Pulp fiction

-So.-.

Kim leans back in her chair, forming a triangle with you and Dawn. You both stare at her, and she returns the gaze, her shoulders hunched as if trying to shrink into herself.

-First of all, we have to thank you.-.

You shoot a glare at your sister for her sudden display of gratitude. Kim ignores you and presses on: -The intel you gave us was solid. Sally, Lacy, and Amanda are safe. So, thank you.-.

Dawn purses her lips into a tight, sketched smile and nods.

-But that doesn't mean we trust you.- You interject, voicing what Kim was too polite to say: -I know that you're just trying to lull us into a false sense of security, and frankly, it's pathetic. You only told the truth because it serves your long-term game.-.

Dawn doesn't retort; she simply recoils, mortified.

-I don't know if my sister is right.- Kim resumes: -If she isn't, you'll just keep feeding us scraps to stay in our good graces. But if she is, then your best play is to do exactly that. String us along until, piece by piece, we start second-guessing ourselves. And in that moment of doubt, you'll strike. But until that moment...-.

-You're going to tell us everything.- You cut in sharply: -So start talking. We need to know exactly who we're dealing with.-.

Dawn hesitates for a moment, then nods.

-Well, first, there's her political strategy. She plans to weaponize your actions against the Mayor.-.

---

-...and with the financing my council has already secured, we project a further 12% reduction in the housing crisis.- You conclude just as the deafening timer expires. Beside you, in the middle of the stage, Hilary Birch beams, her Cheshire smile practically splitting her face, while Richard Russell stands silent at the opposite podium. You allow yourself a smirk.

Charity may be a megalomaniacal psychopath with a control fetish, but one doesn't become Mayor without learning to handle people exactly like her. You dominated this debate, hands down.

-Now, Mayor Morgan, Mr. Russell, you may question your opponent. Please, let us keep the discourse civil and respectful.-.

"Unless you want us to break sales records in tomorrow's edition." Hilary finishes the thought in your mind.

-I do have a question...- Richard begins. You can already predict it: 'regarding the **** plaguing our city', and if Charity is foolish enough, 'regarding the investigation into the attack on my home'. Time heals all wounds, but the public never forgets when you remind them that someone else is richer than they are.

-...for you, Ms. Birch.-.

You flinch. Hilary pivots, her smile freezing into a mask: -I'm sorry? I guess you meant for the mayor.-.

-No, I meant to one of my opponents; and frankly, I find it difficult not to consider you or your publication as that.-.

You narrow your eyes. What is this?

-Mr. Russell, I'm afraid I don't follow. The City Daily prides itself on impartiality. Just yesterday we ran your exclusive interview online, did we not?-.

-Yet, Ms. Birch, our readers can see for themselves how the tone of your coverage regarding the Mayor shifted overnight compared to last month.-.

Hilary smiles confidently, her mouth opening to deliver the rehearsed deflection, but Richard cuts her off, scrolling through his phone: -It shifted the exact day your paper made a significant donation to Ms. Morgan's campaign fund.- He holds up the screen, displaying a wire transfer screenshot, to Hilary, to you, and finally, to the camera.

You are about to dismiss it as a fabrication when you freeze. You suppress the urge to yank out your own phone and verify.

Misty. It has to be her... Charity, that is. Of course! Hilary and Valerie have been meticulous in scrubbing any connection to you, keeping Misty Olsen under surveillance for ties to Darius or Richard, waiting for a slip-up. You spent all your time defending against her sabotage; you never anticipated she would support you.

And what is your defense now? Claiming it's a conspiracy?

The studio audience is growing restless, and you can imagine the viewers at home doing the same. So, you do what you've trained yourself to do. You straighten your spine, smile, and lie through your teeth.

-That is hardly proof, Richard. I assure every citizen that my campaign donations are a matter of public record. I will personally investigate any alleged irregularities.-.

-'Irregularities' is quite the word coming from you.- He retorts: -How else would you describe your crusade against crime, if not by highly irregular?-.

-Effective, I'd say. Thanks to our coordination with law enforcement, five more women are safe today.-.

-Law enforcement agencies, perhaps. But not Riverbrook Heights's police. Another operation executed without their involvement. How do you explain that, Madame Mayor?-.

A piercing DING cuts you off. Hilary jolts as if an electric current ran through her.

-Time's up! Thank you, candidates. On behalf of the station and our viewers, we wish you luck in your continued campaigns.-.

---

-And then... everyone in a position of power. People whose downfall triggers a chain reaction, bringing everyone else crashing down with them.-.

---

You hold your breath, hands clasped on the table, staring silently at the screen. The nine bald men visible in the meeting grid, along with the others surely lurking off-screen, shift uneasily in their seats, adjusting collars and clearing throats.

-Could you kindly repeat that? I'm not sure I caught your meaning.-.

-Agatha...- one begins, his eyes darting everywhere but the camera: -We aren't accusing you of anything, trust us. You've been a stellar chancellor...-.

-I still am.-.

-...but the board feels the university needs fresh leadership to face future challenges. Your public alignment with the Mayor, you must understand, has raised concerns...-.

-Concerns that by lowering student fees, I'll stop pretending your investments are worth half of what you report them to be?-.

-Now, you're being unfair, Agatha.- He scowls: -You know our commitment to this institution goes beyond mere funding. We care for its reputation as a prestigious center of excellence for our...-.

"For our managerial class of tomorrow.".

-...of tomorrow. And we are concerned that the recent crime wave seems to overlap with the campus area. Your promises might be, ah, misinterpreted as an admission of these... unfortunate coincidences.-.

-One might say they smell of desperation.- Another voice chimes in.

Greedy little men. Miss Dawson doesn't even need to possess them to make them dance on her strings.

-As you mentioned,- you say calmly, crossing your legs with a powerful, deliberate motion, channeling the matriarch Miss Harris: -our priority is the quality of education for our students. They must be able to afford attendance. If external factors threaten that accessibility, we must adapt. There is no value in an education that is out of reach.-.

Their video feeds flicker with unease.

-I'm sorry, Agatha, but we must insist you reconsider your stance. We would prefer not to **** a formal board vote.-.

---

-You can't be serious, Selina!- Regina slams her fists on the table, her anger causing wrinkles to fracture her plastic face.

-Regina, my hands are tied.- You explain: -You have to understand my position. Thousands of global orders vanished overnight. Your flagship product turned out to be vaporware, or at least, that's the public perception, which is far better than them learning it was actually a body-hijacking slime. Your reputation is in tatters, and with the Vaughns making those advantageous offers, I've been outmaneuvered...-.

-You're joking!- She snaps, crossing her arms under her surgically enhanced chest. A feature the old Selina, a woman who had to build her way in a man's world, always despised, but one that conflicts with your Tom-formatted sexual tastes for big breasts, leaving you torn between wanting to bury your face in your hands or between her boobs.

-You're kicking me out, terminating all contracts between Roboris and the hospital, and replacing me with Charity's flesh dolls?-.

-No.- You reply with the practiced calm of endless night shifts: -I am suspending arrangements until the scandal fades. And no, I won't let Charity gain a foothold in this hospital.-.

-As if you didn't let the board kick me out! This is outrageous, Selina. I thought we were allies.-.

-That's rich coming from you.- You chortle in mock amusement: -You and Bella are the ones who made this mess, remember? But I don't want to talk about this. Just lay low for a bit, and let me do my job.-.

---

-Charity is good at finding the weak links in a chain. And she's even better in breaking them.-.

---

-Ohh fuck, yes! Professor, harder!-.

Mr. Rachett grunts behind you, pumping rhythmically between your legs. When you took over Cecilia, you remained a bit shocked to learn of her affair, especially considering her feelings for Bella. But you quickly learned it was merely a transaction: he gets a break from his dull wife, and you secure grades normally out of reach.

"And, damn, his cock is...".

He spins you around and lies down on the same desk you were leaning on. Gravity drives your pussy deeper onto his shaft, forcing a gasp from your lips.

"...quite... something, urgh!!!".

The second shock you got after you possessed her was about Cecilia's sensitivity. You climax within seconds, a firestorm racing up your spine, setting every nerve alight, especially your swollen nipples.

-Mmm... f-fuck, Patrick...-.

-It’s Mr. Rachett, Miss Bricks.- He corrects you with his customary scowl whenever you dare to use his first name.

Men and their fragile egos.

-Sorry, Professor.- You apologize, lifting your slick hips from his lap and turning around. The deal requires his finish, so you run your tongue along his length before swallowing him whole.

This always does the trick; unfortunately, it also makes you cringe in disgust. Cecilia wasn't a fan of blowjobs, and not just for the act itself, but because it **** her to look up at the guy she was sucking. The fantasy that it was Bella wearing a strap-on always shattered against the sight of his grunting, middle-aged face.

"It's still Bella." You think, closing your eyes as your mouth fills with a warm, throbbing heat.

"Bella with my cock... Tom's cock... yes...".

A large hand grips your hair, breaking the spell. Patrick (oh, pardon, Mr. Rachett) grunts a warning. You pull back just as he erupts, streaking your face and glasses.

You wipe the mess away with a tissue, eager to shower. Behind you, he buttons his shirt.

-Same time Friday?-.

-Yes, professor. Thanks for the study session.-.

Before you can walk out, however, he stops you for 'one last thing'.

Whatever it is, you hope it's something quick, you can already feel your cheeks getting sticky.

-It's about Kimberly Harris. And the fact that she's possessing you.-.

You freeze, then finally pay attention to the cold expression on his face. You should have recognized that predatory look.

"Of course. I can't have a single private corner of my life without her intrusion.".

-Really, Charity? Patrick Rachett? You should know the Uni is ours, and that he's a real piece of shit.-.

-Mr. Rachett is an old friend of Richard.- Charity explains through his voice: -I have no intention of staying longer than necessary.-.

-Necessary, huh?- You repeat, body tensed to escape at the first sign of danger, even though 'Patrick' seems perfectly calm, wiping his glasses with a cloth.

-To do what, ruin my day?-.

-To talk with you, Cecilia. To see if it was worth trying to reason with you, to see if we were similar enough.-.

-It's Miss Bricks to you, thank you. And we are nothing alike.-.

-I believe we are, instead.- He puts his glasses back on, though it can't be said that his expression gains any humanity in doing so: -After all, we are both ready to do whatever it takes for someone we love.-.

You scoff: -You? Loving someone? You're a sociopath. You don't know the meaning of the word.-.

-I'm sure your, uhm, guest, told you about my mother, Jane Dawson. I want those who hurt her to suffer. Wouldn't you do the same? If it were your precious Bella?-.

You snap when she pronounces that name, completely forgetting about the door behind you and instead slamming your hand on the desk: -You're delusional! You're the one who hurt Bella, you're the one who assaulted her mother!-.

-A pity I didn't finish the job.- Charity's cynicism catches you off guard, despite everything.

-For you, I mean. You could have been the shoulder to cry on. Her support during the mourning. Instead...-.

-Don't you dare...!-.

-...now you're nothing more than you were before. Perhaps you're even less, just a pawn for her failed army. And now, she will spend even more time with Hermione than she used to, even if she doesn't deserve that. But... that is the condemnation of being a daughter.-.

The air crackles with tension.

-What do you want?-.

-As I already told you, I want to avenge my mother. And I need Heather Russell to do that. All I'm asking is for you to bring her to me. I can find a way to extract your strain from her body by myself.-.

A nervous laugh escapes you: -And why would I do something like that?-.

-Why not? You owe Heather nothing, you have no real connection to her, minus being possessed by the same girl, but it won't be for long. Do this, and I leave you and your group in peace.-.

-Yeah? You think I trust you?-.

-I have no reason to persecute you specifically, Miss Bricks, unless you provide me with one. Indeed, you and Miss Sutherland have weakened your original self with your little civil war, so I am more than capable of leaving you be. I also know Dawn has told you that all I want is to make my own family; so, you can trust me when I promise that I'll move my bodies outside this city and start living elsewhere as them. Or, of course, I could focus my next efforts on squashing you all like insects. You know what I'm capable of.-.

-Great. So you're making me choose between being squashed and being labeled a traitor.- You comment sharply.

-A traitor... or, as the hero who sent me away. But, yes, perhaps, to many of your strain like Tina, you would indeed be a traitor... though it's not their opinion you care about, is it?-.

-I...- You look down, her words sinking in. Then: -No. Bella wants to see you defeated, not just gone. She would hate me too.-.

-Mh. Perhaps. But you told me I didn't know about loving someone before.- She grips your face with Patrick's fingers, forcing eye contact: -Since you're an expert instead, tell me. Doesn't loving someone also mean attracting their hatred, if it's for their own good?-.

---

Dawn pauses as a scream pierces the air, echoing from the bedrooms. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You rush upstairs before Kim can even stand, finding Heather curled up in the corner opposite Tom's bedroom door. Cassidy is standing near the door, wearing an awkward grimace. Chadwick is beside her, and given their state of undress, it's clear what they were doing.

-No, no, Daddy, I'm a good girl!- Heather sobs, her face buried in her knees.

-Heather, what happened? Are you hurt?- You reach out to touch her shoulder, but she recoils in terror, turning away. Just like every other time. And, just like every other time, it is Dawn, arriving moments later, who is allowed to touch her.

-Shh, it's all right, Heath. We know you're a good girl.-.

Kim gives you a knowing look, then you turn to Cassidy in a sharp motion.

-What the hell did you do???-.

-What? Me? Fuckin' nothing! Fucking him, actually, but that's all.- She gestures at the dumb-looking thug next to her.

-I thought you liked girls.- Your sister remarks.

-Yeah, and I thought it wasn't your damn business.- Cassidy retorts. Then she sighs, rolling her eyes: -Listen, I guess she heard me say 'Daddy' a couple of times and snapped. Just for the record, it wasn't whatever you're imagining right now.-.

-I told you dozens of times...- You growl.

-Ok, fine, I'm sorry. Happy?-.

Your lip twitches in annoyance at such a casual dismissal. You look at the still wailing Heather, and at Dawn consoling her, and you can say for sure that you are not happy, not even remotely close to something resembling happiness.

-Anyway, Mom, Rachel is passing by later.- You see Dawn flinch at this, looking away with a faint blush. Since Cassidy moved in, Rachel has been visiting frequently. Though, judging by her appearance, you doubt the real Rachel would normally frequent this part of town.

-She said suspect folks are starting to come to the Burrow lately. Charity's minions, no doubt.-.

Dawn tenses, looking up at Cassidy in alarm: -R-Right, I think I remember Maria mentioning that place. Your friend has to be careful!-.

Cassidy glares at her sister's body like it's a stain on the floor.

-Yeah, no shit. She already got rid of the first wave by spiking their coke.- You doubt Cassidy is referring to the drink. At your sister's worried look, she adds: -In the sense they needed stomach pumps, not coffins. She wants to discuss how to deal with the next batch.-.

-Yeah, but they're still dangerous...-.

-Meh. So we are. Let them come if they want. Now, if you'll excuse me.- Cassidy grabs a towel from behind her and marches to the bathroom, while Heather crawls like a wounded animal to the main bedroom and closes the door. Dawn looks disoriented by Cassidy's behavior and turns to you and Kim in astonishment.

-L-Listen, you must convince her friend to stay away from that place. If Charity has decided she wants to take control of it...-.

-Dawn, hold on.- Your sister cuts her short.

-We appreciated your insights and your concern, but don't misunderstand. Rachel isn't the only one who knows how to defend herself.-.

---

You watch Richard descend from his podium to join his wife, resting a hand on her arm as she smiles up at him; a performance strictly for the cameras, but it works. Hilary is shuffling her papers with a frustrated intensity. At the far end of the room stand the Gatelys; Charity doesn't bother to simulate human emotion in them, as all eyes are elsewhere. Beside them are Eric Miller and Maria Gonzalez, a common sight since Darius Gately officially took them as pupils. As the group moves to leave, you stride off stage, your heels clicking like gunshots.

-Mr. Gately!- Your voice rings out, high and clear, drawing the attention of every lingering reporter.

Darius Gately turns slowly. You cross the distance with your most photogenic smile plastered on your face and extend your hand.

-I hope I'm not intruding; I apologize for not receiving you sooner. I'm told your employees are recovering well, and you have been incredibly generous in offering to cover their treatment costs! I can see why they are eager to return to work. The City is committed to supporting their rehabilitation, and I am sure our political differences won't hinder our cooperation. After all, their well-being is our sole priority, isn't it?-.

Darius doesn't flinch. Then, as the first camera shutter clicks, he smiles and shakes your hand.

"Politics is just like sex." You think as your hands pump up and down.

"Sometimes, you just have to know how to swallow.".

---

You adjust the temples of your glasses, one after the other, and set them on the desk. You run your fingers through your hair and lean toward the webcam.

-...so, we sincerely hope our position is clear. The rumors regarding your supposed, uh, 'passion' are inconvenient right now, but they won't impact our support if you accede to our requests.-.

Silence. They wait for your response. You let the pause linger.

-My passion, of course. Speaking of which.- You tap the keyboard, sharing an image onto the call. A collective gasp goes through the participants, especially from the fat man who just spoke.

-What... h-how did you...-.

-I admire your open-mindedness about such things. Now, I can't claim to understand the appeal of diapers and pacifiers on grow-up men, but I'm sure this photo will be very empowering for the community. And I am certain your wife will agree.-.

Another tap, another picture. Now it is another board member turning ghostly pale.

-Now, this is just disappointing insread. A workplace harassment complaint from a woman who later attempted suicide, tsk tsk! But since there was no conviction, the public won't find anything too scandalous.-.

-Wait a minute...-.

TAP

-Oh, my mistake. I thought this was the fundraising slide from last year, but it appears to be the deposit history for half of you. Strange, the totals are nearly identical. If I zoom in, you can read the names...-.

-Agatha, this is...-.

-It is Chancellor Bernstein, or Madam Chancellor, thank you.- You correct him sharply: -And I hope my position about where you can stick your requests is sufficiently clear.-.

By the way they all scramble to disconnect, you assume it is.

---

You groan, dragging your hands down your face and through your long, blonde hair. Regina just stormed out, slamming the door, but that would be a blessing if it were your only problem today. You cup your breasts absently.

Selina's body is amazing, sure, but you can't just spend all day masturbating, no matter how much you might want to. Since day one, you've dealt with a mutinous medical staff, greedy suppliers, tech failures, emergencies, and enough lawsuits from patients' families that would make any doctor reconsider their job. And, on top of all that, you have to carve out time to strategize against a girl with a diagnosable APD, mixed with an untreated abandonment syndrome and a pinch of narcissistic personality disorder, who happens to have your same powers and quite fewer restraints on using them.

That should be your priority, considering you aren't really Selina Monroe, but a mental clone of Tom Harris possessing her body. But the lines are blurring; you interact daily with people who would be far more dangerous than Charity if they ever—

You reach out and clamp your hand around the wrist of the nurse who just killed you. Not the 'you' sitting in Selina's office, but your other body, the mass of goo mimicking Sonja's form on her hospital bed. The real Sonja is safely hidden in another room, shapeshifted into an old, plump woman by your goo (an idea you have to thank Dr. Carlson for). Your decoy body was feigning a coma when an air bubble injected into your IV caused a massive embolism. In Sonja's state, even your strain's regeneration wouldn't have saved her; in your state, it still hurts like hell.

As the fake Sonja, you stare with silent fury at the figure in scrubs trying to leave. Their lack of panic at being grabbed by a 'corpse' tells you this isn't just a goon; it's Charity herself, wether goo or possessing someone. However, the damage inside you feels like a xenomorph bursting through your chest. Your form shudders and dissolves, and you lose your grip. As Selina, you are already sprinting down the hallway, heels striking the floor like gunshots. But by the time you arrive, the door is ajar, and the room is empty, save for a puddle of red jelly on the floor.

You sigh and kneel, reabsorbing the mass into your own skin. You shiver at the sensation, it's like a multi-organ transplant without anesthesia.

"Well, great. Now I have to call IT." You think, thinking about the keyboard in your office now soaked with your own vomit. But you need a computer station asap, since you have to communicate an important rectification about Roboris Vitae contracts.

Specifically, the fact that they are still valid, and you intend to **** their renewal. It will be the last time one of Charity's flying monkeys befoul your hospital with their presence.

---

You feel frail, minute in front of Mr. Rachett's face, his fingers clasping on your cheeks and pressing against your teeth. At every breath you take, you sense your feminine, slender thoracic cage expanding, lifting your breasts, and you think that with a single punch, he could break your ribs and make you cry on the floor.

Nevertheless, you spit in his face.

-I was right, you know nothing about love. I knew that Dawn was full of bullshit, your mother could have never loved a beast like y-

Your words are cut off as Patrick's hands close around your throat, pinning you to the wall. You **** and gasp, the crushing pressure cutting off your air. You scratch and pummel his wrists, but he only tightens his grip.

"She can't kill me.".

"Can she?".

"Bel..la..." Your eyes roll behind your sockets, your head feels fuzzy and light. Bella... is this your final thought? The girl you love? No, that the old Cecilia... loved. But she didn't have access to her body, to her mind, to her soul, the way you do. She didn't get to be the same person with her.

So, that despair you always feel in her presence, knowing it wasn't the same Bella... and the love for that same person... you shouldn't want them. You shouldn't miss them already the way you do now.

Bella... You can almost hear her screaming...

You're not imagining it.

-Let her go, you son of a bitch!!!-.

Air floods your lungs. You pant, focusing on the scene. Mr. Rachett is still there, but he's facing the door. Bella stands there, her phone camera raised. She lowers it, showing the screen of an upload.

-Get away from her, or I post this everywhere.- She threatens.

-You'll just convict this man for an **** he didn't commit willingly. And I don't need this body.-.

-I don't care about him. And I recorded everything, so I wonder how people will react to your ranting about possessing Heather Russell and others. Ready to go viral, Charity?-.

-You're bluffing. That exposes you too.-.

-Yeah? Test me!-.

They stare each other down for a few seconds, then Patrick calmly walks out, bumping Bella's shoulder. She holds her ground, then rushes to you.

-Oh my god Ceci, are you alright?- She asks, gripping your trembling shoulders.

-Yes, yes. How did you know...?-.

-I knew about your affair with Mr. Rachett. Well, the original Bella did, and I figured that Charity might try something.-.

-I... I see. So you came for me.- You pause, your jaw trembling: -You said you were there since the beginning, right? So you also heard that... that I...-.

Bella flinches, looking ashamed.

-Cecilia...- She says your name with a mix of pity and regret, but you look away before she can say what you already know, but you're not ready to hear.

-Don't worry. I don't expect anything. I mean, it's just... old Cecilia's feelings, right? I shouldn't...- You swallow hard.

That despair... that love... they are still there. You still want them.

They make you you.

-I just didn't want you to find out like this. And I hope this won't change anything between us.-.

She hesitates, then offers a reassuring smile.

-Come on. Let's get you home.-.

-Yes.-.

---

Dawn looks at you in bewilderment. Tina left to check on Heather, only to return with the somber expression of when Heather doesn't even recognize her, and she silently went downstairs. You, instead, have just finished telling Dawn what Cecilia and Bella reported, without the dramatics one might expect given your recent showdown.

-The real Charity thinks she can use our internal friction against us; but the truth is, we are united by the pain she's caused the people we love. My... no, our brother Tom, our parents... they are still missing. None of us will yield.-.

Dawn nods thoughtfully, then asks what you plan to do next. You smirk.

-Now, I need your help. It's time we put Darius Gately behind bars.-.