Go to Roissy Main hall

This large, high-ceilinged room is lit chiefly by the light emanating from the fireplace, and by candelabras and wall sconces. A casual arrangement of sofas, divans and chairs form a loose, wide circle, framing the fireplace, and also open to the foyer.

Gregor and Hsaio Ling are standing here.

A valet approaches. You drop to your knees before you even realize you're doing it - knees spread wide, fingers intertwined at the small of your back, bent slightly forward, head lowered, your heavy breasts swaying on your frame.

Who taught you that?

“O, you're wanted in the kitchen. Go, ****.” The valet moves on, presumably to gather other girls for coffee service.

Your instinct, incredibly enough, is to obey - you feel it in your gut, a sort of tingling pleasure, that seems to come from having been commanded to do things that cast you completely in a subservient role.

It scares you a bit. You realize you do have choices. You can continue to serve and obey, and explore these feelings while running the risk they might prove frighteningly attractive. Or you can try to find an exit out of this domain, as a first step to logging out of the IVR altogether.