Captain Nova

Almost a full week bled into the next, a grey slurry of code and anxious anticipation.

Miriam didn’t contact me for a few days. Instead, she just sent the money.

On Monday and Tuesday, the notifications popped up on my phone like clockwork. 2 bucks on Monday, 3 bucks on Tuesday.

A small, paranoid part of me wondered: could she even fire me now? The app was never that specific. It wasn’t like I had a "Job Security"-shield icon glowing in my HUD.

But if I believed in the app's power, she couldn't can me, because then she couldn’t perform her scheduled actions. No more reviewing my code, no more giving me bonuses, no more opportunities to "analyze" me.

The app’s constraints were probably stronger than any HR contract.

Speaking of actions, my rendezvous with her on Saturday had unlocked a whole new list of choices.

Five new options slid into her queue, and with the level up, I now had eight total slots to play with .

Send User a check-in message that's professional but unnecessarily personal (+7 LOVE, +4 STRESS) / M D E

Wear something that shows cleavage to office (+9 CORRUPTION, +7 STRESS) / M D E

Praise User to upper management (+5 LOVE, +5 OBEDIENCE, +10 STRESS) / D E

Fantasize about User during team meetings (+8 CORRUPTION, +6 LOVE, +2 STRESS) / D

Masturbate with office supplies (+10 CORRUPTION, -2 STRESS) / D E N

I ignored the corruption stuff, though the office supplies one was particularly repulsive and hot in equal measure... and focused on the love route.

I had enough options to flood her schedule with affection. I wanted her heart full and human, not… horny.

The results… were interesting.

I got the "check-in" message on Wednesday.

Subject: Regarding Saturday

Ron,

I’ve been reviewing the metrics from our meeting on Saturday, and I’m not satisfied with the conclusion. While I recognize that domestic obligations—like laundry—can be pressing, the abruptness of your departure left several unresolved issues.

I’m not referring to your employment status or the recent disbursements. I’m referring to *you*. You appeared genuinely anxious when you left, and frankly, it has been on my mind all week. I’ve been analyzing whether I pushed too hard, or if you are simply overwhelmed by the workload.

I need to verify that we are aligned. I feel a distinct tension between us, and unresolved friction inevitably slows output. It is certainly slowing mine.

It is important for me to know where we stand.

Write back,

Miriam

Head of Product Efficiency

I stared at the screen.

I didn't know whether I should be scared or impressed she managed to make her ramblings sound like a professional message.

I almost removed the action from her schedule, but I guess it was a small burden to bare for the love points.

I typed a quick, vague reply: “All is good. Just busy. Thanks.”

Her response was instant.

Re: Regarding Saturday

Good to hear. Let's continue the project soon. :)

"The project."...We were a project now? And that smiley face... Jesus. Coming from Miriam, it was the scariest combination of dots and a curved line I had ever seen.

I quickly logged out of my email, terrified she was already sending an invite to another "meeting".

Jennifer had developed quietly in the background.

She unlocked her third Obedience event on Wednesday night. This happened after "Practicing bondage at home", according to the schedule.

I tried not to think too hard about the specifics—Jennifer, alone in her apartment, tying elaborate knots with practiced, furious precision, probably cursing my name the entire time as she struggled to cuff her own ankles.

Actually, it was pretty fucking hot to imagine. Her flexibility was probably improving by the day.

Thursday, she unlocked the third Corruption event.

This happened after "Masturbating in public, secretly."

I would have given my left nut to have seen that. The thought of her, fingers buried in her cunt in a crowded park or a dark movie theater, her breath hitching while trying to look innocent… it drove me crazy.

Both events, Obedience 3 and Corruption 3, were scheduled for the weekend. Saturday and Sunday. Back-to-back.

I had to wait a day. I was simultaneously terrified of what I could make her do this time... and electrified by the potential.

Mostly electrified.

And then my phone buzzed, snapping me out of my daydreams.

It was Sandy.

Great! It was time for the weekly “risky selfie”.

Literally the best part of the week.

I opened the photo, and my brain stuttered to a halt.

It wasn't a lazy bed selfie or the goofy duck face in the bath. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, surrounded by scattered fabric swatches, pins, and empty coffee cups like a bomb had gone off in a sweatshop.

She was… dressed up.

She was wearing some kind of retro sci-fi suit. A shiny, metallic blue spandex that hugged every inch of her with zero mercy. It covered her completely, with a high mock-neck collar and long sleeves, but the fit was… aggressive.

The fabric clung to her like a second skin, outlining the soft flare of her hips, the trim taper of her waist, and the unmistakable, heavy curve of her chest in a way that made my mouth go dry.

A gold utility belt was cinched tight around her middle, emphasizing the hourglass shape, and matching gold cuffs gleamed on her wrists. She had a pair of chunky, white go-go boots on, laced all the way up her calves, making her legs look miles long.

And the wig. A short, bright red bob, perfectly styled, giving her a fierce, confident aura that I had never seen on her before.

But the expression in the mirror was pure Sandy.

She had turned sideways, checking her profile, and was frowning slightly. Her hands were smoothing down the sides of the spandex, trying to pull the fabric down over her hips like she was trying to hide her generous curves.

She looked like a badass action figure come to life, but her eyes were betraying nervous uncertainty.

I stared at it for a long time, completely confused but utterly captivated. She looked hot. Unknowingly hot. The spandex was doing things to her ass that should be illegal.

A text popped up below the image.

Okay, so... I'm Captain Nova. You know, from "Space Ranger", right? The suit is 100% spandex and I feel like I'm encased in sausage casing. Does it look... heroic? Or just like I'm trying too hard? I feel like my butt looks huge in this.

I groaned aloud. She truly had no idea.

I was still processing the photo, trying to understand the reason for the sudden cosplay, when a notification slid down from the top of my screen.

SANDY - LOVE EVENT 1 AVAILABLE.

There it was.

The first heart was ready to be captured. The first real, tangible milestone in the long, careful, guilt-edged project that was Sandy. Finally the goal was in sight.

I was still reeling from that, when the follow-up message arrived.

“Okay yeah, maybe some context needed and also a random question! ...feel free to say no... but my friend literally just bailed on me twenty minutes ago and I have a spare ticket to ComicCon today and it seemed like the kind of thing you might be into, like maybe?? It's fine if you're busy. It's literally today so I get it. But if not… ”

I sat up in bed, the sheets tangling around my legs.

Comic-Con.

Today.

Her friend bailed.

Spare ticket.

An invitation that had every hallmark of something spontaneous, casual, and completely unplanned.

This was the event. Love event 1.

It had to be. The way things lined up just perfectly...

My thumbs flew across the screen.

"I'm in. What time?”

Her reply was instant. I could almost hear her relief through the text.

“You’re a total MVP! Meet at the convention center at 12? And be honest—is the suit 'Main Character Energy' or 'Cosplay Disaster'? I feel like I'm about to crit-fail my charisma check. ”

I smiled as I texted her back.

"It's a natural 20"

"Really?!?!?! Yay!!! I know you're lying but thanks for the confidence boost!"

I set my phone face-down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling again, my heart doing something embarrassingly juvenile in my chest. It was hammering against my ribs, a mix of anxiety and anticipation I hadn't felt since… well, since I got my dick sucked in a public café.

This was it. The real deal. No goth queens. No robo-bosses. Just me and Sandy.

The beginning of our love story.

This was going to be either the best day of my life, or a complete fucking disaster.

Or both.