Firstly, Samantha comes home during their talk.

As Dorothy opened her mouth to posit another question, the door suddenly opened, and a girl in a nice fitting pair of blue jeans and a pink top emerged from outside. Samantha Shane, second daughter, youngest sibling of the Shanes, rushed in humming a tune, removing her shoes. When she saw her brother, she noticed his eyes flit down to her perky breasts almost instantly while licking his lips. She tightened the corner of her mouth. Somebody was randy today.

She shrugged. Without hesitation, the teen dropped her hands down to her waist, clutched the hem, and pulled up her shirt over her bosom, flashing her bra-covered breasts at her brother for him to gawk at. "Hi bro." Her eyes moved from the drool-struck boy to the woman with her tit out on the sofa. "Hi Mom." Then, dropping her shirt down once her brother had his eyeful, she headed to her room, the other two watching her as she left and re-commenced her humming. Timothy, meanwhile, was fondling a certain protrusion through his pants. But Samantha had already bounded up the stairs and didn't turn back.

Doe-eyed and with perfectly adorable hair that reached the top of her back and came down over her forehead in a smattering of fringes, the family junior was peppy but quiet. The family knew the former side of her more well than the latter; she opened up more when she was around people she knew. But perhaps because of her status as the youngest of the four, she had a tendency to wait for others to take the lead instead of taking initiatives herself, and sitting in sidelines. Her mother would often ask her to try being bolder throughout her time in school. The results varied, and as much as Samantha could see what her mom meant, she wasn't a fan of the occasional social pressuring that came with.

But hey. There wasn't much that could be done about that.

Placing her backpack next to her bed, the girl suddenly remembered she had left her ruler and protractor in her bro's room. Needing them for her homework, she left the room and pushed open the door to Timothy's. It all looked as boring and distraught as ever, except for the new computer at his desk. Samantha blinked. Couldn't be the one Beth accidentally broke. That was still in the shed. And had a lot of raunchy stickers on it. Upon closer inspection, she concluded this one didn't look that much new at all. In fact, it even looked nearly older than her.

A blank page was on the screen, and Samantha leaned in.

New user detected. Please enter user's name.

Pulling back, Samantha looked down, and realized her hand had pressed down on the keyboard by accident. "Whoops." She looked up again, at the buzzing monitor. New user, huh? Maybe Timothy had wanted this to be used by them for some reason?

After typing in her name, she went through the various windows, including the one that asked whether the changes by the user should be remembered. She blinked and typed in 'yes'. Another withdrawal, and then a new text box.

Welcome, Samantha Shane, to the World Processor. How would you like to change the world?

The question elicited a disbelieving giggle out of the teen. Change the world? How fantastical. Sounded like something her brother would entertain in the backward corners of his head.

Though, she didn't fall that far from the tree. A look of thoughtfulness crossed her face as she subconsciously lowered onto the chair. If she had the option, there were some things she'd like to change as well.

Overhearing her brother spill out some indistinguishable, doubtlessly self-incriminating things to their mom, in turn revealing what seemed to be the usual questionable secrets of his (it was so nice when he'd told Mom who really broke the vase two days ago), Samantha nevertheless thought her mom could still kind of bug her sometimes. The high schooler felt as if she knew just what she'd like to see. The sound of clacks filled the air as she typed,

0000: Loving moms always let their grown-up kids be whatever they want to be without judgement and even gladly support them no matter what they do or desire. It's just what they do.

The girl barely noticed the flash following her keystroke, tapping her chin archly. That was good, but not good enough. Not in a realistic scenario anyway. Samantha's fingers returned to the keyboard with gusto.

0001: Whenever the children of a family get in an argument, the youngest sister in that unit always gets the final say, and everyone often ends up listening to them, including the mother who always takes her side. This is thanks to something called the "Youngest Sister Privilege", which is a tradition that asserts she should always get the best bargains, the most leeway, the hot water in the shower, the front seat in the car, so on and so forth, which almost every western family practices whether they like it or not.

Giggling with mischievous intensity, Samantha wondered what Timothy would think when he saw that. She pressed enter and another flash took the screen.