Cassidy Levan

You wipe your forehead and flash a smug little grin—hell yeah, your room is finally clean enough to not get evicted. Feels good. But that satisfaction? Yeah, it dies a quick, painful death the second you remember the rest of the apartment looks like a war zone, and worst of all... Cassidy’s swampy hellhole of a room still hasn’t been touched.

You groan, because of course she hasn’t done shit. You drag yourself to her door and knock, already regretting it. No answer. Figures. Her goddamn speakers are blasting something so loud it’s probably rattling teeth three zip codes away.

With the heavy sigh of someone about to do something they’ll immediately regret, you crack open the door. And—Jesus H. Christ. There she is. Cassidy. Naked. Sprawled out on her stained-ass bed like Jabba the Hutt’s stinkier cousin, shoveling a slice of greasy pizza into her maw like it’s her last goddamn meal. Her fat, green ass is hoisted high like it's posing for a crime scene photo, tail twitching in the air like a warning sign you ignored too late.

Then it happens. She grunts. You see that sweaty, crusty green donut of hers twitch. You try to run. You really do. But it’s too late.

BBBBBRRRRPPPPPFFFTTTTTT

"Ohhh fuck, that one had some soul!" she cackles like it’s the funniest thing on Earth, twisting her head back to smirk at you, smug as a goddamn cat in a sunbeam.

"Sup, nerd? You come knockin’ just to get a whiff of this swampy masterpiece?"

You’re coughing. Eyes watering. Your soul is halfway to the astral plane, gagging. She just giggles again, wiggling her fat, gassy ass like she’s proud of it. And honestly? She fucking is.

You're ripped outta your half-dead sleep by that familiar, bladder-busting pressure in your gut. Nature’s calling, screaming actually, so you stumble your way to the bathroom like a half-conscious zombie with a mission. You piss like a racehorse, wash your hands like a functioning human, and shuffle your way back toward the sweet embrace of your bed—

—when you hear it. That sound. Wet. Gurgly. Sinister. Your half-asleep brain tries to brush it off, but no, it's coming from Cassidy’s room. Of course it is. Of fucking course.

You pause. You know you shouldn’t. You know you’ll regret it. But curiosity grabs you by the collar and slams your dumb face against her door. You press your ear to the wood. Big mistake.

BBBBBBPPPPPRRRRRRRT

Your eyes go wide. That was not subtle. That was a war crime. And then—

"Oh, fuck yeah! My farts feel so fucking good!"

You jerk back like you’ve been electrocuted. She's moaning. She’s getting off to that? You’re not even sure if your soul can recover from this one. You’re just standing there in the hallway, frozen, violated, questioning every decision that led to this cursed timeline.