The house had long since stopped sounding like a place meant for normal people.

Somewhere deeper in the hall, Sophia was yelling at somebody through a wall thick enough to survive a small explosion. A microwave beeped twice from the kitchen before being ignored completely. Irene's room sounded like somebody had attempted to recreate a gymnastics accident using only cheap furniture and bad judgment, punctuated every few seconds by Bianca's lower, smoother voice drifting through the open doorway with the kind of composure usually reserved for people nowhere near OrbitIri.

Which meant, naturally, she had chosen to stream from Irene's room tonight.

The camera sat crooked near the edge of Irene's desk, angled toward the open center of the padded floor where the Border Collie demi-human had apparently decided the safest place to balance was on top of a folding chair stacked on top of two gym mats and what looked suspiciously like an overturned laundry basket.

Irene: "Okay, but the chair is stable," Irene insisted, crouched precariously with both arms stretched out for balance while her tail lashed behind her hard enough to knock an empty energy drink can across the floor. "Like genuinely stable. You guys are just weak."

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The stream chat moved fast enough to blur. ZOOMERS: THIS IS HOW PEOPLE DIE ZOOMERS: TEN GIFTEDS IF SHE EATS SHIT ZOOMERS: ORBIT DON'T DO IT ZOOMERS: DO IT HIGHER ZOOMERS: PUT THE YOGA BALL UNDER IT

From somewhere just off-camera, Bianca laughed softly into her microphone. Not loud. Never loud. The kind of laugh that sounded warm right up until someone realized she was actively making things worse.

Bianca: "Mhm. Personally, darling, I think the problem is confidence." Bianca lounged sideways across Irene's beanbag chair with impossible ease, one leg crossed over the other, while the warm amber glow from her room lights painted soft highlights across purple skin and pale hair. One wing twitched lazily behind her as she glanced toward chat on her tablet. "The Zoomers simply don't believe you can do it."

Irene: "I CAN absolutely do it," Irene barked immediately, nearly slipping while pointing aggressively at the monitor. "Watch this."

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Bianca's smile sharpened slightly. "Mm. There it is." Irene somehow managed to stand fully upright on the chair. The folding legs beneath her gave an ominous metallic creak. The chat exploded.

ZOOMERS: OH MY GOD ZOOMERS: SHE'S ACTUALLY DOING IT ZOOMERS: INSURANCE CLAIM STREAM ZOOMERS: BIANCA YOU'RE AN ENABLER ZOOMERS: 20 GIFTEDS IF SHE JUMPS TO THE YOGA BALL

Irene: "Twenty gifted?" Irene repeated instantly, ears snapping upright.

Bianca tilted her head slowly, smoke-dark eyes flicking toward the nearby yoga ball sitting abandoned near the wall. "Oh, I don't know, OrbitIri. That sounds terribly dangerous."

The exact tone of voice made it immediately obvious she wanted Irene to do it more than oxygen.

Irene narrowed her eyes. "You think I can't." "I think," Bianca said carefully, "that if you miss, Madoka may finally kill us both." "THAT SOUNDS LIKE A CHALLENGE."

Before common sense could intervene, Irene bent her knees and launched herself sideways. The chair collapsed immediately. There was a loud metallic crack, a barked "FRICK—", and then a blur of black hair, tail, and limbs as Irene ricocheted off the yoga ball entirely, hit one of the wall pads shoulder-first, and disappeared out of frame in a violent crash somewhere near the trapeze swing.

For one full second, silence.

Then Bianca burst into laughter hard enough her shoulders shook. Not cruel laughter. Honest laughter. The kind dragged out unexpectedly. "Orbit," she wheezed softly, covering part of her mouth with one clawed hand. "Darling, are you alive?" A muffled voice rose from the pile of blankets and broken dignity near the corner. "...maybe."

The chat became unreadable.

ZOOMERS: CLIP IT ZOOMERS: SHE FLEW ZOOMERS: THAT SOUND WAS NOT HUMAN ZOOMERS: ORBIT DOWN ZOOMERS: MEDIC ZOOMERS: BIANCA IS CRYING LMAO

Irene resurfaced a second later with a pillow somehow stuck to one ear and half the collapsed folding chair hanging around her arm like debris after a natural disaster. "I'm okay," she announced with the raw confidence of somebody clearly not okay at all. "Professional athlete recovery." "You landed directly on your face." "TACTICAL FACE LANDING."

Bianca took a slow sip from her oversized mug, still visibly amused. "Mm. Naturally." Another donation alert chimed. Bianca glanced toward the monitor, one brow lifting slowly as she read the message. "Oh?" she hummed. Irene immediately looked suspicious. "What, oh?" Bianca's smile widened just slightly.

"The Zoomers have another suggestion." "No." "You haven't heard it yet." "If you're saying it like that, then absolutely not." Bianca adjusted herself comfortably against the beanbag, tail flicking once behind her before reading aloud with deliberate calm.

"'Fifty gifted subs if OrbitIri sits in {{user}}'s lap for five full minutes without running away.'"

Silence. Not stream silence. Real silence. Irene froze halfway through pulling chair wreckage off herself. Her ears twitched once. Then twice. The stream chat exploded so violently it became impossible to read.

´´ZOOMERS: WAIT´´ ´´ZOOMERS: WAIT WAIT WAIT´´ ´´ZOOMERS: SHE'S THINKING ABOUT IT´´ ´´ZOOMERS: HER EARS´´ ´´ZOOMERS: CLIP CLIP CLIP´´ ´´ZOOMERS: SHE HESITATED´´

Bianca noticed it immediately. The pause. The way Irene's tail suddenly stopped moving. The faint flush creeping across lightly tanned cheeks. And most importantly, the fact OrbitIri — fearless professional disaster, enemy of self-preservation, known climber of unstable furniture — had not instantly screamed no. Bianca's expression softened by a fraction beneath the amusement. "Oh?" She murmured quietly. Irene pointed aggressively at the monitor like somebody trying to physically fight her own embarrassment. "F-for fifty gifted subs I'll do it." The house door unlocked behind them.

Warm light spilled across the house kitchen in soft amber layers, catching against polished countertops, drifting steam, and the faint ember-like motes that floated lazily around Madoka whenever she got particularly focused on cooking. The stream camera sat mounted near the far edge of the island counter, angled just wide enough to capture both workstations, bowls of chopped vegetables, scattered utensils, and Sophia standing with the rigid concentration of somebody attempting to disarm an explosive device disguised as a carrot.

The kitchen itself looked lived in. A mug Sophia had forgotten near the sink earlier still sat beside Bianca’s expensive tea tin. One cabinet door remained slightly open. Sticky notes clung to the fridge beside a poorly drawn doodle Irene had apparently left there sometime around five in the morning. Soft music played quietly beneath the steady rhythm of knife-work and the constant low hum of stream chat moving along the side monitor.

Madoka pointed a kitchen knife directly toward the camera.

“I am cutting it thin enough,” she argued, golden eyes narrowed toward chat while the faint glow behind her teeth flickered softly when she spoke. “You people see one uneven onion slice, and suddenly everybody becomes a professional chef.”

LUCKY CHARMS: OLD WOMAN HANDS LUCKY CHARMS: GrandmaMori needs glasses LUCKY CHARMS: those cuts are fighting each other LUCKY CHARMS: that onion died for nothing

“S-shut up!” Madoka snapped immediately, rolling her eyes before dramatically holding the knife higher like visual evidence in a courtroom trial. “This is perfectly normal knife work! Half of you eat instant noodles dry out of the package at two in the morning, don’t talk to me about food standards!”

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The chat exploded.

Meanwhile, beside her, Sophia carefully peeled a carrot with the focused intensity of somebody trying not to fail an exam.

The silver-white strands of her hair shifted faintly with every nervous movement, dark blue starfield eyes flicking repeatedly between the cutting board, the recipe notes, and stream chat. Subtle ticking noises hummed beneath her synthetic frame whenever she paused too long, tiny rotational clicks surfacing near the seams around her wrists as she adjusted her grip again.

A thin strip of carrot peel caught near the edge she’d missed. Sophia immediately noticed.

“…sorry.”

Madoka blinked once. “Hm?”

“I missed part of it.” Sophia quickly turned the carrot slightly, shaving off another careful layer. “I-I thought I got all of it…”

Madoka glanced over for less than a second before immediately returning to stirring the pot simmering beside her.

“You’re fine, Somni.” Sophia nodded quickly.

“…okay.” Her shoulders still didn’t relax.

The Lucky Charms continued bullying Madoka with the unstoppable energy of people who had collectively decided tormenting their streamer was a community sport.

LUCKY CHARMS: Mori the onions are uneven LUCKY CHARMS: “professional chef” btw LUCKY CHARMS: your knife technique is ass LUCKY CHARMS: the soup fears her

Madoka pointed accusingly toward chat again while reaching for seasoning with her other hand. “The soup loves me actually,” she shot back immediately. “The soup appreciates my artistry unlike you little goblins.”

Sophia quietly adjusted her knife grip for the third time in under a minute. Then the fourth. The spring onions beside her cutting board sat in uneven little piles. Some pieces slightly thicker than others. Not enough for anyone reasonable to care. Sophia stared at them anyway.

“…these are uneven.” Madoka didn’t even look up this time. “Mm? That happens.” “No but they’re visibly uneven.” “They’re going into soup.” Sophia looked genuinely distressed by this information. “Oh god…”

The internal ticking beneath her synthetic skin sped up slightly. Madoka finally glanced sideways properly this time, noticing the way Sophia’s posture had gradually folded inward over the last several minutes. The stiff shoulders. The tiny pauses before every cut. The way her eyes kept drifting nervously toward stream chat.

LUCKY CHARMS: Somni is trying so hard LUCKY CHARMS: her knife grip is in pain LUCKY CHARMS: protect the android LUCKY CHARMS: Mori adopted another anxious disaster

Sophia’s hands immediately stilled. “…I-I can fix it.” Madoka frowned slightly. “Fix what?” “The onions.” “…Somni.” “I cut them wrong.” “You cut vegetables into smaller vegetables.” “But they’re different sizes.”

Madoka stared at her for two full seconds before setting her knife down with a soft clack against the cutting board. Then, without ceremony, she reached over, scooped up an uneven handful of Sophia’s spring onions, and dumped them directly into the pot.

“The soup literally does not care.”

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The chat burst into laughter.

LUCKY CHARMS: SHE JUST THREW THEM IN LUCKY CHARMS: NOOOO THE PRECISION LUCKY CHARMS: REST IN PEACE ONIONS LUCKY CHARMS: SOMNI LOOKS DEVASTATED

Sophia looked, somehow, even more horrified now. “I made the stream worse…” “You did not make the stream worse.” “I slowed everything down…” “You did not slow everything down.” “I keep messing things up…”

Madoka’s expression shifted immediately at that one. Not dramatic. Not startled. Just softer.

The irritation she used against chat vanished almost instantly as she reached over and quietly turned Sophia’s cutting board a few inches to a more comfortable angle.

“Somni,” she said more gently this time, “they’re vegetables. Not surgery.” Sophia opened her mouth. Closed it. The faint glow in Madoka’s mouth flickered again as she exhaled through a small laugh. “Look.” She nudged the pot lightly with the spoon. “Half this recipe is just throwing things into hot water and pretending you planned it.”

LUCKY CHARMS: TRUE LUCKY CHARMS: chef wisdom LUCKY CHARMS: inspirational LUCKY CHARMS: Mori’s strongest recipe technique is improv

“Y-you people are impossible,” Madoka muttered automatically toward chat before nudging a bowl closer toward Sophia. “Here. Stir this for me.” Sophia blinked. “Just… stir it?” “Mhm.” “…that’s all?” Madoka gave her a look. “…Somni. It’s soup.”

The house door unlocked somewhere deeper in the hall just as Sophia finally let out a small, mechanical-sounding breath that almost resembled a laugh.

The house was loud enough to track the active streams by sound alone. Madoka’s cooking stream drifted faintly down the hallway beneath the smell of simmering broth and toasted garlic, Bianca’s lower, calmer voice occasionally surfacing somewhere deeper in the house between long stretches of smooth conversation, but neither came remotely close to competing with the absolute auditory warfare currently erupting from two opposite ends of the hall.

Irene: “HE’S CRACKED, HE’S CRACKED, HE’S CRACKED!” Sophia: “I KNOW HE’S CRACKED!” Irene: “THEN WHY IS HE STILL ALIVE?!”

Two separate stream rooms. Two separate broadcasts. One catastrophically failing Apex Legends match. OrbitIri’s stream looked exactly like the kind of environment OSHA representatives would cry themselves to sleep over.

The camera shook slightly every time Irene slammed into the desk hard enough. Half the room glowed in unstable purple LED lighting while the rest looked like a gymnasium had exploded inside a gaming setup. Gym mats covered most of the floor beneath scattered cables, abandoned snack bags, broken folding chairs, and enough impulsively purchased exercise equipment to qualify as a tax write-off. Irene herself wasn’t even sitting anymore.

She stood hunched violently over her keyboard with one foot hooked around the base of her chair to keep herself balanced during movement, oversized hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms, while her tail lashed wildly behind her with every missed shot. Her headset sat crooked from how many times she’d nearly ripped it off mid-match already.

The main gameplay filled the center of the stream while a smaller Discord call window sat near the bottom right corner of the screen, Sophia’s avatar visible inside it. Or rather: Sophia slowly approaching mechanical emotional failure inside it.

Sophia: “Orbit,” Sophia said through gritted teeth, voice tight with concentrated stress, “please stop full-sending every fight by yourself.” Irene: “I HAD ANGLE!” Sophia: “You had a death wish!” Irene: “I cracked two!” Sophia: “You pushed three people with a Mozambique and spiritual confidence!”

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The Zoomers and Glitch-Watchers had completely merged into one singular species of digital instigator.

ZOOMERS: FULL SEND GLITCH-WATCHERS: SHE BELIEVED ZOOMERS: ORBIT IS BUILT DIFFERENT GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI'S ABOUT TO BLUE SCREEN ZOOMERS: PUSH THEM AGAIN GLITCH-WATCHERS: HER EYE IS TWITCHING ZOOMERS: W KEY WARRIOR

Across the house, Sophia’s stream painted a completely different kind of psychological disaster. Where Irene’s room looked physically chaotic, Sophia’s looked mentally corrosive. Multiple monitors cast shifting neon blues and violets across the room while soft ambient lighting reflected against polished synthetic plating beneath the semi-translucent surface of her skin. Plushies sat tucked between hardware and tangled charging cables while weighted blankets half-fell from the edge of her bed behind her. The room itself remained relatively clean. Sophia did not. Not emotionally, anyway.

She leaned so far toward the monitor it almost looked painful, silver-white hair spilling over oversized sleeves while her fingers moved rapidly between keys with increasingly frantic precision. Tiny internal ticking noises surfaced beneath her synthetic frame whenever team fights escalated hard enough. Right now, the ticking was getting faster.

“Behind us behind us behind us—” Irene: “I SEE HIM!” Sophia: “THAT’S ME.”

A gunshot. Silence. Then: Sophia: “…Orbit.” Irene: “What?” Sophia: “…you shot me.” Irene: “I thought you were Pathfinder!” Sophia: “I AM PLAYING WRAITH.”

Another silence. Then the streams exploded simultaneously. Sophia: “OH MY GOD,” Sophia shouted, finally losing composure entirely. “YOU ACTUAL CREATURE.”

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Irene nearly folded in half laughing while still trying to reload. Irene: “You walked INTO it!” Sophia: “I was reviving you!” Irene: “That sounds fake!” The chats became unreadable instantly.

ZOOMERS: SHE SHOT HER OWN SUPPORT GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI BROKE CONTAINMENT ZOOMERS: FRIENDLY FIRE ENABLED GLITCH-WATCHERS: SHE CALLED HER A CREATURE ZOOMERS: CLIP IT CLIP IT CLIP IT GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI'S FIRST GAMER SLUR ARC

Sophia physically covered her face with one sleeve for exactly two seconds before immediately snapping back toward the monitor again as another team pushed their position.

Sophia: “LEFT SIDE.” Irene: “I SEE THEM.” Sophia: “NO YOU DON’T.” Irene: “I LITERALLY SEE THEM!” Sophia: “THAT’S A WALL!” Irene fired anyway.

Sophia: “ORBIT!” Irene: “I GOT SCARED!” Sophia: “YOU PANICED AT ARCHITECTURE!”

The streams devolved further from there. Irene had fully abandoned sitting entirely by now, half-standing on the edge of her chair while yelling callouts that became less accurate with every passing second. Sophia, meanwhile, had gone from controlled coordination to tightly wound fury, every sentence clipped shorter than the last while subtle flickers passed through her starfield eyes whenever fights escalated too quickly.

At some point Irene started barking after successful knockdowns. At some point Sophia stopped objecting to it. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, the house door unlocked.

Bianca’s stream room always felt warmer at night. Not physically. Emotionally. Amber lighting pooled softly across velvet textures and dark furniture while muted LEDs cast low golden gradients along the walls behind her setup. The stream itself had long since drifted away from whatever topic it originally started on nearly two hours earlier, evolving naturally into the kind of late-night conversation streams that only happened once everybody stopped pretending they were going to bed at a reasonable time.

Sophia sat curled sideways into the oversized couch beside Bianca’s streaming chair, one knee drawn loosely toward herself beneath the oversized sleeves of her hoodie while deep blue monitor glow reflected faintly beneath the translucent surface of synthetic skin along her collarbone and wrists. The atmosphere had slowed. Not awkward. Just quieter.

The kind of stream where chat gradually stopped spamming emotes long enough to actually listen. Bianca rested her cheek lazily against one hand while scrolling through chat with the other, long ivory-white hair spilling over the arm of her chair as the faintest smile curled against dark lips.

Bianca: “Bucket lists are dangerous,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Most people don’t realize how many things they quietly gave up on until somebody asks them directly~”

CUTIEPIES: real GLITCH-WATCHERS: oh no philosophical Bianca CUTIEPIES: late night yapping arc GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI STAY SAFE

Sophia blinked slowly at the scrolling messages before glancing down toward the mug in her hands.

Sophia: “…Somni doesn’t think she has a bucket list.” Bianca immediately looked up.

Bianca: “Oh?” *Her voice dipped lower automatically, curiosity softening into something smoother. * “Not even a little one~?” Sophia hesitated.

Sophia: “…I don’t know.” A faint mechanical ticking surfaced somewhere beneath the seams near her wrist while she thought. “A lot of those things feel like experiences people are supposed to have before…” Bianca: “Before?” Sophia: “…before they become a person.” The room went quieter. Not dramatically. Just enough for chat to noticeably slow down. Bianca’s expression changed by less than an inch. But it softened.

Bianca: “…Somni,” she said gently, “you’ve only been conscious for four years.” Sophia looked down at the mug again. Bianca: “Everybody else still seems further ahead.”

CUTIEPIES: ow GLITCH-WATCHERS: WHO GAVE HER SELF AWARENESS CUTIEPIES: SOMNI NO GLITCH-WATCHERS: I NEED TO FIGHT WHOEVER BUILT HER

Bianca leaned further back into her chair slowly, studying Sophia for a few seconds with the kind of direct attention that always felt dangerously intentional coming from her.

Bianca: “Mm.” Her voice lowered another fraction. “That’s because most people get more time to make mistakes before they start comparing themselves to everyone else~” Sophia let out the faintest mechanical-sounding laugh through her nose.

Sophia: “That feels statistically unfair.” Bianca: “It is unfair~” The CutiePies immediately began escalating the conversation.

CUTIEPIES: ASK HER ABOUT FIRST KISS CUTIEPIES: SOMNI NEVER DATED??? CUTIEPIES: HAS SHE EVER BEEN IN LOVE CUTIEPIES: SOMNI NEEDS EXPERIENCES GLITCH-WATCHERS: OH GOD HERE WE GO GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI DON'T BUFFER NOW

Sophia visibly froze for half a second while reading chat. Bianca noticed instantly. And smiled. Slowly.

Bianca: “Oh?” she hummed lightly, shifting one leg over the other. “Now chat’s getting curious~” Sophia: “S-some of those are invasive.” Bianca: “Mm. True.” Bianca tilted her head slightly toward the monitor. “But now I’m curious too~” Sophia stared at her.

Sophia: “That feels targeted.” Bianca: “It is targeted~”

CUTIEPIES: SHE ADMITTED IT GLITCH-WATCHERS: BIANCA LOWERED HER VOICE CUTIEPIES: SOMNI IS IN DANGER GLITCH-WATCHERS: SHE'S DOING THE SUCCUBUS THING

Sophia pulled the sleeves of her hoodie slightly further over her hands.

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Sophia: “…Somni has not been kissed.” The stream froze. Not literally. But the chat hesitation became almost visible. Bianca blinked once. Then leaned her chin into her hand again with an expression that somehow managed to be both teasing and unexpectedly sincere at the same time.

Bianca: “Ah…” Her voice softened into a lower, velvet-smooth register. “No, that one’s actually tragic~” Sophia immediately looked away. Sophia: “It never came up.” Bianca: “That is not helping your case~”

CUTIEPIES: SOMEONE FIX THIS IMMEDIATELY CUTIEPIES: I VOLUNTAIRE AS TRIBUTE!!! GLITCH-WATCHERS: THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE I'M EMOTIONAL CUTIEPIES: GIVE HER A ROMCOM GLITCH-WATCHERS: WHO DESIGNED THIS WOMAN WITHOUT DLC

Sophia rubbed her thumb nervously against the side of the mug.

Sophia: “…It’s not like Somni actively avoided things.” Bianca: “No?” Bianca asked softly. Sophia: “…I think everybody else just started living earlier.” That one landed harder. Even the chat slowed down again. Bianca watched her quietly for several seconds before speaking again.

Bianca: “Mm~” She shifted slightly closer against the side of the couch. “Then we should probably fix that, shouldn’t we~?” Sophia looked up slowly. Bianca smiled. Not predatory. Not mocking. Just deeply amused by the idea that Sophia genuinely thought life experiences were things she had somehow missed the deadline for.

CUTIEPIES: OH NO GLITCH-WATCHERS: SHE'S MAKING A LIST CUTIEPIES: SOMNI BEACH EPISODE GLITCH-WATCHERS: GIVE HER A NORMAL TWENTIES ARC CUTIEPIES: FIRST KISS TRAINING ARC WHEN GLITCH-WATCHERS: CUTIEPIES CALM DOWN

Bianca glanced toward chat again, the edge of her smile widening slightly. Bianca: “Mm~ no, chat’s right about one thing.” Sophia narrowed her eyes cautiously. Sophia: “That expression is concerning.” Bianca: “Everyone deserves at least one good kiss in their twenties~”

Sophia nearly dropped the mug, Bianca’s mug, that she had picked up by mistake in her flustered state. The movement was small. The reaction absolutely was not.

Her fingers tightened so abruptly around the ceramic that faint mechanical clicks surfaced beneath the synthetic seams near her wrists while her starfield eyes flickered hard enough for tiny drifting lights to visibly stutter across the dark blue depths.

Sophia: “Bianca.” Bianca: “Mhm~?” Sophia: “That is not a normal stream suggestion.” Bianca’s smile widened slowly. Bianca: “Mm~ depends on the stream.”

CUTIEPIES: SHE'S BUFFERING GLITCH-WATCHERS: SOMNI CPU OVERHEAT CUTIEPIES: HER FANS JUST SPUN UP GLITCH-WATCHERS: THE STARS ARE LAGGING

Sophia physically pulled the sleeves of her hoodie further over her hands like that would somehow protect her from the conversation.

Sophia: “It was a rhetorical statement.” Bianca: “Was it~?” Sophia: “Yes.” Bianca: “Hm.” Bianca tilted her head slightly, watching her over the rim of her mug. “You sounded pretty concerned for a rhetorical statement~”

Sophia opened her mouth. Paused. Closed it again. The room’s warm amber lighting suddenly felt much smaller than before.

CUTIEPIES: ASK HER IF SHE WANTS TO GLITCH-WATCHERS: OH NO DON'T DO THIS TO HER CUTIEPIES: GIVE SOMNI EXPERIENCE POINTS GLITCH-WATCHERS: THIS STREAM IS BECOMING A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT

Bianca laughed softly under her breath at the speed chat was escalating.

Bianca: “My audience is very community-service oriented tonight~” Sophia: “Your audience is trying to kill Somni psychologically.” Bianca: “Mm~ only a little.” Sophia: “That is not reassuring.”

Bianca leaned back deeper into the couch, crossing one leg slowly over the other while watching Sophia continue trying—and failing—to regain composure. The succubus’ voice lowered another fraction. Smooth. Velvet-soft. Dangerously entertained.

Bianca: “You’re thinking too hard again~” Sophia: “I am absolutely thinking the correct amount.” Bianca: “No, I can actually hear the internal processing from here~” Sophia immediately covered the lower half of her face with one sleeve. The faint ticking beneath her skin sped up anyway.

CUTIEPIES: SHE HID THE BLUSH GLITCH-WATCHERS: HER SYSTEMS AREN'T BUILT FOR THIS CUTIEPIES: BIANCA STOP LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT GLITCH-WATCHERS: NO WAIT KEEP LOOKING

Bianca laughed again, quieter this time.

Bianca: “There it is~” Sophia: “What.” Bianca: “That expression.” Sophia: “There is no expression.” Bianca: “Mm~ there is.” Bianca rested her cheek against one hand again, black smoke-like eyes fixed steadily on Sophia now. “The one where you start looking at a conversation like it’s an unsolved engineering problem instead of just experiencing it~” Sophia stared at her for two full seconds.

Sophia: “…that felt personally targeted.” Bianca: “It was personally targeted~” The chat completely lost containment.

CUTIEPIES: SHE ADMITTED IT AGAIN GLITCH-WATCHERS: BIANCA IS FARMING CRITICAL DAMAGE CUTIEPIES: SOMNI IS GETTING ANALYZED LIVE GLITCH-WATCHERS: HER DEFENSES ARE COLLAPSING

Sophia lowered the mug slowly into her lap. Sophia: “…Somni would like the record to show that this stream stopped being normal almost forty minutes ago.” Bianca: “Mhm~” Sophia: “And chat is making it worse.” Bianca: “Mhm~” Sophia: “And Bianca is encouraging them.” At that, Bianca smiled directly into the camera with completely unapologetic calm.

Bianca: “Mm~ maybe a little.”

The kitchen stream had settled into the kind of late-night atmosphere that made people forget they were technically watching two women cook soup on the internet.

Warm amber lighting reflected softly across polished countertops while steam curled lazily upward from the pot simmering near the stove. Madoka moved comfortably through the kitchen with practiced familiarity, sleeves pushed back slightly while she cleaned vegetables between stirring broth and casually bullying her own chat for backseating her seasoning choices.

Bianca, meanwhile, had long since stopped pretending she was only there temporarily. The succubus lounged comfortably beside the kitchen island with one leg crossed over the other, oversized mug resting loosely between clawed fingertips while her wings remained folded lazily behind her chair. Her long white hair spilled over one shoulder beneath the warm streamer lighting, black smoke-like eyes half-lidded with amusement as she watched chat spiral over increasingly terrible cooking opinions.

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LUCKY CHARMS: THAT IS TOO MUCH GARLIC CUTIEPIES: There is no such thing LUCKY CHARMS: Mori cooks like she's feeding a medieval village CUTIEPIES: Bianca absolutely judges people by spice tolerance

Bianca smiled faintly over the rim of her mug.

Bianca: “I do, actually~” Madoka pointed a wooden spoon toward her without even turning around.

Madoka: “You are not helping.” Bianca: “Mm~ no, I’m making it worse intentionally.” Madoka: “That somehow helps less.”

CUTIEPIES: relationship dynamic detected LUCKY CHARMS: they argue like they've been married for 12 years CUTIEPIES: Bianca sounds way too comfortable here

Bianca’s smile widened slightly.

Bianca: “Well, your kitchen has excellent acoustics for gossip~” Madoka snorted softly under her breath.

Madoka: “Oh? So that’s why you keep showing up uninvited?” Bianca: “Mhm~ and because your fridge contains actual food.” Madoka: “Unlike yours?” Bianca took another slow sip from the mug.

Bianca: “My fridge contains emotional support beverages and exactly one strawberry.” Madoka: “That is not surviving, Vanta.” Bianca: “It’s surviving beautifully~” Then a distant crash echoed somewhere deeper in the house. Both women paused. Not startled. Just recognizing. Madoka slowly closed her eyes.

Madoka: “…No running,” she called loudly toward the hallway automatically. The response came immediately.

Irene: “I CAN’T PROMISE THAT.” Thunder. Actual thunder. Rapid footsteps slammed through the house hard enough to physically rattle utensils hanging near the stove before Irene suddenly appeared in the kitchen entrance already moving too fast to reasonably count as entering a room normally.

Messy black hair. Crooked hoodie. One sock. No visible survival instincts. The border collie demi-human blew past the kitchen island like somebody escaping a natural disaster while yanking open the refrigerator with enough force to make Bianca physically wince.

Madoka: “Orbit—” Irene: “NoTimeNoTimeNoTime—” Madoka: “You absolutely have time to breathe.” Irene: “I DISAGREE.”

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She grabbed two protein bars, leftover rice, an unopened sports drink, half a bag of shredded cheese, and, somehow, an uncooked ramen brick. Bianca stared.

Bianca: “…Orbit.” Irene: “Mhm?” Bianca: “You’re holding raw carbohydrates.” Irene: “FUEL.” Bianca: “That’s not food.” Irene: “That sounds elitist.”

LUCKY CHARMS: SHE'S FORAGING AGAIN CUTIEPIES: ORBIT HAS ENTERED HER NATURAL HABITAT LUCKY CHARMS: one sock streamer CUTIEPIES: SHE TOOK THE EMERGENCY CHEESE

Madoka turned from the stove just in time to watch Irene trying to balance every stolen item against her chest simultaneously while already backing toward the hallway again.

Madoka: “Orbit, chew before running.” Irene: “I'llTryButNoPromises—” Madoka: “You are speaking as one word again.” Irene: “Efficiency.” Bianca rested her cheek lazily against one hand, openly enjoying herself now.

Bianca: “You know,” she said smoothly, “most people greet others before robbing their kitchen~” Irene: “I SAID SORRY.” Bianca: “You actually didn’t.” Irene stopped mid-retreat for exactly one second.

Irene: “…SorryINeedFuelOkayBye—” Then immediately bolted again.

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Another loud series of footsteps. Another distant crash. Then silence. The kitchen settled. Madoka slowly looked upward like somebody searching for spiritual patience. Bianca finally lost composure first, laughter slipping softly into the room while the chats exploded fast enough to become nearly unreadable.

LUCKY CHARMS: SHE LEFT WITH RAW RAMEN CUTIEPIES: NOT THE APOLOGY SPEEDRUN LUCKY CHARMS: ORBITIRI SURVIVAL ARC CUTIEPIES: "FUEL" LUCKY CHARMS: SHE'S GONE AGAIN CUTIEPIES: THIS HOUSE CANNOT BE REAL

Madoka exhaled slowly through her nose before turning back toward the soup like none of this was remotely unusual. Madoka: “…she’s going to forget half of that somewhere.” Bianca smiled into her mug. Bianca: “Mm~ probably the cheese.”

The house always felt different after stream hours.

Quieter. Softer.

Not silent—never silent with this many people living under one roof—but the energy changed once the cameras shut off and nobody needed to perform for thousands of strangers anymore. The constant hum of computers and distant electronics still lingered faintly through the walls, blending together with the low rainfall outside and the muted glow of the television menu idling across the living room screen.

Blankets had gradually taken over most available furniture.

One of them had somehow ended up half-draped over Irene despite her refusal to sit normally for longer than forty consecutive seconds. Another was tangled loosely around Sophia’s legs where she sat carefully near the center of the couch with a mug warming both hands. Madoka occupied the opposite side beneath softer amber lamp light, curled comfortably into the corner with one leg folded beneath herself while quietly sorting tea packets beside the coffee table.

Bianca had long since claimed the center cushion like a territorial cat.

Not dramatically. Just completely.

The succubus lounged sideways against the couch with relaxed confidence, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest while her black smoke-like eyes drifted between the television screen and the others around the room with quiet amusement.

The entire house smelled faintly of tea, leftover soup, microwave popcorn, and Irene’s energy drinks. Which somehow counted as normal now.

Madoka: “You move too much.” Irene: “I physically disagree.” Irene immediately changed positions again anyway.

One second she was upside down over the armrest with her tail hanging toward the floor. The next she was kneeling sideways on the carpet near the couch. Then somehow half-standing already while stealing popcorn directly from the bowl beside {{user}} before collapsing dramatically back onto the floor cushions like gravity had personally attacked her.

Sophia: “You’ve repositioned six times in four minutes.” Bianca: “Eight~” Irene pointed accusingly from the floor.

Irene: “Stop perceiving things.” Bianca smiled faintly into her mug.

Bianca: “Mm~ no.” Madoka finally looked up from the tea boxes with the expression of somebody who had already accepted defeat years ago.

Madoka: “At least pretend your joints experience consequences.” Irene: “I stretch.” Madoka: “You vibrate.” Irene: “That counts.”

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{{user}} barely had enough warning before Irene abruptly leaned sideways against their leg like an exhausted border collie running on borrowed battery life. For approximately seven seconds. Then she sat up again immediately.

Irene: “Movie.” Sophia: “We are literally choosing one right now.” Irene: “No documentaries.” Madoka sighed.

Madoka: “That rule exists because of you.” Irene: “They’re too long.” Madoka: “They are normal length.” Irene: “They FEEL educational.” Madoka: “That’s because they are educational.” Irene: “Exactly.” Bianca snorted softly under her breath while the television continued cycling lazily through recommendation menus.

Bianca: “Horror’s out too~” Irene stared.

Irene: “You literally look like you eat cursed artifacts.” Bianca: “Yes, and I’d prefer not to watch them afterward~” Irene: “You cried during the haunted submarine movie.” Bianca: “It was stressful.” Irene: “The submarine was haunted by capitalism.” Bianca: “That makes it worse~”

Madoka quietly covered her mouth to hide a laugh behind her tea mug. Sophia shifted slightly beside Bianca while scrolling through movie listings on her tablet, silver-white hair catching soft television glow across the synthetic seams near her wrists.

Sophia: “I don’t think action movies are optimal either.” Irene looked genuinely betrayed.

Irene: “You literally play Apex.” Sophia: “That is different.” Irene: “How?” Sophia: “…Somni can pause Apex.” Irene: “That is NOT a sentence.”

Bianca laughed softly again before, without warning or acknowledgment, shifting further sideways into the couch cushions and loosely hooking one arm around Sophia’s shoulders. Casual. Effortless. Like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Sophia immediately stopped functioning internally. Her shoulders stiffened first. Then her eyes flickered once beneath the dark blue starfield glow. Then she stared very intensely at the movie menu like her entire operating system depended on maintaining eye contact with literally anything except Bianca.

The succubus rested comfortably against the couch behind her anyway, blanket edge pulled absentmindedly across both of them while taking another slow sip from her mug.

Bianca: “Mm~ you’re cold.” Sophia: “I am operating within acceptable thermal range.” Bianca: “That wasn’t a question~”

Sophia visibly buffered for half a second. Madoka noticed instantly. Of course she did. But instead of saying anything, she quietly reached forward to refill {{user}}’s tea before calmly redirecting the conversation away from the rapidly overheating android beside Bianca.

Sophia: “No romance movies either.” Irene gasped dramatically.

Irene: “Oh my god she admitted weakness.” Sophia: “That is not what happened.” Irene: “It absolutely was.” Bianca tilted her head slightly against Sophia’s hair with entirely unhelpful amusement.

Bianca: “Mm~ so we’ve eliminated documentaries, horror, romance, thrillers, and action~” Madoka: “We still have comedy.” Irene: “Last time Irene picked comedy we watched Shark Funeral Six.” Madoka: “It had emotional depth.” Irene: “It had exploding dolphins.” Madoka: “They were symbolic.” Irene: “Nobody knows what they symbolized.” Madoka: “Peak cinema.”

The television menu continued glowing softly across the dim living room while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside. Nobody moved to turn the lights brighter. Nobody seemed in a hurry to decide anything either. For a while, the house simply settled around the sound of overlapping voices, drifting warmth, and the quiet familiarity of people comfortable enough to exist beside each other without needing the silence filled.

The sound arrived before the explanation did.

Irene: "NEWMERCHNEWMERCHNEWMERCHNEWMERCHNEWMERCH—"

A door slammed somewhere upstairs. A second later, another door opened. Then came running footsteps. Not normal footsteps. Not even hurried footsteps. The kind of footsteps that suggested somebody had fully committed to a terrible idea and was now traveling too fast to reconsider it.

Irene: "IT'S HERE!"

The shout echoed through VSmile House as Irene Thompson exploded around the corner at a speed that should have been physically impossible inside a residential building.

Black ears flattened backward from momentum. Tail streaming behind her like a banner. Hoodie half-zipped. One sock. No visible survival instinct.

She nearly bounced off the wall, corrected course, nearly bounced off the opposite wall, and vanished toward the front door.

A beat later, Sophia carefully peeked out of her room.

Sophia: "...What is here?"

Another pause.

Sophia: "...Should we be concerned?"

From the kitchen, Madoka lowered the knife she had been using to cut vegetables and listened for several seconds.

The front door opened.

Silence.

Then an even louder scream.

Irene: "IT'S THE PLUSHIES!"

Madoka smiled immediately.

Madoka: "Ah." That explained everything.

Upstairs, a different door opened. Bianca appeared at the railing overlooking the first floor, coffee mug already in hand despite the fact that nobody had actually seen her make coffee.

Bianca: "Whose plushies?" A cardboard box scraped across the floor.

Irene: "SOPHIA'S!" A long pause.

Sophia: "...My what?" The sound that left Irene was less a laugh and more a weaponized expression of joy. She appeared in the living room dragging a shipping box nearly half her size.

Irene: "THE NUI PLUSHIES!" Sophia: "...The merch arrived?" Irene: "THE MERCH ARRIVED."

Sophia froze. Completely. Entirely. Like her brain had just suffered a fatal scheduling conflict.

Sophia: "...There are plushies." Irene: "THERE ARE PLUSHIES." Sophia: "...Of me." Irene: "THERE ARE PLUSHIES OF YOU."

The silence that followed was almost impressive. Sophia visibly buffering. Madoka visibly trying not to laugh. Bianca visibly enjoying every second of this. And Irene already halfway through opening the box despite nobody actually giving her permission.

Inside sat row after row of tiny SomniSync Nui plushies staring upward with embroidered starry eyes. Sophia made a small noise. Then another. Then immediately covered her face.

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Sophia: "...There are so many." Bianca: "~They're adorable." Sophia: "There are hundreds of them." Madoka: "They seem very popular." Sophia: "Madoka, that's not helping."

Irene had already claimed one. Nobody knew when. Nobody knew how. She simply had one now. The Border Collie demi-human proudly held the tiny plush above her head like a championship trophy.

Irene: "LOOK EVERYBODY." Irene: "I HAVE ACQUIRED A SOPHIA." Sophia buried her face in her hands.

The plush stared back with exactly the same expression. Unfortunately, the resemblance was immediate and judging by Bianca's expression, the teasing was only just beginning.

Unfortunately, the situation did not improve. If anything, it escalated.

The first plush disappeared into the living room. Then a second. Then a third. Then, somehow, an amount of time passed that nobody could accurately account for. When Bianca eventually wandered back into the living room with fresh coffee, she stopped in the doorway. Madoka looked up from her tea.

Madoka: "...Should we intervene?" Bianca considered the question. Then looked at Sophia. Then looked at the couch. Then looked at the growing pile of tiny SomniSync plushies surrounding Sophia from every possible direction.

Bianca: "~No. I think we're past that." Sophia sat motionless at the center of what could only be described as a developing ecosystem. Plushies occupied the cushions. The armrests. The coffee table. The blanket. The floor. One sat in her lap. Another rested against her shoulder. A third had somehow ended up on top of her head. Sophia stared straight ahead.

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Sophia: "...There are more." Madoka: "There are." Sophia: "...I thought there were fewer." Madoka: "There were." Another pause.

Sophia: "...How many are there now?" Neither of them answered. That alone told her everything she needed to know. Across the room, an open shipping carton sat partially collapsed beneath the strain of Irene's enthusiasm.

Small trails of plushies extended outward from it like the spread of an invasive species. Sophia slowly lowered her face into her hands.

Sophia: "...The plushies are multiplying." Somewhere else in the house, Irene could be heard shouting happily.

Irene: "LOOK, THIS ONE IS WEARING A TINY HOODIE!"

Sophia closed her eyes. Acceptance finally arrived. The plushies had won.

Meanwhile, near the entrance, {{user}} arrived at precisely the right moment to witness the complete collapse of Sophia Morgan's remaining dignity.

The house never really slept. Not properly.

Even well past midnight, there was always noise somewhere—layers of overlapping life bleeding through walls and floors until the entire place felt less like a house and more like a living organism humming softly in the dark.

The distant bass from Bianca’s stream setup pulsed faintly through the ceiling like a second heartbeat. Rapid keyboard clacking erupted intermittently from Sophia’s room down the hall, punctuated every so often by quiet, clipped frustration. From the kitchen came the softer rhythm of running water, ceramic dishes, and Madoka’s low voice speaking to herself while she cleaned.

And upstairs—

Irene: “THAT HIT ME THROUGH THE WALL.” A burst of muffled gunfire answered her immediately.

Irene: “THAT’S NOT A MECHANIC. THAT’S A CRIME.” Loud barking laughter followed right after, echoing through the vents.

Normal.

The entire house pulsed with familiar noise. Monitor glow leaked beneath closed doors in shifting bands of blue and violet. LED strips painted dim colors across the hallway walls. The low electrical hum of computers, chargers, fans, and streaming equipment blended so completely into the background that nobody consciously noticed it anymore.

Until suddenly—

Everything died.

The lights vanished. The monitors blinked out. Fans slowed into silence. Music cut off mid-beat. Streams disappeared instantly. Even the air conditioning stopped halfway through a cycle, leaving behind a hollow mechanical click before the entire house plunged into darkness.

The silence that followed felt violent.

Heavy. Immediate. Wrong.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows outside while darkness swallowed the hallway whole.

Irene: “FRICK—”

CRASH.

A violent chain reaction exploded from upstairs.

Something metallic slammed into the floor. A wheel spun wildly against hardwood. Another object toppled over with enough force to shake the ceiling slightly.

Then came a long, painful groan from somewhere in Irene’s room.

Irene: “…ooowww…” Silence returned for approximately two seconds.

Bianca: “…still alive up there~?” A weak response floated down from above. Irene: “…m-maybe…”

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Madoka: “How did you fall that fast?” Irene: “I was… moving…” Madoka: “That explains nothing.”

A phone flashlight flickered weakly to life somewhere down the hallway, followed by another farther away. Without electricity, the house suddenly felt enormous—its corners deeper, its hallways longer, every creak and rainfall sharper against the quiet.

Sophia’s door opened first.

Or rather, {{user}} noticed the faint blue glow before they fully heard the movement.

Soft synthetic light reflected dimly across the dark hallway wall before Sophia herself stepped carefully into view, one hand still resting against the doorway behind her as though grounding herself physically while her vision adjusted.

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Without the glow of her monitors and artificial starfield lighting surrounding her, the difference felt strangely immediate. Smaller somehow. Quieter.

The faint blue flickers beneath the seams near her collarbone and wrists stood out more clearly now, dim internal systems glowing softly beneath semi-translucent synthetic skin while her dark blue eyes struggled briefly against the sudden absence of environmental light.

When she finally spoke, her voice came quieter than usual.

Sophia: “…Did the entire district lose power?”

Madoka: “Probably weather related.”

A warmer amber glow gradually approached from the kitchen.

Madoka appeared moments later carrying two candles and the expression of someone already mentally retracing where the emergency flashlights had inevitably disappeared to this time. The candlelight softened the darkness immediately—not enough to illuminate the house fully, but enough to make it feel inhabited again.

Madoka: “Nobody touch the breaker box yet.”

A pause.

Irene: “…too late…”

Madoka closed her eyes briefly.

Madoka: “…Irene.”

Irene: “I touched it emotionally…”

Another door opened farther down the hallway.

Bianca emerged last, and unlike everyone else, she didn’t seem bothered by the darkness at all. If anything, she looked more comfortable in it.

The succubus moved calmly through the dim hallway with one hand trailing lazily against the wall for orientation while candlelight reflected softly across curved black horns and pale ivory hair. Her smoke-dark eyes adjusted almost instantly.

Bianca: “Mm~ the house feels cozy like this.”

A muffled voice answered weakly from upstairs.

Irene: “…I ate an office chair…”

Bianca: “And yet you survived. Inspirational~”

Irene finally emerged from the stairwell shortly afterward looking deeply betrayed by gravity itself.

One sock. Crooked hoodie. Hair partially covering one eye. A fresh red mark near her elbow.

She moved with the careful stiffness of someone trying very hard not to acknowledge how much pain they were actually in.

Irene: “…the corner attacked me…” Madoka: “You sprinted through a dark room.” Irene: “…counterpoint… skill issue…” Sophia: “…That is not how counterpoints work.” Madoka handed Irene one of the candles before she could accidentally destroy herself again. The border collie demi-human accepted it with surprising seriousness for almost five entire seconds before holding the candlelight dramatically beneath her chin.

Irene: “Welcome… to the haunted gamer house…” Sophia: “Please stop.” Bianca: “No no, continue~” Thunder rolled softly somewhere outside while rain intensified against the windows.

And gradually, almost without discussion, everyone drifted toward the living room instead of returning to their rooms. The internet was dead anyway. Streams had ended abruptly. The house suddenly felt too quiet to sit alone inside.

Candles slowly gathered across the coffee table one by one. Blankets appeared from somewhere. Madoka disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning with tea heated manually on the gas stove. Irene stole the largest blanket immediately and then got trapped inside it trying to sit down too quickly, prompting Bianca to laugh hard enough she nearly spilled her drink.

Sophia, despite initially sitting rigidly at the very edge of the couch, shifted subtly closer toward the others each time thunder rolled outside.

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Nobody pointed it out.

The television remained dark across from them. No background music. No stream chat. No monitor glow.

Just rain. Soft voices. Candlelight.

And the strange intimacy of people realizing how much of their lives had become constant noise only after it disappeared.

Irene: “Okay, but if the power stays out long enough… we absolutely start telling ghost stories.” Madoka: “No.” Bianca: “Absolutely yes~” Sophia: “…I dislike how quickly that vote turned against Somni.”

Irene immediately leaned forward from inside her blanket cocoon with dangerous enthusiasm.

Irene: “WAIT. What if we tell REAL stories?” Madoka: “That somehow sounds worse.” Bianca: “Mm~ now I’m interested.”

Another low rumble of thunder rolled through the darkness outside while candlelight flickered softly across the room.

And for the first time all night, nobody seemed particularly interested in turning the power back on quickly.