[Devi] "What happened?!"

"{if Devi_shaved = true}Master,{else@}Derek,{endif} what happened?!" Devi stands in the breezeway of your kitchen, and looking back at her means once again confronting the knocked-out prostitute, or con artist or mugger, and her dead muscle. The events that led to this, and how they both turned violent against you, helps click these descriptions guess into place, but later you would learn how right you are.

Turning back to the sink, now mostly puke-free under the running water, you rinse your mouth with a single, shaking hand. Your entire body is trembling between the effort of vomiting and the realization that you've just killed a man; not from guilt, of course, since the man fully intended to put you into a coma or worse. But you felt the jolt of his bones popping as you gripped his head... and remembering that again almost makes you ill. "We have to..." You swallow hard. "We have to hide the body... Devi, I need your help.{if@ Morality > 0} Please.{endif}" Or was it bodies? You realize now that you've no idea if the whore was alive or dead. Devi, who looks almost more troubled by the grisly scene, can still only nod dumbly at your instructions.

"The... the woman is alive, but the man is..." You can actually see her resolve falter, and for a moment you think you're about to share the sink. But she locks eyes with you just as she's turning pale, then rubs her face before staring at you with that determined furrow in her brow. "Right. We have garbage bags, and the building's trash chute goes down to a massive dumpster that every floor feeds into. There are no sensors or devices that I've ever seen in the trash room, so as long as we leave no clue of him on the way there... and if we aren't spotted... we can get him down the chute and out of our lives. We should work quickly, and be done before rigor mortis sets in." Her sudden determination fills you as well, and you spit into the sink before setting to work, following her instructions.

But of course, neither of you forget the bigger threat here: though she isn't sure why, she realizes you can't leave the woman to regain consciousness and scream bloody ****. As such, your very first task has nothing to do with the corpse on the floor; Devi helps you scoop up the scantily-clad Pacific Islander and carry her to your bedroom, where you make quick work of tying and gagging her with the various bits of bondage gear you've recently started to collect. With her secured, and you being in no mood to impregnate anything right now, you both leave her be to deal with the tattooed maniac, whose head continues to look back at you at that inhuman angle.

Devi Waltz is, as far as you know, as new to this horrible task as you are... but perhaps thanks to her medical training, or just having a stronger nerve than you, she works with the corpse with the deftness of a mortician, quickly peeling away clothes, checking for (and finding) secretions from the man's lower-half that are just as quickly scooped up and tossed into your toilet, and finally leaving you with a mostly clean, very naked, very dead man. His pale flesh, the stink of what was once in his pants, and the awkwardness of his **** erection all serve to keep you mostly at bay, acting more like a surgeon's assistant to the surgeon herself. To that end, you've piled his clothes in a rough pile, put the massive gun on top of it, and tried to fuss with his wallet and knife in whatever ways let you continue to not look at the dead streaker who almost left streaks on your carpet. Halfway through her work, Devi nearly loses her nerve again... but you share with her that glance, {if@ Morality > 0}of love or something like it,{else}of need and demand,{endif} and it's all she needs to renew her efforts. She's doing this for you, after all.

Looking at the large, imposing figure of the gangster, you suddenly pale to match. "Do we have to... uh..." You've seen mob movies. You know how they dispose of bodies... at least you think you do. "... cut him up into... pieces...?"

"God, no!" Devi's sincere shock almost shames you. "We'll just wrap him up in bags held together with tape. But first we need gloves to minimize our exposure." {if Mothers > 2}As she sponges the corpse clean to rub away both his filth and your fingerprints or hairs, your other slaves try to enter your apartment, much to your terror. Thankfully you stop them, shooing them away as best you can without letting them spot the body.{endif} Soon enough, you're both wearing the massive, yellow gloves from her hazmat gear and get to work tearing up trash bags, wrapping the bags against him with electric tape (which melds well with the black of the bags), and finishing with bags on his feet and head as caps onto the whole, absurd assembly. "Done!" She looks down at your work together with a hesitant smile. You agree with her, and nod down at the unusually long trash bag. Neither of you realize how horribly short-sighted this all is, so you both call the deed done and prepare for him to be carried down the hall and into the trash chute room.

Given the late hour, you determine it would be best to carry the body out to the trash room now, where it can be carefully thrown down the chute and finally out of your life. To that end, you both leave the apartment and investigate the floor, checking for stragglers, wanderers in the stairwell, and the elevators position. In a flash of brilliance, or something like it, you send the elevator up to the roof before you both rush back to your apartment to carry the body out together, finding neither a soul nor a breath in the halls to catch you. You had to hope, then, that no one was watching your miserable act through their peepholes.