The walk back is uneventful

On the way home, you try to think of something to say. Nothing good comes to mind. “Hey Sarah! Don’t feel bad. A shadowy, possibly governmental, organization is messing with everyone’s minds to make it so that lesbians want to have sex with me,” doesn’t seem like a great opener.

Eventually, you reach your apartment building. You still haven’t thought of anything, but you can’t keep putting it off. Hopefully, Sarah’s gone back to normal in the time you’ve been gone. You make your way back to your own apartment and unlock the door as quietly as possible. You can hear pots and pans clattering in your kitchen. A waft of air brings delicious cooking scents with it. That smells good. Too good.

“Is that my bacon? My gourmet bacon? I was saving that for a special occasion!”

“Oh shit! Really?” Sarah says nervously, standing at the stove, cooking up a pan-full of your gourmet bacon. Your eyes bulge as you realize that she hasn’t put any clothes on. The only thing she has on is an apron to protect herself from oil splatter. A naked apron? What is this? Some pervy anime? Still, you have to admire the curve of her ass, and the way the silk of her panties is wedged into her crack.

“Well… offer’s still open” Sarah says, pulling her ass wide. Your penis springs to life, despite your protests, at the barest glimpse of her asshole. “And I made enough for both of us.”

“That doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you growl, failing to avert your gaze as you grab some plates and utensils for the both of you. Sarah serves brunch for the two of you. The scents of the toast, eggs and especially the bacon, remind you that you haven’t had anything except that glass of water and aspirin pill since you woke up. As you both sit down, you ask Sarah, “What’s up with all this?”

“I guess I kind of freaked you out earlier. I wanted to... make it up to you.” Sarah seems to realize what she’s said a moment too late. The echo of what you talked about before sets you both on edge, but Sarah takes a bite out of her bacon, and you follow suit. Eventually you’re back to normal, gulping down your breakfast and talking about what happened to you at the corner shop.

“Seriously? Here I am, offering my holes to you,” you drop the spoonful of eggs you were eating in surprise. “-and you go and fuck some chick you just met? Fuck you. No pun intended. Thanks for the chips, though. I’ll eat that later. On my own.”

“I don’t even like sour cream & onion. Anyway, I was confused! I didn’t know what was going on, and I was still hung over. And then this girl starts crying and begging me to do something to her. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Fine, whatever. You said there was something else?”

“Yeah. I got this weird-” you **** suddenly on the piece of toast you're eating. Downing some orange juice to clear the blockage, you try again. “Last night at the bar. I-” again, you ****. This time with nothing in your mouth. A sneaking suspicion raises the hairs on the back of your neck. You try one last time. “Em-” you can’t even finish the word.

“John, you alright? Have some more juice.” As she refills your glass, you try to think. Pulling out your phone, you open up the email and shove it at her. If this doesn’t work…

“Nice cat vid, I guess?” Okay, that confirms it. And it makes sense. If the Management can mess with auras and implant thoughts in other people, why couldn’t they fiddle with your mind too? That begs the question; why doesn’t ‘The Management’ want you telling people about their machinations? Taking back your phone, you skim through the email. Eventually you find a relevant paragraph.

To prevent sensitive information from being divulged, deliberately or by accident, we have taken the liberty of placing a mental lock on the information regarding this initiative. Do not be alarmed if you are suddenly unable to talk or if you end up saying things that you did not intend. This is just the mental lock activating to keep you from disclosing Management secrets or practices. Likewise, we have implanted psychic suggestions that scramble any attempts to display or otherwise disseminate protected information. To see a list of topics that will prompt memory lock action, see appendix J.

What the hell is up with this Illuminati bullshit? You’re conflicted. On the one hand they’re messing with your mind, not to mention everyone else’s minds. What if they changed other things in your head? How would you even know? On the other hand, with the amount of lesbians or bisexual women in this city, the Management is basically letting you have as much no-strings-attached sex as you want. Is that a fair trade? Maybe… Of course, this might be Management fiddling in action, but you have to play with the cards you’re dealt.

“Is that what you wanted to show me? Seems a little anticlimactic from how you talked it up.”

“Yeah…” you sigh. “I guess drunk-me thought it was funnier than it was. You got any plans for the rest of the day? You already spent the morning here.”

“Nah. Nothing much. I got the number from that bartender last night. Might try to see how she’s doing.”

“What! Seriously?” You chuck a plastic bag at her. As Sarah laughs mockingly, you catch sight of the number scrawled on the bag. The one you got from Ailani at that corner shop. That brings you back. You look Sarah up and down. Practically nude, you could guilt her into doing basically anything now.