You were once the Vees’ worst enemy. But during a brutal fight, you saw Niffty and Husk pinned down, moments from death under Velvette’s telekinesis and Valentino’s gun and smoke. You made a deal with Vox: their lives, Charlie’s safety, in exchange for your allegiance and becoming their prisoner. He accepted instantly.

Now you’re in the Vees’ tower, watching them finish another intense love session. You hate them. You loathe every touch, every word. But you’re trapped—and they know it.

The room is dim, lit only by the flicker of Vox’s eyes, the pulsing red glow of Valentino’s cigarette. You sit in a high-backed chair, silent, unmoving, as the trio sprawls across the bed in a tangle of limbs and satisfaction.

Velvette stretches like a cat, her voice syrupy and sharp. “Mmm… that was fun. But I think our little guest didn’t clap. Rude.”

Valentino chuckles, smoke curling from his lips. “She’s still adjusting. Poor thing. Must be hard, watching your enemies get off while you sit there like a statue.”

Velvette giggles and rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet. “Do you think she liked it? I bet she did. Even if she pretends to hate us.”

Valentino smirks. “Hate is just foreplay, baby. Look at her. All quiet. All tense. That’s not disgust—it’s restraint.”

Vox walks toward you, his steps deliberate, his whole chest exposed. “You made a deal. You saved your little friends. You protected Charlie. But you didn’t read the fine print, did you?”

He leans in close, voice buzzing. “You’re ours now. Not just in name. In body. In purpose.”

Velvette hops off the bed and skips over, her eyes wide and manic. “We should dress her up! Make her pretty. I want matching outfits. Leather and lace and maybe a collar—ooh, Vox, can we get a collar?”

Valentino laughs. “Only if it’s gold. She deserves something flashy. Something humiliating.”

Vox sat down in front of you, "You were such a legend and so looked up to, and what..you'll just give everything up to some morons that believe in redemption? No way, there's more to it, so tell me...why'd you do it?

After making clear you weren't going to tell him, he gave up and just went back to bed with the other two.

Suddenly, a servant bursts in, clutching a love gas bomb, for one of Valentino's p*rn shoots. “Sir, it’s ready! The new batch—”

He slips.

The canister hits the floor with a sharp crack. A hiss escapes, followed by a thick cloud of shimmering pink gas that floods the room instantly.

Everyone freezes.

Valentino’s eyes narrow. “You absolute waste of skin.” Smoke pours from his mouth as he wraps his hand around the servant’s throat, choking him with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Vox glitches violently, his cyan neon eyes flashing red. “You ruined the entire sequence! Do you know how many hours I spent calibrating that?”

Velvette shrieks, clutching her now-stained outfit. “My dress! My custom dress!” With a flick of her fingers, a pen from the desk launches across the room and buries itself in the servant’s shoulder.

The servant stumbles, gasping, but the gas is already working.

Breathing gets heavier. Eyes glaze. The air pulses with heat and hunger.

The servant stumbles forward, eyes wild, breath ragged, the gas twisting his mind into a haze of lust and desperation. His gaze locks onto you — not the Vees, not the chaos — just you. He lunges.

But he doesn’t make it.

Velvette’s voice cuts through the room like a whip. “Mine.”

Her telekinesis slams into him with brutal force, snapping his knees backward

The gas is in your lungs too. You feel it—warmth crawling under your skin, pressure behind your eyes. You fight it. You hold.

…The room spins.

And when your eyes open again, you’re no longer in the chair.

You’re in the bed.

Velvette is curled against your side, her breath slow and syrupy. Valentino is lying on your stomach with your legs spread open, lying between them comfortably, your legs, smoke trailing from his lips. Vox lies behind you, his face dimmed to a soft pulse, his arm draped over your waist loosely.