Search for a spare device to write on, silently vow not to speak until earning 500 Babe Bucks, devise a cover story for Scott’s absence, and hunt for the least degrading or alternative ways to earn bucks.

With a look of fierce determination, you press your lips together and scan the living room. Every time you open your mouth, filth pours out—your new reality courtesy of that damned wheel spin. David watches with a mixture of concern and something darker as you frantically mime writing in the air.

"You need something to write with?" he asks, eyebrows raised. When you nod vigorously, he disappears down the hallway, returning moments later with an old iPad. "Will this work? Battery's low but it should last a while."

You accept it with grateful fingers, the sensation of the cool glass against your transformed hands still alien. Opening the Notes app, you type rapidly: I'M NOT SPEAKING UNTIL I CAN BUY THAT PURITY PILL. 500 BABE BUCKS. NEED COVER STORY FOR SCOTT + LEAST DEGRADING TASKS.

David reads over your shoulder, his proximity sending unwelcome ripples of awareness through your transformed body. His cologne smells different to your enhanced senses—richer, more complex, triggering responses you never experienced as Scott.

"Smart thinking," he murmurs, his voice closer to your ear than necessary. "For Scott... we could say he's at a genetics conference? Something last-minute in... I don't know, Geneva? Most people won't question it too deeply."

You nod, fingers flying across the screen: HOW LONG CAN WE STRETCH THAT?

"A week, maybe two before it gets suspicious," David replies, settling beside you on the sofa. "As for tasks..."

You pull up the app on the pink phone, navigating through its sparkly interface to a section labeled "TASKS & REWARDS." A menu unfolds with categories ranging from "Tease Tier" to "Touch Tier" to options labeled with explicit emojis you dare not select.

The least objectionable seems to be in the "Tease Tier"—tasks involving selfies, wardrobe changes, and public appearances without necessarily sexual contact. Even these make your cheeks burn as you show David.

"These seem... manageable," he offers, his eyes lingering on options like "Coffee Shop Cutie: Order a drink wearing something that shows cleavage. 25 Bucks" and "Mirror Mirror: Take 3 selfies in different poses that show off your assets. 15 Bucks."

Your fingers hover over the screen, the reality of your situation sinking in. Even the "least slutty" options require you to leverage your new body for the app's entertainment.

Becky's avatar pops up, spinning in circles. "Trying the silent treatment, Sophie-babe? Sooo cute! But just FYI, the app tracks progress through verification. Most tasks need verbal confirmation or audio recording. Them's the rules!"

You feel your stomach drop. Of course the app would have countermeasures. You type furiously: THERE MUST BE SOME TASKS THAT DON'T REQUIRE SPEAKING.

"There are a few photo-only challenges," David points out, scrolling through options. "Not many, but enough to get started."

On the iPad, you draft a list of potential cover stories for Scott's absence and non-verbal tasks you might stomach. Each option feels like a compromise, but the alternative—speaking aloud and having every sentence transform into explicit begging—feels worse.

David watches your concentrated expression, his eyes tracing the unfamiliar contours of your face. "You know," he says carefully, "you're handling this better than most people would. It's... impressive."

You glance up, surprised by the genuine note in his voice. For a moment, beneath the chaos and transformation, you glimpse your old friendship—complicated now by your new form, but not entirely gone.

15:15 | Saturday 2 Aug 2025 | Putney, London