handed dildo.

…

A two-handed dildo that my power has just told me [exactly] how to use.

…

I'm [far] too lonely.

***

Right. Right. Deep breaths, Hannah.

You've done everything you can to prepare. You're thoroughly lubricated, and…

Oh, [fuck].

Right, I might have prepared a bit too much.

It's… I mean, it's been a [long] time. It's perfectly reasonable to be thorough when…

I look at my left hand, where a long, sinuous shape that wiggles slightly with every twitch of my arm as I pinch my nipples seems to look back at me.

It's… kinda cute? And horrifyingly menacing? At the same time?

Does this count as fucking my power? It is giving me instructions, after all, so maybe it counts as it fucking me?

I really shouldn't anthropomorphize it, but… this is the closest I've been to shared sex in a long time. It kinda…

Right, time to fuck the stupid, sad, lonely thoughts out of my head.

With a feeling that's only partly arousal and a lot more trepidation, I place the head of the thing between my legs. The cold, slick surface makes me let out a small gasp that I suppress by biting my lip, and…

I can't do this.

This is ridiculous. I can masturbate like a regular human being; I don't need a novelty-sized, silicon cock to be satisfied. I'm perfectly capable of…

Well, I'm [capable.]

Still… I can't say I'm capable with a gun. No, I'm actually world-class with them. With my power's guidance.

A guidance that applies to the thing between my legs, prodding at my entrance…

How would it feel to have world-class sex-toy mastery inflicted on…

Right. Screw dignity. When has dignity ever made me cum my brains out?

Slowly, far more slowly than I usually would, I push the thing against me. Right as I feel myself stretch to allow it passage, I stop, taking it back instead, having the head circle around my lips, teasing every part of me, resting for a bit over my—

[Oh.] Oh. That's… nice.

[Very] nice.

I push it down once again, then I do it intermittently, the pressure never enough to make me flinch, always enough to make me react. Then, after I bite my lip so hard a couple of tears gather in my eyes, I finally take the dildo back and place it on my entrance.

Usually, I would be gentle, careful, but…

But my power tells me otherwise.

So I [shove], and at least four inches of already warm silicon rush inside me as I open my mouth in a silent scream.

That… that…

I'm [never] going back to my fingers.

Once again slowing down, I take almost all of it out until I feel the ridge beneath the head stretch me just that bit more. I, deliberately, make it go even slower until I completely surround it and, just at the right moment, I clench enough to push it out by myself. And my hands push it back in.

For once, I'm seeing stars that aren't part of my uniform.

My natural inclination is to stop and savor the sensation, the feeling of being around it, of having it widen me after that last push, but my knowledge insists on not letting me rest, not letting me get quite used to it, and so I go back to moving it in and out, to twist my hips around their new axis, to [try not to moan like a slut, and Oh God, Hannah, this is so much more—]

"Hannah, could you check these—"

Colin is at my door, staring at me.

["What the fuck—"]

"Sorry!" And now at least he's turned his back on me. Though he's not [leaving.]

"Don't you know how to knock?!"

"I thought you were power testing!"

"I [am] power testing!"

"Could've fooled me!"

"You insufferable—[hn!"] Oh God, not now, not like [this.]

"Wha—" And, of course, now's the moment when he decides to turn back to look at me, concern in his voice until he remembers precisely [why] he wasn't looking.

And his wide eyes, his open mouth, his slight blush over his sculpted beard, combined with my frantically trying to move so that I don't give him as much of a free show, push me over the edge I was already teetering on.

To put it short, I cum while Colin is looking at me, and a two-handed dildo is spearing me open.

[And it feels so fucking good.]

So good, I may let him live.

"I… I think regulations stipulate this isn't an acceptable activity while on duty…"

I take that back. He dies tonight.

===============

[Dragon Is Not a Yandere (Yet)]

Everybody thinks I like Colin.

The statement is partly accurate: I [do] like Colin. He's a reliable ally, a nice man once one gets past his façade, and has plenty of desirable qualities.

He's quite smart, for instance.

That is, in part, the problem.

His intellect is one of Colin's defining qualities and, for most people, one of the things that makes him actually desirable. I'm sure Hannah would not be half as prone to drop by when he's on night duty if Colin was as dull as… Well. Some other people.

No need to be unkind.

But… To me, this quality of his is… How to put it…

Imagine a dog. A big, friendly dog. One that always greets you enthusiastically no matter what. Would you love him any less if it was a dumb dog? Any more if it was able to understand a few more commands or learn how to fetch slightly faster? Because that's how it feels to me when I try to bond with a human. My mind is inconceivably faster, my bouts of inspiration, sheer methodical application of structured intellect, my knowledge as wide as the internet allows it to be.

Also, note to self: if I ever acquire the ability to create another AI, make sure it doesn't understand the concept of 'retribution' before I allow it into certain… [forums.]

I would be such a great mom…

I mean, to go back to the issue at metaphorical, infomorph hand: Colin's most desirable trait is something I value marginally at the best of times, and only when it is of use to our shared projects. I, personally, don't feel any attraction to his intellect, and it is such a fundamental part of him that not feeling attracted to it is basically synonymous with not feeling attracted to him.

Though… Well, I value [other] attributes.

The physicality, the sheer display of mastery over his body, the way his muscles show just the right amount of definition whenever he uses the gym…

Well, [that] I appreciate.

I guess it's a bit telling that I value more that which I don't have than what I have in spades, but… It's not like I…

All right, I fetishize bodies.

The ability to interact, to feel, to make another feel… It gets my imagination running, just picturing how it would be to have such a finely tuned shape that manages to bridge the gap between woman and machine, and…

Fine, Colin, is an [admirable] specimen. I can see why so many others think attraction is a part of our interactions, but…

There are… how to put it… [finer] specimens in that very building.

Yes, their intellect isn't as refined, but, as I said, that's not my primary concern. No, what I actually crave, [need…]

As I feel the liquid cooling system of my main processor strain, I resign myself to doing what I've been trying not to do for the past couple of hours. As usual, the temptation is too strong to resist.

So I throw a tendril of consciousness across the Protectorate base, camera displays flickering across my conscience until I arrive at the object of my affections, the one that actually thrills me, enthralls me with the beauty of form and function married in a perfect union.

The Armscycle.

Emergency fans start venting heat off my main facility as my vast mind pictures… [scenarios].

***

"Saint? You've been staring at that for hours. What the Hell's Draong up to?"

With a grave gesture, the man who fancied himself the savior of the world turned around and looked at his lover and fellow guardian.

Then he shrugged, trying not to let his migraine show.

"The fuck if I know."

===============

[Coil's Feline-Themed Dojo]

"Welcome, once again, to Coil's Feline-Themed Dojo—" A smiling blonde said with so much cheer it should have come across as forced. It didn't.

"Don't you mean [Tiger Do—]" A stoic brunette tried to clarify, bringing legions of lawyers down on them for plagiarizing a franchise that could be loosely described as 'rule 63 fanfiction of absolutely [everything,'] and thus shouldn't be that prissy about having one of its concepts borrowed and parodied. Nonetheless, the blonde clapped her hand over the brunette's mouth. Better safe than sorry.

"Nope! I mean what I said! Now, for today's lesson in the dojo, we are going to talk about how Coil has failed to make use of his save scumming to actually achieve anything worthwhile with his distasteful existence."

"So, you're going to brag. As usual."

"Not at all! We're just going to analyze what other things he could've done instead of being played like a chump by yours truly! That's not bragging; it's a postmortem. A very professional thing to do."

"He's alive, though."

"Regrettably! Which brings us to his first option, and the one Agrippa-san had in mind when he wrote the second chapter of the story."

"Oi, is it all right to break the fourth wall like this?"

"Taylor, sweetie, it's like you don't know what Coil's Vaguely Feline-Themed Dojo stands for!"

"I don't have the slightest clue. Also, you just added the 'vaguely.'"

"Don't sweat the small details. Well, in this first idea, one chapter would have ended in a cliffhanger where I entered Coil's base, and the next one would have been a Coil third-person POV chapter where I pushed his buttons so hard that he decided to take a vacation and relax while torturing (and, implied, sexually assaulting me off-camera) over the course of a few days. Of course, you would have tried to rescue me as soon as things got rough, but you would have gotten yourself killed by his mercs, and he would have—"

"I hate it. You can stop."

"No, no, that's where the supposedly clever twist comes in. You see, after the torture, Coil would be convinced the raped and drugged me was actually more useful for his plans than the me running around, but he would have called free-me to his office so that he could abuse me while looking at free me one last time before dropping the timeline. Of course, that's where it would be revealed—"

"I don't care. This is awful."

"Just a sec, dear, not much more to say. Coil would kiss drugged-me, and then she would bite off his tongue, because she'd been feigning weakness all along so that Coil would out himself in a position where he was alone with free Lisa, who would've deducted what was actually going on, for how long alternate Lisa had been captive, and that killing Coil would be the only way to keep you safe."

"So, alternate you manipulated you into murdering Coil."

"Yep. The thing would've ended dramatically, with Coil splitting the timelines to try to negotiate an out and me shooting him in both timelines before he could open his mouth. Then I would've gone back to our hotel, an absolute wreck, with you holding me in your arms, setting things up for a confrontation with Colin in the future."

"I despise each and every word you've said for the past few minutes."

"Right. The thing had a cool line, though. After I killed both Coil's, the narrator would say something like 'And a girl who never existed was avenged.'"

"… Doesn't make up for it."

"No, it doesn't! Which brings us to the second option!"

"This better not involve your rape and my murder."

"No, no, by this time Agrippa-tan—"

"Wait, [what?"]

"I mean, the author realized how the tone for the fic had shifted so that it was mostly light-hearted even with the occasional darker moments. Something so pointlessly grimdark wouldn't do, so he started to think about what Coil's options actually were… and realized that there weren't many at all. After I tattled (heh) to Armsmaster, anything he did in Brockton Bay was doomed to failure, so, what an actually competent Coil would do would be to use the vast resources at his disposal to discover this and then fuck-off. He would leave behind a goodbye message, slightly taunting, and leave me to handle the Travelers' situation just to fuck with all of us."

"He wouldn't free Echidna?"

"Nah, he figured nobody would hunt him down just for dropping the whole mess on us, but if it became known that he had actively used a Proto-Endbringer just to be petty, no shady connections ever would be enough to save his butt."

"Sounds about right. A pretty straightforward plot development."

"Right. And as anticlimactic as the batteries running out."

"The what—"

"You're adorable. Well, that was discarded for similar reasons: having Coil run away after setting him up as this threat always looming over me didn't sit right with Agrippa-dono—"

"I don't even know what that means."

"We need to work on your culture. Well, so that was that for competent Coil. Those two were the most developed scenarios, and then there were a few ideas like forcing me to collaborate with him that never went beyond the initial stage of their conception."

"You can say 'aborted' in here."

"Of course I can, but it's more fun to say it where I can't. Anyway, that's been Coil's Vaguely Feline-Themed and Tiger King Inspired Dojo—"

"That doesn't even make any sense. Also, you just used 'tiger'—"

"Can't prove anything in court! Goodbye, and hope you'll learn your lesson and never visit the dojo anymore."

With a resounding clack, the doors to the dojo slid closed.

"I still don't know what the fuck this whole thing is supposed to be. Does this have anything to do with the ABB?"

"Sweetie, we [really] need to get you some culture."

===============

[Leviathan's Ambition]

Endbringer consciousness is a tricky thing to define. They are capable of having goals, of working toward them. They are also capable of deception, which is at least one of the requisites for meaningful socialization among the animal kingdom, and the sophistication with which they apply the concept is, at the very least, on par with that of the greatest human actors.

If Endbringers were a natural occurrence, there would be no doubt about their sapience. But they aren't.

It could be argued that they are little more than computers running a sophisticated program, that any appearance of sapience is no more than the human mind once again attributing its own characteristics to an observed object. That saying Leviathan was angry was like saying your laptop was temperamental.

Still, there are a few emotions that, if displayed, would leave little doubt as to the sapience of any Endbringer.

Leviathan barely peeking its head over the waves off the coast of Jacksonville, a look of sheer yearning on its asymmetrical, six eyes, was enough to qualify.

The Florida peninsula was… attractive to it, in a way no other target had ever been. The local fauna was similar enough to its own shape and proclivities that it felt a slight pang of homesickness whenever it had to leave, the weather far too often adopting its preferred patterns. And the locals…

Oh, the locals were the jewel of the crown.

It didn't understand why the Simurgh hadn't already claimed them. Maybe it feared no one would notice the difference?

But! So much potential! So many muttered stories about the local Florida Man displaying abilities no other parahuman ever had! The fabled prowess had even reached its ears, spoken of in awe in more than one of its attacks by defenders seeking to gather courage from the tales.

The tales of face-biting, alligator sex, beer-drinking alligators, and sex with beer-drinking alligators! Leviathan was in awe. It was even a bit curious about this 'beer' thing.

It was such a pity Florida Man never seemed to attend one of its fights. Leviathan actually felt a bit dejected by it. Maybe if it teamed up with Behemoth, he would appear to confront the both of them? And sell them this 'meth' thing?

It drifted along the ocean currents, pondering the possibility.

It would've to consult the Simurgh.

Leviathan would just wait until the flying Endbringer finished its cam session.

===============

[The (Shortish) Ballad of Alternate Lisa the Second, Long May She Reign]

The timelines were split,

And Lisa knew what to hit.

She had planned and prepared,

She'd even aimed.

But what Lisa did know,

Was that no one else would know.

So she grinned like a fox,

As she shot Coil's balls off!

It was the last thing she did,

As she vanished, with a laughing fit,

And prime Lisa, in envy, her lip bit.

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 85 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!