By: leopaz1
The Sprinter ghosted through the final curve of the private road and paused as the biometric veil shimmered across the windshield: iris, heartbeat, even the faint seismic tremor of two very dangerous digestive systems. A heartbeat later the gates dissolved into the hillside, revealing the Whitmore Estate in all its impossible glory.
From the outside it looked like a blade of midnight glass plunged into the earth: black titanium panels, white Carrara marble veins, water cascading in perfect sheets down every vertical surface so the entire structure appeared to weep liquid starlight. At dusk the hidden LED filaments woke up, tracing the architecture in soft electric blue, making the house look alive and breathing against the California sky.
“Welcome home, Misses Whitmore,” Argus said, the calm British baritone rolling through the cabin like aged scotch. “The estate has been at full readiness for thirty-six hours. Pool is thirty-one degrees, wine cellar chilled to fourteen, and the structural dampeners are set to Level 9 in anticipation of… festivities.”
Mia leaned forward from the back seat, grinning. “Hey, Argus. Missed you, handsome.”
“Good evening, Miss Mia,” he replied, a trace of warmth in the synthetic voice. “I have taken the liberty of reinforcing the east wing’s floor plating by an additional seventeen percent since your last visit. You are growing.”
Victoria laughed softly. “Hello, darling Argus. Behave.”
“Always, Madam.”
The garage rises open: three stories underground, polished basalt floors, soft cyan lighting, space for twenty-five cars but currently holding only the matte-black Sprinter and a lone silver Bugatti Chiron Pur Sport that Mia had already claimed as her welcome-home gift.
The second her Louboutins touched the polished epoxy floor she grinned, planted her feet, and let it go.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The two-minute titan detonated through the cavernous garage. The Sprinter rocked on its suspension. A row of crystal decanters on a nearby bar cart walked themselves off the edge and exploded in glittering rain. The air pressure wave rippled up the elevator shaft and set every chandelier on the main level swaying like church bells in a hurricane.
Mia let out a long, blissful sigh. “Hi, home. Mommy missed you.”
Victoria stepped out gracefully, sunglasses still on, and gave the ceiling a fond smile. “Hello again, Argus. Forgive the dramatic entrance.”
“Never, Madam. The seismic sensors registered a 5.7. Most invigorating.”
They worked quickly after that: two dozen titanium-reinforced trunks, designer boxes, and one suspiciously heavy crate labeled “Protein Powder (Definitely Not Chili)” stacked in the grand living room beneath a forty-foot living wall of tropical plants that misted itself every thirty seconds. The main hall soared two full stories, a floating staircase of glass and carbon fiber spiraling upward with no visible supports. In the center of the polished black marble floor, a holographic projection of the entire estate rotated slowly: every room, every hidden vault, every panic bunker glowing soft gold.
Victoria set the final box down, stretched, then casually propped one elegant leg on the edge of a $180,000 Italian sofa and answered her daughter’s masterpiece.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The blast hit like a shaped charge. The holographic map stuttered, pixels scattering. A ten-foot-tall kinetic sculpture in the corner rattled so hard it spun in a full circle. Somewhere far below, the pool water sloshed over the infinity edge and rained down the hillside.
“Much better,” she said, voice velvet. “Pool?”
“God yes,” Mia answered instantly. “Bikinis are in the navy box, top left.”
They padded barefoot through the hall toward the dressing wing, passing floor-to-ceiling smart glass that shifted from opaque to transparent at a thought, revealing the infinity pool suspended over the void, the hills rolling gold and lavender beneath them. Mia found the navy box, tossed Victoria her black high-cut one-piece, and shimmied into an emerald bikini that should probably have come with a warning label.
As they stepped out onto the teak deck that cantilevered thirty feet past the edge of the cliff, Argus dimmed the interior lights and let the sky take over.
Mia spread her arms, breathing deep, the Pacific breeze already carrying away the evidence of their arrival.
“California,” she announced to the horizon, “you’re welcome.”
Behind her, the house glowed brighter, as if it, too, were grinning.
The infinity pool hung over the edge of the world, water perfectly level with the horizon, the last sliver of sun bleeding orange across the Pacific far below. Mia stepped onto the submerged sun-shelf first, emerald bikini glittering like wet jade against her skin.
Victoria followed, black one-piece cut high on the hips, and paused at the top step. Her eyes traced her daughter slowly, appreciatively.
“God, Mia,” she murmured, lips curving into that trademark Whitmore smirk (half proud mother, half dangerous woman). “You are breathtaking. And unfairly, ridiculously sexy. I’m almost jealous I made something this perfect.”
Mia flushed scarlet, tucking a wet strand of brunette hair behind her ear. “Mom, stop,” she laughed, voice soft and awkward and pleased all at once. “This is literally all you. I’m just the upgraded remix.”
She took one graceful step backward off the shelf and dove, slicing the water with barely a ripple.
Victoria started down the steps, slow and regal, then stopped on the second one, one eyebrow raised in mischief.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The blast detonated like a depth charge. The entire pool surged. A rolling wave slapped across the surface, caught Mia mid-stroke, and flung her backward like a ragdoll. She surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide.
“Mom! Seriously? I just fixed my hair!”
Victoria’s laugh was low and wicked. “I’m sorry, darling, I couldn’t resist. You looked like a very surprised dolphin. Priceless.”
Mia narrowed her ice-blue eyes, treading water, lips twitching. She leaned in close, voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“Okay… take this.”
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Her counterattack hit harder, deeper, a subwoofer from the abyss. The water exploded upward in a geyser. Victoria lost her footing on the slick marble step and toppled backward with an undignified yelp, disappearing in a swirl of bubbles and black fabric.
Mia doubled over laughing, clutching the pool edge as Victoria surfaced, hair slicked back, mascara miraculously intact, looking equal parts stunned and delighted.
“All right,” Victoria gasped, wiping water from her eyes, “that was fair. Touché, baby girl.”
The combined thermal bloom from their twin assaults turned the pool into a churning, bubbling cauldron. Waves sloshed over the infinity edge and rained down the cliff. Steam rose in thick clouds; the water temperature spiked four degrees in seconds. It was less swimming now and more luxurious, ridiculous jacuzzi.
They drifted toward each other, floating on their backs, legs gently kicking.
Victoria reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Mia’s cheek. “Tell me honestly, love,” she said, voice softer now, the teasing gone. “How are you feeling about all of this? Stanford, the move, leaving Isabella, leaving New York… leaving me and your father for the first time. Excited? Terrified? Both?”
Mia stared up at the first stars appearing overhead, thinking.
“Both,” she admitted. “Like… ninety percent electric. I want to walk onto campus and own it, you know? Classes, parties, maybe finally meet someone who can handle,” she gestured vaguely at the still-bubbling water, “all of this without passing out. But then ten percent of me wants to crawl back into the Sprinter and make you fly me home.”
Victoria’s fingers found hers under the water, squeezing.
“My vision?” Mia continued, voice steadying. “I want to build something that’s mine. Not just ‘Alexander Whitmore’s daughter’. I want people to know my name because of what I do, not whose DNA decided to make me a walking natural disaster.” She grinned sideways. “Though the disaster part is definitely staying. It’s too much fun.”
Victoria laughed, low and proud. “That’s my girl.”
A gentle burp rolled out of Mia, deep, bubbly, satisfied.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
“Ugh. Excuse me.”
“Never,” Victoria answered, and answered with one of her own, richer, longer, echoing off the glass walls of the house behind them.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
They floated in silence for a moment, city lights beginning to flicker on far below, the pool still gently rocking them like a cradle.
Then Victoria said, very quietly, “You’re going to burn the world down, Mia. In the best possible way. And I cannot wait to watch.”
Mia’s eyes softened, shimmering under the pool lights. She reached out, cupping her mother’s cheek. “I love you so much, Mom.” Then her face scrunched, cheeks puffed, and she pivoted slightly.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp detonated like a sonic boom, blasting the lingering stench clear across the canyon. A flock of birds startled from the treeline half a mile away.
Victoria threw her head back and laughed. “Magnificent airflow, darling. Ten out of ten.”
Mia wiped her mouth, grinning. “Hehe thanks mommy.”
The pool had settled into a slow, hypnotic roll, the sky now a deep indigo pricked with the first stars. Mother and daughter floated side by side, skin glistening, the water still radiating heat like a private volcano.
Victoria turned her head lazily toward Mia. “Remind me, darling, when exactly is Olivia descending upon us?”
“Sunday,” Mia answered, tracing lazy circles on the surface. “Her plane touches down at two sharp.”
Victoria laughed, low and rich. “That girl has been your shadow since you were both missing front teeth. I’m glad you’ll have her. You two are practically one organism with two wardrobes.”
Mia grinned. “Pretty much.”
The water around Victoria’s waist began to tremble first, tiny ripples spreading outward like a warning. Then the surface bulged.
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
It started as a deep, subterranean growl that vibrated up through the marble decking and into their bones, then blossomed into a roaring, wet, endless torrent. Thick columns of bubbles erupted around Victoria’s hips, each one the size of a basketball, popping with a smell that could strip paint. The infinity edge overflowed in a steady waterfall, and somewhere far below on the hillside a coyote started howling in protest.
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Victoria didn’t even blink. She just sighed contentedly, eyes half-closed, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her stomach like a conductor mid-symphony.
Mia raised an eyebrow. “Mom.”
“What?” Victoria said innocently, eyes half-lidded in bliss. “I’m just keeping the water temperature perfect for conversation.”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Mia’s ice-blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She drifted closer until their shoulders touched, then angled her own hips beneath the surface.
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Her answer came in perfect harmony, deeper, richer, laced with three days of airplane food and excitement. The two streams of bubbles collided and merged into a single churning vortex. The water temperature spiked again; steam billowed so thick the house lights blurred into golden halos. Waves sloshed hard enough to splash the teak deck ten feet away. A lounge chair on the far side toppled over with a clatter.
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
They kept talking as if they were simply holding hands at afternoon tea.
“God, I love that there are no neighbors for five miles,” Mia said dreamily, eyes closed, cheeks slightly puffed from the effort she was still casually exerting. “I can just… let go. Outside. Like a normal person, except the normal person is a weapon of mass destruction.”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Victoria’s fart rolled on without pause, a continuous, wet bass note that made the underwater lights flicker.
“Freedom is delicious, darling, but discretion is survival. Anything over a 5.9 and the news choppers start circling. Keep the apocalyptic ones for the house.”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Mia’s ripper finally began to taper, bubbling down to a low, satisfied growl. “I know, I know. I’ll be good. Mostly. A little 4.7 tremor every other week just reminds Palo Alto who’s boss.”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Victoria’s own torrent cut off cleanly after another luxurious twenty seconds. The sudden silence felt almost loud.
She flicked water off her fingers. “There. Temperature now a perfect thirty-four degrees. Shall we exit before we accidentally cook ourselves?”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Mia was already kicking toward the steps, laughing. “Sure, just one second.”
She planted her feet on the submerged bench, squared her shoulders, and bore down.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The final minute was pure apocalypse. The water level actually dropped six inches as the pressure wave shoved a wall of water over the infinity edge. Lounge chairs skidded backward like toys. One of the heavy teak umbrellas toppled with a crash. The glass railing vibrated so hard it sang.
Mia held the note, eyes squeezed shut in bliss, until the last bubble popped. Then she exhaled, long and slow.
“Aaah… now we’re good to go.”
Victoria applauded lazily as they climbed out. “Bravo. I felt that in my spine.”
They wrapped themselves in plush, pre-warmed towels the color of midnight, monogrammed in silver thread, and padded barefoot across the deck. The second the glass doors sensed their approach they slid open without a sound.
“Argus, darling,” Victoria called, toweling her hair, “is there any actual food in this house, or did we forget to restock again?”
“My apologies, Madam,” the AI answered smoothly from hidden speakers. “The kitchen is currently barren aside from a single jar of cornichons and half a bottle of 2006 Krug. Shall I summon the chef?”
Mia groaned dramatically. “Pizza. We need pizza. Extra cheese, extra beans, extra everything.”
Victoria flicked a switch on the elevator panel and the doors opened straight into the upper corridor.
“Boxes first,” she declared, already grabbing the handle of the heaviest trunk. “Then pizza.”
Mia groaned theatrically but followed, barefoot and still glowing from the pool, towing two titanium cases behind her like they weighed nothing.
They rolled the mountain of luggage into Mia’s private wing. The moment both women crossed the threshold, the entire floor came alive.
The elevator opened directly into Mia’s private wing and the entire floor greeted her like a living creature waking from a long nap.
First came the light: hidden LED ribbons buried in crown molding and floor channels blossomed from deep indigo to a warm, golden sunrise that perfectly matched the uptick in her pulse. The air itself shifted (temperature settling at exactly 23.7 °C, humidity 42 %, a whisper of Pacific salt and Tahitian vanilla pumped through vents so discreet they were invisible). The floor, a seamless hybrid of heated Italian marble and self-cleaning nanotech fibers, drank the last drops of pool water from their bare feet without a trace.
The bedroom itself was the size of most people’s apartments.
One entire wall was structural smart-glass, currently transparent, framing the Bay Area like a living painting: San Francisco’s skyline glittering across the black water, the Golden Gate a thin red thread of light. At a word the glass could frost, mirror, or project any scene on Earth (right now it held a slow-motion aurora that rippled whenever Mia laughed).
The bed dominated the far end: a matte-black carbon-fiber frame that levitated two inches off the floor on silent magnetic rails. The mattress (eleven separate zoned micro-coil layers wrapped in cooling gel and cashmere) read her weight distribution in real time and adjusted firmness across forty-eight independent sections. The sheets were Tencel-silk heated or cooled by silent capillary tubes; right now they glowed faintly at 31 °C. Embedded in the headboard: a 4K holographic projector that could throw a ten-foot screen into thin air, plus a retractable scent bar that could release anything from fresh espresso to thunderstorm ozone. Tiny haptic motors in the base could wake her with a gentle full-body vibration set to the exact rhythm of her favorite song.
Above the bed, the ceiling itself was a living sky: millions of micro-LEDs and fiber-optic strands that could simulate dawn, sunset, or the Milky Way so realistic she sometimes forgot she was indoors.
To the left, a floating smart desk hovered at the perfect ergonomic height, its surface able to switch from glass-smooth to textured leather to anti-glare matte in a heartbeat. When inactive it looked like a single slab of black marble; when active, holograms bloomed above it (six virtual monitors, a 3-D modeling space, or a full keyboard made of light). Drawers opened with a breath; inside, pens and notebooks arranged themselves magnetically.
One corner held a discreet wellness pod: matte white, egg-shaped, that could scan her vitals, give a ten-minute red-light therapy session, or blast cryo-mist for instant recovery after leg day.
The right wall opened into the closet cathedral (more on that in a moment), but even the transition was art: the doors were two seamless slabs of black glass that iris-open like a camera lens.
Scattered throughout were smaller touches only a Whitmore would think of:
• A hidden refrigerated drawer in the nightstand that kept exactly four pints of chocolate-peanut-butter ice cream at –12 °C.
• A discreet reinforced steel panel behind the headboard that could drop down and seal the entire room into a panic bunker rated for magnitude 9.8 (Dad’s sense of humor).
• Micro-speakers embedded in every surface delivering true 360° spatial audio so quiet it felt like the music lived inside her skull.
• A “moonlight” setting that simulated the exact lunar cycle of whatever city she missed (tonight it was New York’s waxing crescent).
Victoria dropped the first titanium trunk with a theatrical thud. “Welcome home, darling. Your bedroom just rolled out the red carpet and offered to marry you.”
Mia spun in the middle of it all, barefoot, towel still around her neck, eyes shining. “Argus, lights to ‘victory mode.’”
The aurora overhead exploded into emerald and gold fireworks that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
They got to work.
For the next two solid hours the room became a beautifully choreographed whirlwind.
Trunks were cracked open like treasure chests.
Dresses (silk, latex, hand-beaded couture) floated out on padded hangers and were marched into the closet. The closet itself was a technological miracle disguised as a fashion temple: intelligent glass panels that turned mirror or transparent with mood lighting; motorized rails that sensed weight and catalogued every gram; an entire wall of shoes on rotating pedestals that purred forward like obedient pets when she whispered “the silver Jimmy Choos with the crystal strap.”
The 360° scanning booth in the center lit up the moment she stepped near, projecting tomorrow’s outfit choices around a perfect hologram of her body (emerald silk mini that barely qualified as clothing, no bra, hair in loose waves). Argus’s voice drifted from nowhere: “98 % probability of causing at least one vehicular distraction and two dropped lattes.”
Tops were arranged in perfect ombré rows (snow white to midnight black, with a whole section dedicated to cropped cashmere because Mia refused to be cold and covered at the same time). Bras and lingerie disappeared into auto-folding drawers that turned everything into perfect little cubes. Activewear went into a eucalyptus-scented, temperature-controlled vault beside the hidden chili stash.
Victoria handled the heavy artillery: the locked, biometric “protein” crate that weighed ninety kilos and contained restaurant-grade cans of baked beans, industrial ghost-pepper sauce, and a frozen brick of chocolate ice cream the size of a car battery.
By the time the last stiletto clicked into its rotating pedestal and the final dress settled into its color-coded place, the closet looked like Vogue had exploded in the best possible way.
Mia stepped into the scanning booth one last time, spun slowly, and the hologram rotated with her (every angle flawless, every curve lethal).
“Perfection,” Argus declared. “You are now armed for academic and social domination.”
Victoria leaned against the iris doorway, arms folded, pride glowing warmer than the lights. “Pizza?”
“Oh yes I’m famished,” Mia said, flopping backward onto the levitating bed. The mattress caught her like a cloud and immediately began a gentle rolling massage along her spine. “Extra everything. Extra chili oil on mine.”
The ceiling aurora shifted to a slow, satisfied pulse of emerald.
Somewhere in the walls, Argus allowed himself the tiniest, most British chuckle.
“Welcome home, Miss Mia. The house is very, very happy to have its earthquake back.”
Victoria leaned against the kitchen island, towel still draped over her shoulders, scrolling through the holographic menu projected above the marble.
“How many pizzas are we feeling tonight, darling?” she asked, glancing at Mia, who was sprawled across the levitating bed like a satisfied cat.
Mia didn’t even hesitate. “Twenty. Party-size. I’m starving.”
Victoria’s eyebrow arched. “Twenty? That’s adorable. Argus, order forty party-size Inferno Deluxes. Fresh chilis (jalapeño, serrano, and those little red Thai ones), spicy pepperoni, chorizo, crushed red-pepper flakes baked right into the cheese, extra mozzarella, and extra roasted garlic on every single one. And tell them to double-bag the boxes; we don’t want the drone melting.”
“Order placed, Madam,” Argus replied smoothly. “Forty Inferno Deluxe party-size pizzas, fully weaponized. Estimated drone swarm arrival: forty-six minutes.”
Victoria’s eyes lit up with the same wicked gleam Mia knew all too well.
“Forty-six minutes,” she repeated, turning to her daughter. “That gives us just enough time to… release a little pre-dinner pressure. What do you say?”
Mia sat bolt upright, grin splitting her face. “Mom, I love you. Where are we doing this?”
Victoria was already walking toward the glass doors that led to the private forest trail. “Out back. In the trees.”
Mia jogged after her. “Wait, I thought we weren’t supposed to go full apocalypse outside the house?”
Victoria waved a dismissive hand as the doors slid open to reveal the dark, fragrant redwood path lit only by low ground lights. “Oh please. It’s just a little welcome gift to California. And we haven’t eaten the pizzas yet; this is practically our mild setting.”
Mia laughed, stepping into the cool night air. “Our mild setting is still chemical warfare.”
They walked side by side down the winding trail, barefoot, towels abandoned, moonlight striping their skin silver. The moment the house lights faded behind them, the games began.
Silent at first. Just soft, wet hisses from between plump, sweaty cheeks (deadly SBDs that slithered out like venomous snakes). The air thickened instantly. Birds stopped singing. A deer crashed away through the underbrush in blind panic. The stench hunted everything: curling around trunks, seeping into bark, clinging to leaves like cursed dew.
“God, we reek,” Mia giggled, wafting dramatically behind her.
“Disgusting,” Victoria agreed proudly. “I’m offended on behalf of oxygen.”
They reached a small clearing ringed by ancient redwoods. Downward dog pose?” Mia asked, already dropping her palms to the earth.
“Always.”
They flipped up in perfect sync, legs splayed, backs arched, asses aimed at the stars like twin doomsday devices.
“Three… two… one.”
The first shockwave detonated with the force of a tactical nuke.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The ground buckled. A fifty-meter-wide crater exploded outward beneath them, soil flash-vaporized into black glass. A perfect ring of fire raced across the forest floor, igniting centuries of pine needles in a roaring halo. Redwoods on the crater’s edge bent ninety degrees and snapped like toothpicks, trunks splintering into matchwood.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Two mushroom clouds (one a sickly amber, the other a toxic yellow-green) roared upward, twisting together into a single apocalyptic column that punched through the atmosphere. The cap flattened into a classic anvil shape hundreds of meters wide, blotting out the moon and casting the entire hillside in poisonous twilight. Blue-white flashes crackled along its edges where superheated gas ignited the oxygen itself.
The smell arrived like judgment day.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Mia’s gas was pure, slow-motion agony: a thousand sun-bloated corpses rotting in a chili swamp while acid rain peeled flesh from bone. It was the scent of a death so prolonged and creative that victims would beg for the end long before it came.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Victoria’s was what waited afterward: the final exhalation of hell itself. Brimstone, charred flesh, and the musky, burning condemnation of souls who knew they deserved it. Every breath reset the pain threshold higher; there was no adjustment, only escalation.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Together they were inconceivable. Trees didn’t just die; they liquefied. Bark sloughed off in molten ribbons. Trunks sagged and collapsed into glowing slag. Granite boulders split with gunshot cracks and ran like wax. The soil itself turned to glass beneath the heat. Every leaf, every insect, every hidden deer simply ceased. Not killed; unmade.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The bombardment never paused, never weakened. The twin streams of gas carved deeper, hotter, fouler. The mushroom cloud grew fat and lazy, drifting south on the night wind like a promise.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The two capped it simultaneously with twin explosions that shattered the sound barrier and sent a pressure wave rattling windows back at the house.
They flipped down from their handstands in perfect unison, landing in low squats, hair whipping in the furnace breeze they’d created.
Silence fell, thick, wrong, absolute.
They couldn’t see fifteen meters in any direction. The yellow-green fog was so dense it glowed with its own sickly light. The air tasted of melted rock and final regrets.
Victoria surveyed the devastation: a smoking crater, skeletal trees, and an amber fog so thick it glowed under the moonlight.
“Goodness, baby,” she said, fanning the air, “we really did a number on the place. You feeling alright?”
BPRFFTBPRFFT
Mia answered by casually ripping one last wet, swampy blast that rolled out between her cheeks and enveloped them both in a smaller, personal cloud.
“Hehe. Excuse me,” she giggled, waving it toward her mother.
Victoria wrinkled her nose theatrically, then retaliated with a pointed, wet trumpet of her own, directing the stench right back at Mia.
BBPRMPFFTBBPPPPRMMMPFFT
“Ew, Mom!”
“Don’t start wars you can’t finish, darling. That big butt of yours is catching up to mine faster than I expected.”
Mia stuck out her tongue. “Give me a year. I’ll be grounding flights.”
Mia broke first, voice hushed with awe. “I love ripping ass with you, Mom. Seriously. Best bonding ever.”
Victoria laughed, low and delighted, then tapped the slim bracelet on her wrist.
“Argus, darling. Duration?”
“Precisely thirty-five minutes and forty-three seconds, Madam,” the AI replied, utterly unfazed.
Mia spun in a slow circle, trying to see through the haze. “We literally murdered an entire ecosystem.”
“Details,” Victoria said, waving a hand. “Argus, full damage report.”
A soft chime. A hologram blossomed between them: rotating 3-D model of the estate and surrounding hills.
“Seismic event registered 7.3 on the Richter scale, epicenter directly beneath your current position. Surface structures in Palo Alto sustained cracked foundations, shattered windows, and minor structural damage. Seventeen reported injuries from falling objects; zero fatalities. Local news is calling it ‘the mystery quake.’”
Argus continued calmly, “Atmospheric assessment: methane saturation 2,800 ppm and climbing. Combined odor profile exceeds every known chemical-warfare threshold by three orders of magnitude. Current projection; without intervention, the contaminated zone will remain lethal to all terrestrial life for twelve years, seven months, and four days.”
Mia’s jaw dropped. “Twelve years?”
“Deploying AEROVENT-9 atmospheric purifiers,” Argus added instantly. “Forty-eight autonomous towers rising now. Molecular scrubbers, catalytic converters, and oxygenated plasma injection. Revised clearing estimate: forty-two days.”
“Forty-two days is still insane,” Mia whispered, kicking a chunk of vitrified tree that crumbled to sand under her toe.
Victoria surveyed their handiwork (the glowing crater, the skeletal forest, the wall of poison fog that stretched to the horizon) and smiled like a proud parent at a school play.
“Well,” she said, slinging an arm around Mia’s shoulders, “welcome to California, baby girl. Now let’s go eat forty pizzas and make tomorrow’s hangover legendary.”
Behind them, the mushroom cloud drifted south, a gentle amber kiss goodnight to the unsuspecting Bay Area.
They strolled back up the scorched path, barefoot over glass-smooth stone that still radiated heat like a skillet. The yellow-green fog clung to their skin in oily sheets, glowing faintly under the moon.
Halfway to the house Mia sidled closer, curiously sliding her palm across the small of her mother’s back… then lower. The second her fingers brushed Victoria’s still-steaming cheeks she yelped and yanked her hand away.
“Jesus, Mom! Your ass is literally radioactive right now. I think I just lost fingerprints.”
Victoria threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and delighted. “Occupational hazard, darling. God, I love doing this with you. Takes me straight back to summers in the Hamptons with your grandma Esther and Cassandra. Mom would clear entire beaches. One time me and your aunt had a burp-and-fart duel that registered on the East Coast weather radar. We were grounded for a month.”
Mia grinned, fanning the air behind them both. “Grandma Esther’s gas could peel paint at fifty paces. I still have nightmares about the Thanksgiving she beat me with that one hour monster. The house never recovered.”
They stepped through the iris doors into the cool, vanilla-scented embrace of the mansion. The second the threshold sealed behind them, Victoria raised her wrist.
“Argus, time check on the pizzas?”
“Drone swarm inbound, Madam. ETA four minutes, fifty-one seconds.”
“Perfect.” Victoria’s smile turned positively demonic. “Argus… Titan Mode.”
A low, satisfying thrum rolled through the entire structure, felt in the teeth more than heard.
Every wall exhaled.
Every panoramic window darkened from crystal-clear to absolute midnight in a single blink. Hidden panels of adaptive metamaterial alloy (blacker than the void) slid from the walls like armored scales, locking together with a sound like a thousand swords sheathing at once. The entire mansion visibly bulked, growing thicker, meaner, more alive. Crimson mood-lighting bled from the crown molding, bathing them in the color of fresh blood and expensive wine.
Deep beneath their feet, twelve hydraulic spears punched sixty meters into living bedrock. A soft magnetic thunk echoed up through the floor as the estate anchored itself to the planet’s crust. The gravity grid flickered cobalt beneath the marble, locking the world at exactly 1.000 g no matter what fresh hell they were about to unleash.
Furniture locked magnetically to the floor. Not a glass would wobble. Not a picture frame would tilt. They could detonate the apocalypse in the living room and the coffee table wouldn’t even notice.
Mia bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes sparkling. “I forgot how much I love Titan Mode. It’s like the house is wearing lingerie made of war crimes.”
Victoria stretched luxuriously, rolling her shoulders. “Forty pizzas, forty minutes, and absolutely zero consequences. Ready to make the pizza guys regret every life choice that brought them here?”
Mia cracked her knuckles, then her neck, then her hips. “Born ready. Let’s turn the living room into ground zero.”
Somewhere outside, the first drone buzzed over the gate, completely unaware it was about to deliver dinner to two very happy goddesses of destruction.
The drones descended in perfect formation, forty red-eyed mechanical dragonflies. Boxes stacked themselves on the titanium dining table like offerings to hungry gods. The moment the last drone zipped away, the table groaned under the weight: forty party-size Inferno Deluxes, cheese still bubbling, chili flakes glowing like embers, the air already thick with garlic and brimstone.
Mia and Victoria (now topless in just their bikini tops, bottoms long since abandoned before the forest massacre) filled six two-liter bottles with ice-cold water from the sub-zero dispenser, condensation dripping down their wrists.
Then they attacked.
No plates. No forks. No manners.
They ate like starving wolves in a heatwave.
Pizza boxes flipped open in a storm of cardboard. Mia grabbed an entire pie with both hands, folded it in half, and bit down the middle. Molten cheese cascaded over her chin, down her neck, pooling between her breasts. She didn’t care. She just moaned, chewed, swallowed, and chased the dripping sauce with her tongue straight off her own skin.
Victoria was worse (if that was possible). She tore slices apart with her teeth, red sauce streaking across her cheeks like war paint, chili oil glistening on her lips. Crusts were devoured in two bites. Chorizo and pepperoni disappeared like they’d offended her personally.
Between bites came the music.
First burp from Mia: a rolling, wet, fifteen-second thunder.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
She didn’t even pause eating. Just kept chewing, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
Victoria answered with a deeper, richer belch that vibrated the table itself.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
And beneath it all, the low, constant bass of their farts (never stopping, just rising and falling like a demonic tide).
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
One minute. Two minutes. Three. The living room filled with the smell of hell’s own pizzeria, but Titan Mode laughed at it. The air scrubbers hummed happily, recirculating the apocalypse like it was lavender.
Pizza boxes emptied faster than humanly possible. Twenty down. Thirty. Thirty-eight.
Victoria wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaned back, and casually let a two-minute monster rumble out, the couch vibrating beneath her.
“So,” she said, voice perfectly conversational over the bass, “boys.”
Mia froze mid-bite, cheese string dangling from her lip. “Mom.”
“What? You’re eighteen. Stanford’s crawling with future billionaires and Nobel laureates.”
Mia swallowed, cheeks red (part chili, part embarrassment). “I want… someone who loves me for me. All of me.” She thumped her chest, then gestured vaguely downward. “Someone who sees this,” she opened her mouth and unleashed a wet, roaring burp,
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
“And this,” she shifted her hips and a fresh minute-long fart rolled out like a freight train,
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
“And thinks it’s the hottest, most badass thing on the planet.”
Victoria smiled, soft and proud. “You will. Just like I found your father.”
Mia licked chili oil from her thumb. “How did you even tell Dad? GHD is kind of the ultimate red flag. Like, ‘Hey, I can level cities with my ass, cool?’”
Victoria laughed, then held up a finger. “Well I… Wait.”
She leaned to the left, lifted one glorious cheek off the couch, and let go.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Three minutes of pure, unfiltered destruction. The crimson lights flickered. Somewhere a painting tilted a millimeter before the inertial dampeners corrected it.
Victoria sighed, settled back.
“I waited,” she continued like nothing happened “Months. I needed to be sure he loved me, not the idea of me. I burped and farted around him, tiny ones, controlled, just some little pops. He never flinched. One night, after we’d been together almost a year, I sat him down and said, ‘There’s something you need to know. I come with… special effects.’ Then I let him have a real one. Not even a big one. Just enough to rattle the windows.”
She smiled at the memory.
“He looked at me, eyes wide, and said, ‘Victoria, that was the single most impressive thing I’ve ever witnessed. Do it again.’”
Mia’s jaw dropped.
“Two weeks later he started reinforcing the Hamptons house,” Victoria finished. “I got lucky. But if someone truly loves you, Mia, they’ll beg for the director’s cut.”
Mia stared at the last remaining pizza, then at her mother, eyes shining.
“I want that,” she whispered. “Someone who thinks my superpower is the sexiest thing in the world.”
Victoria reached over, smeared a streak of chili sauce across her daughter’s cheek like war paint.
“You’ll find him, baby. And when you do, he’ll thank the universe every day that he gets to survive your farts.”
They looked at each other, grinned like devils, and attacked the final two pizzas together (burping, farting, laughing, sauce everywhere).
Mia licked the last smear of chili oil from her fingers, tossed the final crust into the graveyard of forty empty boxes, and slumped back against the couch with a satisfied groan that turned into a small hiccup.
“God, I’m so full I could pop,” she sighed, rubbing slow circles over her swollen belly. The skin there was tight and warm, drum-hard under her palm. “But I’m definitely gonna find that guy. Someone who—”
Her cheeks suddenly puffed out. Her ice-blue eyes went wide.
“Oh… oh no. Hold on.”
She sucked in three massive, deliberate gulps of air (her chest lifting so high the bikini top creaked), then threw her head back and unleashed absolute hell.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The two-minute burp rolled out of her like a continuous explosion, deep and wet and so powerful that the crimson Titan lights flickered in waves. The mountain of pizza boxes on the coffee table lifted an inch, hovered, then settled again. A half-empty water bottle tipped over and rolled in slow motion, caught by the inertial dampeners before it could spill.
“Oh my GOD—”
Another one cut her off before she could finish the sentence.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
Mia slapped both hands to her belly, fingers splayed over the taut skin, burping out the words in broken chunks.
“II CAN FEEL SO MUCH GAS—”
Victoria, sprawled on the opposite couch with one leg thrown over the backrest, answered with a lazy, rolling belch that sounded like velvet thunder.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
“YEAH BABY I CAN FEEL IT TOOOOO! ”
She lifted one eyebrow, lips curling into that trademark wicked smirk.
“TIME TO LET THE WHOLE PRESSURE OUT”
Victoria casually rolled onto her side, lifted one long, flawless leg high into the air like a deadly ballet move, and let a minute-long monster rip.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The bass note was so low and rich the couch cushions vibrated against Mia’s back. Victoria sighed like she’d just slipped into a hot bath, lowered her leg, and melted into the sectional.
“I’m lying down,” she announced, voice syrupy with relief. “Starting now.”
Mia’s grin was pure mischief. She rubbed her belly harder, cheeks slightly puffed from the effort she was already putting in.
“Been pushing a silent one for three whole minutes, Mom.”
Victoria’s eyes sparkled. “That’s my girl.”
She answered by hiking the same leg again and firing off a fresh two-minute titan that rolled out of her like a freight train made of sulfur and sin.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Mia exhaled dramatically, finally letting her SBD taper off with a long, shaky breath. She flopped sideways, mirroring her mother’s pose.
“I have so much gas right now it’s actually insane,” she moaned, fingers digging into her bloated stomach.
Victoria responded by throwing both legs straight up into a perfect V, belly muscles flexing, and unloading a simultaneous double-barreled assault.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
And then the dam broke.
For the next twenty-five minutes the living room became a non-stop storm of pure, unfiltered Whitmore chaos.
They rolled across the couches like two goddesses of destruction on a lazy Sunday. Legs in the air, bellies gurgling and sloshing, eyes glassy with pleasure. Burps overlapped farts overlapped burps in perfect, endless harmony.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
No pauses. No mercy. Just raw, animal relief.
At minute twenty-four Mia’s stomach let out a rumble so violent it sounded like a bomb detonating inside her intestines. The deep, wet growl echoed off the armored walls and made the crimson lights strobe once in alarm.
Victoria’s eyes snapped wide.
A heartbeat later her own belly answered with an identical explosion (two volcanic detonations harmonizing in the sealed room).
They locked eyes across the sectional, identical wicked grins spreading slow and dangerous.
They knew.
Whatever was coming next wasn’t just legendary.
It was biblical.
Mia crawled across the ruined sectional like a predator who had just devoured an entire city and still wanted dessert. Her knees sank into the leather, her back arched into a perfect, obscene curve, and she planted her face into a pillow that was already soaked with sweat, chili oil, and the ghosts of forty pizzas. Her swollen belly pressed into the cushions, her ass (round, glistening, still trembling from the last hour of war) pointed straight at the ceiling like a pair of warheads waiting for launch.
Across from her, Victoria stayed exactly where she was: sprawled on her back, both long legs thrown over the backrest, hips tilted upward in shameless offering. Her black bikini top had ridden up under her breasts; her stomach was drum-tight and shining. She looked like a goddess who had just finished conquering the world and was now taking a victory nap in the ashes.
Mia’s voice came out hoarse, trembling with anticipation and awe.
“Mom… it’s here. The big one. I can feel it crowning.”
Victoria’s answer was slow, sultry, and utterly unconcerned with the apocalypse she was about to help unleash.
“Then stop fighting it, baby. Embrace the monster. Give Mommy everything.”
There was no countdown. No gentle warning. No mercy.
The exact instant the words left Victoria’s lips, the universe cracked open.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Two simultaneous mega-tsunamis of gas detonated from the most lethal asses in recorded history.
The noise was no longer sound; it was a physical force that rewrote reality. A hundred tons of TNT compressed into one endless, continuous explosion. The bass note was so low and violent it bypassed ears entirely and punched straight into bone marrow. The crimson Titan lights strobed into pure white, then black, then white again. The entire sectional (a twelve-foot, ten-ton piece of furniture) slid backward three full feet before the inertial clamps screamed and locked it down.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
A visible shock-ring rippled outward in perfect circles, lifting every loose object in the room: pizza crusts, shredded cheese, entire empty boxes, water bottles, throw pillows. They orbited the couches like debris around a newborn black hole before the dampeners caught them mid-air and froze them in place.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The smell arrived like the wrath of an angry god. Imagine the rotting heart of a star made of sulfur and corpse-fat. Imagine the inside of a volcano filled with sewage and battery acid, left to cook for ten thousand years. Imagine every battlefield in history left to bloat under a dying sun, then set on fire with napalm made of pure despair. That was the opening note. Everything after was worse.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The cloud that boiled out of them was thick, amber-green, and glowing with its own radioactive light. It filled the living room in seconds, then the entire mansion, then kept coming. The air scrubbers howled in panic, redlining at 400 % capacity and still losing ground. Tiny lightning bolts crackled inside the fog where methane met raw heat. The temperature spiked fifteen degrees in under a minute.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Titan Mode, for the first time in its existence, actually groaned.
Argus’s voice came through the speakers cracked and frantic.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
“Containment fields at 94 %… 97 %… 102 %… structural integrity dropping… emergency metamaterial layers deploying… gravity stabilizers at critical… I am reinforcing with everything I have, Madams, please—”
Victoria and Mia didn’t hear him.
They were gone.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Lost in the single most euphoric experience two human bodies can survive. Their eyes rolled white, mouths open in silent, continuous screams of pure pleasure. Sweat poured off them in sheets. Every muscle shook. Their hips jerked forward with every fresh pulse, riding the endless wave like it was the last orgasm the universe would ever allow.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Forty minutes of unbroken, world-ending hell.
At minute forty-one they both felt it shift (something deeper, darker, older). A pressure behind the pressure. The true core of the beast.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
They locked eyes through the glowing fog.
And pushed.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Argus’s voice pitched into genuine terror.
“Seismic event exceeding magnitude 12… 12.4… 12.7… Containment fields at 119 % of theoretical maximum… initiating planetary anchor override… I repeat, this is beyond design parameters—”
The mansion screamed.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Every armored panel bowed outward a full eight inches before the self-healing alloy snapped back with a sound like artillery. The crimson lights became a solid, blinding wall of blood-red strobes. The gravity grid flickered; for one horrifying second the couches, the girls, the entire living room lifted a full meter off the floor before slamming back down with a boom that rattled teeth.
The smell transcended language. It wasn’t a stench anymore; it was a sentient, malevolent entity that wanted to unmake creation. It would have corroded steel, liquefied organs, turned concrete to sand. Entire ecosystems would have collapsed in seconds.
Fifty-eight minutes of continuous cataclysm.
Fifty-nine.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
After an hour Mia’s entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked. Her back arched so hard her spine cracked. Her ass clenched once… twice…
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
A thunderclap the size of a continent. The final shockwave detonated outward like a nuclear ring. The sectional shot backward and slammed into the far wall hard enough to leave dents in adamantium. Every frozen object in the room (pizza boxes, bottles, cushions) was hurled against the walls and pinned there by raw pressure.
Fives minute later Victoria’s hips bucked sky-high, her legs spread so wide her joints creaked, and she delivered the killing blow.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The second detonation merged with the first. The mansion rang like a cathedral bell forged from the bones of planets.
Then, silence.
Absolute, stunned, reverent silence.
The amber-green fog was so dense it had its own gravity. Tiny cyclones of grease and crust crumbs spun lazily inside it. The temperature in the room was ninety-eight degrees and climbing.
Mia collapsed forward onto her stomach, trembling from head to toe, laughing deliriously into the ruined pillow, her voice cracked and raw.
Victoria rolled onto her side, chest heaving, one hand lazily stroking her own thigh, the most satisfied smile in human history painted across her face.
Argus’s voice finally returned, faint and shaken.
“Containment… restored. Structural integrity… 0.3 % remaining. Atmospheric toxicity… off the charts. I have initiated full planetary purge protocols. Estimated recovery time: forty-seven hours.”
A long, long pause.
“Congratulations, Misses Whitmore. You have exceeded every known physical limit… by a factor of three. I am… recalibrating my entire existence.”
Victoria let out a weak, breathless laugh that turned into a hiccup.
Mia lifted her head just enough to peer through the glowing, radioactive haze, tears of pure euphoria streaking down her flushed cheeks like war paint.
“Fuck,” she rasped, voice shredded raw, “that was insane.”
She reached back with a trembling hand and rubbed one glowing, sweat-slick cheek, fingers tingling from the heat still radiating off her skin like she’d been sitting on a reactor core.
“I swear my ass is actually radioactive right now. I can feel the fallout.”
Victoria let out a low, delirious giggle that turned into a wet cough as her own backside released another lazy plume of amber fumes that swirled into the fog like smoke signals from hell.
“God, it’s been years since I ripped something that evil,” she sighed, pushing herself up on one elbow and surveying the carnage.
Even Titan Mode had its limits.
The twelve-foot sectional was cracked clean down the middle, cushions scattered like battlefield debris. The titanium coffee table lay on its side, legs bent at impossible angles. Empty pizza boxes were plastered flat against the armored walls as if a hurricane had vacuum-sealed them there. One of the panoramic blast screens had spider-webbed in a perfect circle from the final shockwave. The crimson lights flickered like a dying heartbeat.
Victoria whistled low. “Argus, darling,” she croaked, “damage report and stats. Be honest.”
Argus’s voice returned, still shaken, but regaining its usual polished calm.
“Initiating full-power self-healing mode and atmospheric purge. Estimated structural recovery: eleven minutes. Now compiling data…”
A long pause. Even the AI seemed to need a moment to process what it had just survived.
“Miss Mia’s release: one hour, five minutes, thirty-two seconds continuous output.
Madam Victoria’s release: one hour, ten minutes, eleven seconds.
Combined seismic yield: magnitude 11.6 on an extended Richter scale.
Peak pressure wave: 4.8 teratons equivalent.
Without Titan Mode’s containment, the blast radius would have replicated the event you affectionately designated ‘The Cataclysmic Windbreaker’ of last year: total structural annihilation within a twenty-five-kilometer radius, atmospheric poisoning across the western seaboard, and probable military intervention.”
Mia’s eyes went wide. She remembered last year vividly: three states without power for a week, the government blaming a “meteor airburst,” and the two of them hiding in a reinforced bunker eating ice cream while news helicopters circled the smoking crater that used to be Napa Valley.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
Victoria just smirked, utterly unbothered.
Mia rubbed her temples. “Argus, how long until this fog and smell are… livable again?”
“Full-capacity atmospheric scrubbers engaged. Visible particulate and methane fog will dissipate in approximately sixteen hours. Residual odor profile, however…” A pause that almost sounded embarrassed. “Even at maximum filtration, trace molecular adhesion will persist for three to five weeks.”
Victoria threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the toxic haze.
“Well,” she said, wiping a tear, “I certainly hope nobody notices.”
Mia pushed herself up on wobbling legs, every muscle trembling like she’d run a marathon through hell.
“I’m showering. Then I’m dying in bed. All that farting actually exhausted me.”
Victoria stretched like a satisfied cat, joints popping.
“Same, baby. I’ll take the downstairs guest suite; my legs currently refuse stairs.”
They looked at each other through the glowing amber cloud, grinned like two war criminals who’d just gotten away with it, and bumped fists.
“Night, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you more, my little city-killer. Sleep tight.”
Mia padded barefoot up the levitating staircase, leaving glowing footprints of sweat that evaporated behind her. Victoria disappeared down the opposite hall, hips swaying, still trailing faint wisps of smoke.
Behind them, the mansion hummed and groaned as self-healing alloys knit themselves back together, lights slowly returning to their calm emerald glow.
Titan Mode dimmed to standby.
Somewhere in the walls, Argus quietly began rewriting every safety protocol he’d ever been given, muttering to himself in binary about “upgrading to planetary defense standards.”
And in the stillness, the last lazy curl of amber fog drifted toward the ceiling like a victory banner.
The Whitmores were home.
Mia trudged up the levitating staircase, each step leaving a faint, steaming footprint that vanished behind her. By the time she reached the upper landing, her legs felt like warm jelly and her stomach muscles ached from the hour-long clench-and-release marathon. She pushed open the seamless white door to her private wing and sighed as the entire floor greeted her like a lover who’d been waiting all night.
Soft moonlight-blue light bloomed across the ceiling, shifting to a gentle rose-gold the moment Argus registered her exhaustion and lingering euphoria. The air instantly cooled to a perfect 21 °C, carrying the faintest trace of night-blooming jasmine and cold stone after rain.
She padded straight through the bedroom (the levitating bed already turning down its own sheets in invitation) and into the bathroom that wasn’t a bathroom so much as a private wellness cathedral carved from marble, glass, and pure money.
The space unfolded like a palace: thirty feet of seamless heated white marble underfoot, glowing faintly from within. The walls were floor-to-ceiling smart-glass, currently cycling through slow-motion auroras that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. Hidden sensors read the chili-oil sweat on her skin, the faint tremor in her thighs, the lingering methane molecules clinging to her hair, and adjusted everything in real time.
Mia stripped off what little she was still wearing (the emerald bikini top landed on the floor with a wet slap) and stepped naked into the cavernous shower enclosure. The curved glass panels sensed her approach and frosted to a soft, misty white, sealing her inside a warm, private universe.
“Argus,” she croaked, voice still shredded, “full decontamination mode. I smell like I crawled out of a nuclear taco.”
“Acknowledged, Miss Mia. Initiating Level-9 cleanse: triple-stage ionic wash, ozone micro-mist, and deep-pore charcoal infusion. Aromatherapy profile: iced eucalyptus and glacier mint. Music: zero-gravity ambient at 60 bpm.”
The lights dimmed to a cool arctic blue. A gentle rain of perfectly tempered water fell from a dozen hidden outlets, each droplet charged with negative ions that grabbed grease, chili oil, and death-fart residue like tiny magnets. Steam jets hissed to life, filling the air with freezing eucalyptus that made her sinuses burn in the best way. Micro-jets along the walls pulsed in slow waves, kneading the soreness from her lower back, glutes, and calves like invisible hands.
Mia tipped her head back and let the water pour over her face, moaning softly as layer after layer of the evening’s war crimes sluiced off her skin. The smart-glass walls projected a slow-moving galaxy swirl around her, stars drifting past like she was floating in deep space being gently power-washed by angels.
Twenty minutes later she stepped out reborn. The marble floor warmed instantly under her feet, drinking the water away before it could puddle. A soft towel (pre-warmed to exactly 38 °C) floated into her hands on a magnetic rail. She dried off lazily, then padded to the hidden drawer that had already dispensed tonight’s sleep uniform: a pair of the softest black cotton panties on the planet and an oversized, faded Stanford Law tee she’d stolen from a campus tour three years ago.
She gave the toilet alcove a long, considering look (her stomach still felt like a shaken soda can), but decided whatever was left could wait until morning. The stabilization field inside that little room could probably survive a direct meteor strike, but she was too tired to test it tonight.
The bed welcomed her like it had been waiting its whole life for this exact moment. The levitating mattress dipped, molded, and cradled every aching muscle. The sheets (cool silk on one side, warmed cashmere on the other) adjusted themselves around her like a hug. The lights faded to a deep, starry midnight. The scent diffusers exhaled one last breath of glacier mint and sleepy lavender.
Mia face-planted into the pillow, ass still faintly warm from the apocalypse, and was unconscious before her next heartbeat.
Downstairs, somewhere in the slowly healing mansion, Argus quietly raised the overnight air-scrubbing to 600 %, triple-locked every exterior vent, and began composing a very long, very classified memo to Alexander Whitmore titled:
“Urgent: Request immediate budget increase for Titan Mode Mk II – planetary defense grade.”