Devi doesn't give you a choice.

Given that your birthday came and went, and Saturday had nothing beyond a belated call from your mother, you're left with nothing but time to keep tabs on Devi. Similarly, it seems you're the new apple of her eye as a lab rat: she's been texting you since you left her home, asking for lengths upon lengths of personal information, habits, and estimates on how much human waste you produce on average. You try to stay positive, despite how embarrassing and outright unsexy the long-term survey was getting. By the time you go to sleep the same day you "spike" her milk, you wonder if she'll get through it all before you're to change phone numbers and move out.

The tune changes only slightly come the next morning, likely just past when she had her complete breakfast, now with two scoops of Derek Peck. She calls you on your phone, not at you were waiting; it was her call that stirred you from sleep. With a single, bleary eye poking out from your pillow, you watch as Devi's face appears on the video chat of your phone: already wearing a fresh lab coat, fully groomed for the day, and with that excited spark in an otherwise emotionless face. You check the clock: 11:56AM on a Sunday. Who does anything this early on a Sunday? "I need a fresh sample," the tiny video of Devi explains. "Furthermore I'll need to take thermal images of your genitals and torso as you climax, as well as afterwards to see what other anomalies might be part of this mutation."

You groan in response, and she takes the deep yawn that follows as affirmation. "My equipment is already prepared. I'll be the only one on hand for this examination, so..." She cocks her head to the side. "... don't worry about getting dressed or bathed before coming over."