Head to Gusteau’s. It’s time to eat like the rich. [MR]

Part 2 - Digital Deluxe

Natalie lays on the floor, her pussy oozing your cum.

Suddenly, the lights begin to flicker in the room uncontrollably amidst the rattling of the windows. You turn to look outside to a sight unbelievable to even you. The blue of the sky drips away to a blinding red as the sun darkens to an ecliptic black. Where once the great ball of fire gave life to its inhabitants, an eye opens and rolls over, seemingly scanning the earth below.

The fabric of the sky tears itself in stagnated patterns, spelling out the following message:

“Hacker. You have 24 hours to terminate your program before we terminate you. This is your one and only warning. - WcAfee”

Holy shit. Reality has an anti-virus. Your head spins with a mixture of awe, anger, and, above all, excitement. Typically you’re the one engineering a virus, and by some twist of fate you find yourself as the virus itself, set on doing whatever you please in this program called reality.

As the sky returns to its normal color and the sun shines once again, you put on your clothes and return Natalie back to her normal self.

“What’s going on? WHY AM I NAKED?” you hear behind you as you leave the room. What happens to Natalie now, is no longer a concern to you, and the other students would need to wait for their turn for your dick. Right now, you need some food in your belly and a plan on how to deal with the reality antivirus.

You kick down the door to the esteemed Gusteau’s and head inside. It’s the city’s best French restaurant, and you’ll be damned if you don’t have something delicious after all the hacking you did.

“I demand a table now,” you declare. The other patrons stare at you, too stunned to move or even speak.

"Sir, this is a proper establishment you can’t just-” the server shouted angrily. You look him in the eyes and reprogram him in an instant.

“It seems you have a reservation, Mr. Flynn. Right this way sir,” the server beckons with obedience. You sit down at your table and take a look around the room. The murmuring of the patrons is simply music to your ears, but what does catch your eye is the scornful gaze of the girl sitting facing you from across the room. Her manner of dress oozes luxury.

“Our specialty today is our roast-” the server started, only to be interrupted by you ordering the entire menu. You waive him away, annoyed. You’re more interested in Miss Prim and Proper over there.

Sitting back in your chair, you let your eyes roll back into the back alleys of reality’s code, stealing for yourself the data pipelines that allow you to now access statistics and information of each person down to their deepest secret.

Her name is Rose DeLatiff, eldest daughter and heir to the DeLatiff crime and **** trafficking family. To say she’s rich would be an understatement. The DeLatiffs have connections and strings that they pull on every politician in the country and the money to make people who disagree with them disappear. Since birth, Rose has lived a life of no wants, and for this very reason, Rose is a woman of great pride and, with it, a blinding level of narcissism.

You smile.