You enroll as a bad bimboi at the SJC.

You hate the thought of being labeled a predatory infector, but that is what you did, and if you want to prove that's not who you ARE, then you have to take responsiblity. You look Samantha, or whatever her name will end up being, in the eye and say solemnly, "I will go with you and tell them everything I did. It sounds like they will be able to do a lot more for me then I can."

Samantha snaps, "I don't want to hear your excu-eh excuse me? Did you...you're going to tell them what you did? I thought I'd have to at least to argue with you for hours. Hell, I was willing to go with **** or even a blowjob if it got you to make a statement. I still despise you, but thanks for making this part easy at least. Well no time like the present." She pops up and heads out of the cafe. You shrug and follow along, supposing she's right and that you might as well get this over with.

You drive her down to the SJC while Samantha gives you directions and derision for not knowing the world famous center for helping everyone from bois to scared to live, bimbois that have no idea how to live, women who don't know where they belong, and studs that want more from life than being walking, talking dildos. Apparently, they even rehabilitate 'bad bimbois', whatever that is. By the time you reach the local branch, Samantha has texted the rest of your party pals to enroll as well. You hate to admit it, but you are a little relieved to have this heavy burden taken off your hands. If you end up on a registry, so be it. You figure that you can be a good bimboi for however long probation will last and then all will be right with the world. Maybe they will even set you up with a place to stay too. You doubt you are welcome back at Becca's.

"Hallo! Welcum to the Samantha Jenkins Center for Lost Bois, Wayward Sissies, Wanton Women, and Stifled Studs! I'm Bubbles! I will be your guide! Follow me and I'll get you to the right place." Bubbles is an anime cum to life, bouncy, buoyant, and bursting with contagious cheer. You follow the pink haired pixie inside and she shows you to a bank of touch screen monitors, and 'whatshername' starts inputting her information, and you do the same.

It's almost too easy. You start by entering your social security and seconds later it pulls up everything from your birth records to your GPA, even your browser history, which you try to minimize to no avail. Then, it brings up an online form to list how many people you've infected and what the circumstances were. You take deep breath and start to fill out your form, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with every name you add and detail you describe. When you do finally hit submit, you feel a weight lifted off of your chest. Sure, you probably have some more paperwork ahead, maybe a pamphlet to read, but the hardest part is behind you.

BWAAAA BWAAAA BWAAAA BWAAAA

Your kiosk starts flashing a strobing red light and broadcasting a blaring alarm. Bubbles pops up behind you shrieking, "It's a bubonic bad bimboi! Watch out everyone, until we get her in quarantine!" You looks around, terrified the bad bimboi might get you next, but everywhere you look, all eyes are on you! Whatshername smiles smugly as you shiver in shock...and then you feel the sharp bite of a syringe as Bubbles sedates you...

And...

everything...

goes...

black...

.....