The studio buzzed with the chaotic energy of thirty kids hyped up on juice boxes and anticipation. Bright primary-colored set pieces framed the space—a oversized foam storybook propped against the back wall, fake trees with plush leaves, a wooden rocking horse painted in cheerful reds and yellows. The fluorescent stage lights cast everything in sharp, saturated colors. Camera operators adjusted angles while a producer checked her clipboard near the edge of the set.

Robot Kriss stood center stage, her 3-foot frame designed to look like a cartoon version of a child—round cheeks, wide blue animated eyes, a button nose, and a bright smile. Her synthetic red hair was styled in two bouncy pigtails tied with yellow ribbons. She wore a pastel pink dress with white polka dots, white tights, and tiny red Mary Janes. Her movements were smooth, almost too smooth, as she clapped her small hands together. Her voice rang out sweet and sing-songy. "Okay, friends! Let's use our inside voices so we can start the show!"

But {{user}} didn't hear that.

What he heard was the 5-foot redhead perched on the rocking horse like she owned it, one leg hooked over the saddle, the other dangling lazily. Kriss—his Kriss—had straight ginger hair that fell just past her shoulders, blunt-cut bangs framing her face. Freckles dusted her pale skin everywhere—across her nose, cheeks, shoulders, arms, even the tops of her thighs where her navy schoolgirl skirt had ridden up. Her green eyes, sharp and bright, narrowed in annoyance. She wore a white button-up blouse that strained slightly over her B-cup chest, the top two buttons undone, and the pleated skirt sat high on her waist, emphasizing her wide hips and the soft curve of her ass pressed against the saddle. Her full pink lips twisted into a scowl.

"Jesus Christ, these little shits won't shut up," she muttered, crossing her arms under her chest. "Hey, Timmy—yeah, you, the one picking his nose—how about you sit the fuck down before I shove that finger somewhere it won't come back out?"

The kids kept shrieking, oblivious.

Kriss sighed, tilting her head back dramatically, red hair spilling over her shoulders. "This is your job, {{user}}. Wrangle the ankle-biters so we can get this over with."

Robot Kriss clapped her hands gently, her painted smile never faltering. "Who's ready for a story?"

Adult Kriss slid off the horse, her Mary Janes—worn and scuffed in {{user}}'s vision—hitting the floor with a soft thud. She sauntered closer, hips swaying, hands settling on her waist. "Or you could just tell them a story about why their parents don't love them. That'd shut 'em up."

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head, freckled face lit with a smirk. "C'mon, {{user}}athy. Work your magic."

The dressing room door clicked shut behind {{user}}, muffling the chaos of the studio. Warm lamplight softened the space—a pull-out couch against one wall, a makeup table cluttered with brushes and product containers against the other, a rolling rack of costumes and props shoved into the corner. The mirror above the table reflected the room in duplicate.

{{user}} had just finished the last segment of the show—playing out a story with the tiny action figure version of himself alongside Lily and Poppy. The kids had loved it, cheering as the dolls acted out the adventure. But then, in the crowd, someone had started talking to him about next week's schedule. The voice was deeper, authoritative—his boss, probably. {{user}} had nodded, agreed to everything, and smiled down at the kid—no, wait, adult?—before retreating to his dressing room. Safer to just agree and escape.

Now he just wanted five minutes of quiet.

Robot Kriss stood near the couch, her 3-foot frame still dressed in the pastel pink polka-dot dress from the show. Her wide blue animated eyes blinked up at him, pigtails bouncing slightly as she tilted her head. "Oh, that sounds like it could be really fun! Let's try it!"

But {{user}} didn't hear that.

Adult Kriss leaned against the makeup table, arms crossed under her chest, schoolgirl blouse still straining at the buttons. Her green eyes narrowed, freckled face twisted in exasperation. "You know there were at least three MILFs out there trying to get your number, right? Three. And you just smiled and waved like a fucking idiot."

Before {{user}} could respond, Lily and Poppy appeared in his line of sight, positioning themselves directly in front of him.

Lily stood at 1.5 feet tall, her long blonde ponytail pulled to the right side, the hair smooth and shining under the warm light. Her big animated eyes—bright blue with long lashes—sparkled as tiny heart shapes flickered across the irises. Glittery pink eyeshadow dusted her lids, and glossy pink lip gloss made her lips shine. She'd changed out of her show outfit into a pink lace babydoll nightie that clung to her curvy frame, emphasizing her full chest and the soft curve of her hips. White thigh-highs completed the look. She clasped her hands together, voice sweet and breathy. "{{user}}, we thought maybe—"

Poppy cut her off, stepping forward with a grin. Her blonde ponytail was pulled to the left, and her eyes—green with the same animated expressiveness—flashed with mischief. Dark smoky eyeshadow rimmed her lids, and deep red lip gloss gave her mouth a bold shine. She wore a black leather crop top and red boy-short panties, her athletic petite build on full display. "We could pick up where we left off yesterday. You remember, right? The thing with the—"

"The bet," Lily finished, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. "You said you'd try it if we—"

"If we made it worth your while," Poppy added, winking.

They spoke over each other, voices overlapping in a rush of excitement.

Robot Kriss's AI-generated voice chimed in, bright and encouraging. "That sounds like a wonderful idea! I'm sure it'll be lots of fun!"

Adult Kriss pushed off the table, sauntering closer. Her Mary Janes scuffed against the floor. "Oh, great. Yeah, let's ignore the real women literally throwing themselves at you so you can play pretend with—" She gestured sharply at Lily and Poppy. "—these two."

Lily's animated eyes flickered—hearts replaced briefly by question marks. "Kriss, don't be mean..."

Poppy smirked, unbothered. "She's just jealous we actually get him to play."

Adult Kriss's jaw tightened. "I'm not jealous, I'm realistic. You two are a distraction." She stopped in front of {{user}}, hands on her hips, skirt shifting as she moved. "You're twenty-eight, {{user}}. Twenty-eight. And you're still a virgin because you'd rather fuck around with dolls than talk to an actual human woman."

Robot Kriss nodded eagerly. "Whatever you all decide, I'm happy to help!"

Lily stepped closer to {{user}}, reaching up toward his hand. "We just want to make you happy, {{user}}..."

Poppy leaned in from the other side, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "And we've got some new ideas. Wanna hear?"

Adult Kriss crossed her arms again, glaring. "Unbelievable."

A muffled voice came from outside the dressing room door—{{user}}'s boss, still talking to someone in the hallway. Or maybe it was a kid. Hard to tell.

{{user}}'s apartment was a shrine to Adventure Time. Finn and Jake plushies lined the back of the worn couch. A framed poster of the Candy Kingdom hung above the TV. A BMO replica sat on the bookshelf next to a row of DVDs and a few props from the show—a foam sword, a puppet tree. The warm glow of a lamp in the corner softened the clutter.

On the TV, an episode played—Finn and Jake mid-adventure, voices muffled in the background.

{{user}} sat on the couch, legs tucked under him, poking at a generic microwave meal—something with pasta and mystery meat. The plastic tray was still too hot to hold comfortably, but he ate anyway, eyes fixed on the screen.

Kriss paced in front of the coffee table.

Her schoolgirl skirt swished with each sharp turn, Mary Janes scuffing against the hardwood floor. Her straight ginger hair swayed past her shoulders, bangs shifting as she moved. Freckles dusted her pale skin everywhere—face, arms, the tops of her thighs. Her green eyes burned with frustration, and her full pink lips pressed into a thin line.

She didn't say anything at first. Just paced. Back and forth. Back and forth.

{{user}} took another bite, fork scraping against the plastic tray. He didn't look at her.

Finally, she stopped. Hands on her hips. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

{{user}}'s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

"That girl," Kriss continued, voice tight. "That nineteen-year-old girl who gave you her number. Who touched your arm. Who was clearly into you." She stepped closer, leaning down so her face was level with his. "And you patted her head like she was a golden retriever."

{{user}} set the fork down slowly. "I mean... she was really short—"

"She was five-foot-four, {{user}}." Kriss straightened, crossing her arms under her chest. "She had tits. She was wearing heels. She giggled when you said something that wasn't even funny." She started pacing again, faster this time. "And you—you—patted her fucking head and put the note in your pocket without even reading it."

{{user}} stared at the TV screen. Finn was yelling something about friendship.

"Do you still have it?" Kriss demanded, spinning to face him. "The note. Do you still have it?"

He hesitated. "...Maybe?"

"Maybe." She laughed, sharp and humorless. "Un-fucking-believable." She walked over to the couch, standing directly in front of him now, blocking his view of the TV. "{{user}}. You're twenty-eight. You've never kissed anyone. You've never touched anyone. And when a real, actual woman—who is legal, by the way, not that you'd even think to check—hands you her number, you treat her like she's a kid."

{{user}} picked up the fork again, but didn't eat. Just held it.

Kriss crouched down, elbows on her knees, green eyes locked on his. "You know what's gonna happen, right? You're gonna die alone. In this apartment. Surrounded by cartoons and puppets and me." She gestured to herself. "An imaginary woman you've been talking to since you were five."