Yes, but he will be rough

Todd said it like he was exhausted from what life had thrown at him. The office felt a year away. Lauren’s naked body twitched once in the pod, a small involuntary thing, tits shuddering.

“Don’t worry, Todd. I know how to break this bitch and get her head in the right place.”

Back in the pod, Lauren’s body shook violently.

The screens flashed red. Numbers dropping. A warning tone that made the officer swear under his breath and tap through menus. Her back arched off the padding. Her mouth opened on a sound that did not make it out. The machines tried again and the red stayed red.

“She is rejecting our attempts at reconfiguration,” the officer said. “How would you gentlemen like to proceed?”

Richard smiled and placed a hand on the officer’s shoulder.

“Wipe her memory of the past month. Implant this one memory. Then drop her off at this location.”

He slipped the man a sheet of paper.

The officer looked at it. A small smile moved across his face. He nodded and turned back toward the van, already calling instructions to the techs. Canisters hissed. The lid began to lower. Lauren’s green eyes stayed closed. Whatever was about to be carved out of the last thirty days, she would not be awake to watch it go.

“You will have her back in a week, Todd,” Richard said. “But you can’t question my ways. Am I understood?”

Todd felt a bit uneasy. He knew Richard was a sadist. Everyone in the frat knew it. The Hooters thing with Amelie was the polite version. There were other versions. Despite everything, Todd was fond of the brainwashed redhead he called his wife. Fond of the long hair. Fond of the way she still looked like a person when she stood at the sink. Fond of the morning routine even when he could tell some piece of her was not in the room.

He also knew this was necessary. The memory bleed was a serious issue. He couldn’t afford the butch lesbian to take over. Playing house only worked until the characters remembered it was a set. He was now interested in a more permanent solution.

“Do whatever you must.”

2 days later:

Lauren woke up with a start.

Her head was killing her. It felt like someone had taken a belt to the inside of her skull. She rubbed her eyes until the room stopped swimming and the shapes settled into furniture.

Fuck. Did I oversleep?

The thought came first, sharp and trained. She did not want Todd to think she was slacking on her duties. Dishes. Dinner. Being home and available. Being the kind of wife who did not lie around like trash when there was a house to keep. She sat up too fast and the headache punched back.

The first thing she noticed was that she was not in her house.

No white counters. No living room rug she had worn a path into. She was in some back office and she had been sleeping on a couch that smelled like beer, perfume and old leather. A large table sat in front of her with papers stacked in messy piles and a computer glowing a dull screensaver. Behind the desk a whole wall of Hooters-branded trophies caught the overhead light. Best Location, 2024. Best Staff, 2025. More of them, year after year, cheap gold and orange, the owl logo.

On the desk there was a name tag.

Richard Miles.

Richard.

That was Amelie’s husband. What was she doing in his office?

The thought had just started to turn ugly when the door behind the desk opened and Amelie walked in.

Orange shorts. Tight white tank with the owl. Hair short and dark. Petite the way she had always been petite, except she moved like the room belonged to her. She shut the door with her hip.

“There you are, Lauren! Are you done with your nap? I can’t cover both of our shifts anymore.”

Slightly annoyed. Not the bright voice she used to always speak in. This was a woman who had been on her feet and did not feel like doing extra.

“Shifts?” Lauren asked. Confused. The word did not fit in her mouth. “What are you talking about?”