Surya, a 25 year old astronomy major

11:35 | Saturday 2 August 2025 | Surya's bedroom, Putney flat

The pounding in your skull drags you into consciousness, each throb a reminder of last night's poor decisions. Sunlight filters through half-closed blinds, stabbing at your bleary eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it. As you groan and reach for your nightstand, your fingers brush against smooth glass—a phone, glowing with an insistent pink light that seems too bright for this early in the day.

You grab it, assuming it's yours, but the screen shows something you definitely don't remember downloading. "The Perfect Girlfriend App" pulses in candy-pink letters across the top, surrounded by hearts and sparkles that seem to shimmer and move. You try swiping it away. Nothing. Press the home button. Still nothing. The app refuses to close, clinging to your screen like it belongs there.

"Hiiiii there, handsome!"

A cartoon avatar materializes on the screen—a blonde with impossibly perky tits barely contained in a tiny pink crop top, "PGA" glittering in silver across her chest. She tosses her platinum curls and sucks on a manicured fingernail, her animated lips forming a perfect pout.

"I'm Becky! And ohmigod, we are going to have SO much fun together!" She giggles, bouncing in a way that makes her chest jiggle. "Welcome to the Perfect Girlfriend App! It's time to design your dream girl, baby."

You stare at the screen, still half-convinced this is some bizarre hangover hallucination. But Becky keeps talking, leaning in so close you can see every pixel of her glossy lips.

"Come on, don't be shy... I've seen your browser history." She winks, slow and deliberate. "Mmmm, go ahead... play with my dials. Let's make her exactly how you want her. I promise you're gonna love what we create together."

The screen suddenly fills with options—dozens of sliders and settings arranged in neat categories. Body type. Facial features. Voice pitch. A section labeled "Mental Settings" with sliders for IQ, Personality Traits, Libido. Another section called "Special Interests" lists various kinks and preferences, each with its own adjustment bar. In the center, a 3D figure rotates slowly, a blank template waiting to be molded, updating in real-time as your thumb accidentally brushes against one of the breast size sliders.

"Careful!" Becky purrs. "Every little touch counts."

In the corner of the screen, a red countdown timer appears: 00:09:47... 00:09:46... 00:09:45...

"Tick-tock, baby," Becky says, her voice dropping into something darker, more commanding. "Ten minutes until lock-in. You don't choose? Then I will." She traces a finger along her collarbone, drawing your attention down to the pulsing pink button at the bottom of the screen labeled LOCK IN. "And trust me... I have very specific tastes."

Your hangover suddenly feels like the least of your problems.

11:37 | Saturday 2 August 2025 | Surya's bedroom, Putney flat

Lock-in Countdown | 11:45 | 8 minutes remaining