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Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 38
🕑 Added 2026-01-02 07:24:11 +0000 UTC+++
Liquid drink entered her system. A self-satisfied sigh left Devola's lips as she rested her head against the counter.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, looking at her. He was not human. A great many service workers were androids. "She...she good?"
Popola, seated next to her, held her sister's shoulder and smiled. "Yeah...she does this sometimes."
The bartender shrugged. "As long as she doesn't mess up my bar, she can stay."
Devola raised her head, eyes lidded as she stared at the bartender. "You know...you look kinda cut-"
"Not interested," the bartender muttered as he walked off. Devola stared as he turned his back to her. Before, she would have groaned in pain. But now, she just lowered her head back onto the counter.
To be Devola and Popola was to suffer, no matter what.
"Thish...ish...bullshit," Devola muttered.
"Mhm," Popola replied, vaguely aware of the stares being sent their way by the other patrons.
"I jushst...want...to..." She sniffed. "I...jusht..."
"I know," Popola patted her back. She glanced at the other patrons, who quickly looked away. While she would not show it, Popola had to admit she was disheartened. She had thought that, with humanity back, their fortunes would change. But they were still feared, though not through any fault of their own.
Their apparent closeness and adoption by Fujikawa had rendered both girls nearly untouchable, both by androids and humans. The former did not want to tempt the wrath of their literal creator, and the latter did not wish to attract the attention of one of their administrators. With the secret meeting between the brass, it was likely only a matter of time before they were elevated even further.
This, of course, meant they would be treated with pity. Popola was not one to swear, but she agreed with Devola's assessment. This was bullshit. They were not made of glass, damn it. They were capable girls with talent. They could sing, play instruments, and run settlements. Literal android managerial talent, and no one was interested in that. On top of that, they were drop-dead gorgeous. Flaming red hair, eyes that twinkled like starlight, and fine petite bodies. Popola, however, had the bigger chest, while Devola had the thighs and hips.
And no one was tapping that.
Fucking cowards. Silently, Popola reached for her drink and took a sip.
Androids, by virtue of their artificial bodies, should not get drunk. But like true children of men, the androids had developed synthetic spirits that made them woozy.
She forced her thoughts out of the gutter. There was much to be done afterward. After Smith had given his speech, a recess was called. Many officers left, their expressions dazed and confused which was understandable. They had just been told that their efforts had been for nothing. Humanity was dead or so they thought until the hidden bunker was discovered. When recess was over, many chose to return with a few exceptions. Popola would not have blamed anyone for not coming back, but those who did return likely had their reasons.
Call it pessimistic but what were they realistically going to do? Become Independists and go to Australia? The whole movement there stemmed from the belief that humanity was dead. Now that their creators' deaths had been clearly exaggerated, they would likely try to reintegrate. Desertion was also an option but that meant eking it out in the wastes which wasn't exactly attractive either.
Then there was the other factor.
Smith could be trusted. Sure, his relationship with Commander White was called into question but when push came to shove, his actions during the bunker's evacuation were more than enough proof that he believed in what he said. He did not have to reinforce them but he did. One of his own pilots had died fighting an old-world abomination. The fact that he and the rest of his committee offered a step-by-step plan for the future only reinforced trust in him. It also helped that most did not blame Smith or the United Nations. That blame fell squarely on Camille and the so-called Council of Humanity. Androids were remarkably emotional creatures but they were logical too. Many understood why the lie had to be told but that did not mean Camille and the Council would escape judgment. For the sake of administrative cohesion, it was decided that Camille and the Council of Humanity would retain their seats while new successors were chosen. Camille and the others had their picks, but their close association with each other tainted them in the eyes of their fellow androids. The officers refused to follow such people.
Smith himself offered to step down, but his offer was flatly rejected by many in the brass. Out of anyone in leadership, he was the one they trusted the most. Fujikawa's offer to step down was also rejected. Again, they were blameless.
The rest of android-kind would be told the truth soon. The information would pass from commissioned officers to non-commissioned ones, and then to their squads. The process was methodical and ensured that panic would be kept to a minimum. Desertions were expected, but such sins would be forgiven, with pardons spread around.
As a whole, the Army of Humanity would be remade. The body would be reborn, and its purpose made clear after thousands of years of warfare. Humanity was dead, but it was young again. Popola had to admit the future looked shaky, especially with the can of worms the Council of Humanity was hiding. But with the truth and honesty shown by Smith, she felt that the future seemed brighter now.
"Why do you look so happy?" Devola muttered, seeing the smile on her face. Her voice was clear after sobering up a bit.
"One of us has to be optimistic, and it's me," Popola replied.
Devola rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly. "Did you ever think this could happen to us?" she asked softly.
Popola considered it for a moment, then answered. "Not exactly, no."
"Then what was that thought about optimism?" Devola snorted.
"There is a fine line between optimism and delusion," Popola replied. "We both accepted the truth of the world, but I still thought that tomorrow was going to be alright."
With lidded eyes, Devola stared at her sister. "That doesn't make any sense."
Popola smiled slightly. "Maybe that's why I'm the optimist and you're the pessimist."
"Whatever," Devola muttered as she reached for her glass and finished it. She sighed, shivering as the effects of the synthetic alcohol spread through her body.
"You know what would make thish better?" Devola hiccupped.
"What?" Popola asked gently.
With reddened cheeks and a leer, Devola gestured with her hand. "A nish fat penish to ride."
Beside them, an android spat out his drink, coughing loudly. The bartender shot Devola a dirty look as he handed the coughing android a towel. Devola ignored him entirely.
"Devola..." Popola tried, but her sister continued.
"I jusht...wanna...I jusht wanna do my part!" she hiccupped. "How come White gets pregnant first, and not us?"
She reached for her glass, but it was empty. "Thish ish unfair," she hiccupped again. "We're...older. Fucking...whipperschnapper."
"I think it's time for you two to go home," the bartender warned.
Popola sighed. "Come on, Devola."
"Nooooooo," Devola moaned, clinging to the counter. "My drink!"
The walk out was slow, Devola singing to herself as she Popola supported her sister. The weather systems of the Space Station was in full swing. Snowflakes, perfectly programmed to float and melt just like real ones, drifted down. Popola pulled Devola along carefully, her sister now mumbling incoherent protests. Plaza Thirteen was the central hub for the entire station, unavoidable for most if they wanted to get anywhere. Once, it had merely been a logistics node for industry, it was quickly transformed by android planners to be a park for rest and relaxation. And now, of all days, it was shining. At the center stood a massive tree, towering and resplendent, draped in glinting ribbons and colorful bells. A shining star sat at its peak, casting warm, golden light over the plaza. Around the tree, the festive air was alive with activity. Stands offered steaming mugs of spiced cider, roasted chestnuts, and other winter treats. Laughter and joy rang like music, entrancing the sisters.
"Whut's happening?" Devola asked, her voice sobering.
Popola's mind brought her back to data she saved but never got to celebrate.
"Christmas," Popola whispered. It was there she noticed them, setting up a small platform and arranging themselves into a semi-circle. Popola tilted her head, intrigued. They wore the uniforms of the UN, but their berets were replaced with the bright red hats with fur balls at the end. Despite the absurd and whimsical sight, they managed to look dignified and solemn.
Before she could puzzle further, one of them stepped forward, gesturing to the group. Then, they began to sing.
[SPOILER="Hark! The Herald-Angels Sing!"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:AbM-_FKITDc, list: RDuQwoCFLBiG8"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbM-_FKITDc&list=RDuQwoCFLBiG8&index=2[/URL][/SPOILER]
The first notes of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing filled the plaza, rich and harmonious. The crowd began to gather, drawn in by the music, their chatter fading into silence as they listened. Popola stood frozen, entranced. Devola sobered quickly, her eyes settling in towards the lights and song. The men sang with such conviction and grace that it was impossible not to be moved.
Peace on earth. Reconciliation between God and sinners.
Popola's gaze flicked up to the star that crowned the Christmas tree. It glittered against the snowfall like a beacon, as if daring her to believe in something greater. She didn't know if angels existed, but she did know that the voices surrounding her felt like they carried the weight of something divine.
Hope flared in her heart. Then, she blinked as the singers paused, until they began to sing again.
[SPOILER="Auld Lang Syne!"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:yRk_vbg9sWA, list: RDyRk_vbg9sWA"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRk_vbg9sWA&list=RDyRk_vbg9sWA&start_radio=1[/URL][/SPOILER]
As the singers transitioned into Auld Lang Syne, her heart tightened.
The melody swept through her like a bittersweet wind, carrying with it memories she didn't want to revisit. Familiar faces flickered in her mind, their looks alien but...familiar. The pain of living through Gestalt's failure...it all went back. This song carried bitterness and longing in its voice but...
She and Devola glanced around, the crowd was singing too. As the voices coalesced, Popola let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. There was sorrow in the lyrics, but there was also hope. Hope for the future, for androids, and for humanity.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the weight of the music settle in her chest. When she opened them again, the plaza erupted into applause and cheers. A YoRHa android started kissing her partner with abandon, making the crowd cheer even louder. The group of singers bowed slightly, their expressions modest. The twins shared a glance, their expressions filled with silent understanding. Without a word, they turned their attention back to the choir as the singers began to step down from the platform. The group dispersed casually, weaving through the crowd and heading towards the stands, their sights set on the cider and eggnog available.
"I can walk now," Devola muttered, straightening her posture. Her voice was steady, though her cheeks still carried a faint flush from the synthetic spirits earlier.
Popola raised an eyebrow but didn't protest.
As they approached the group, the singers noticed them and immediately stopped their conversation. Their leader, a middle-aged man with a soldier's build and friendly eyes raised his cup to them. "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, ladies!"
The men cheered as well. The Twins paused, unsure of what to do. Popola took the first step. "Merry Christmas," she replied softly. Devola gave a half-hearted wave, her eyes scanning the group with open curiosity.
"You sang wonderfully," Devola praised, herself a singer. "Are you a professional troupe?"
They paused, turning to the man that had greeted them. "Oh? Yeah, uh, we're the UN Forces Chorus," he explained. "We got guys from the different armies forming the troupe. We never really got the chance to sing much in the old world but now, we do."
Popola's eyes wandered over the group. To her, all humans were the same. But their demeanour and flags showed off their diversity. Devola, however, was already leaning forward, her interest piqued. "That right? My sister and I haven't sang much but we're pretty damn talented, you know. Anyway we can get in?"
Popola felt horror creep up her stomach as she stared at Devola, the drunken idiot.
The middle-aged man tilted his head slightly, intrigued and entertained. "Is that so?"
Devola nodded eagerly. "Damn right. We've been singing together for...forever, really. We're good. No," she corrected herself, "we're great. You should let us join."
"What are you doing?" Popola whispered.
Devola glanced at her sister. "What, I thought you wanted to join?"
"No, I just want to see them!" she whispered fervently.
"Well, too bad, we're going in," Devola shrugged. "You have any idea how long it has been since we sang?"
As the Twins bickered, the singers exchange uncertain glances. The fiery red one was clearly drunk but the request was made. "We letting them in?" one of the singers asked. The middle-aged man didn't answer immediately. He rubbed his chin, glancing between Devola and Popola as if weighing the decision. His hesitation was noted immediately.
"What's the problem?" she snapped, stepping closer. "You don't think we're good enough? Fine. Let us prove it to you."
"Devola," Popola warned softly, but her sister was already too far gone.
Devola jabbed a finger toward the group. "You're going to let us sing, right here, right now. And when we blow your minds, you'll have no choice but to let us join."
The choir leader raised an eyebrow, bemusement on his face. He glanced at his group, who shrugged hesitantly, some looking curious while others seemed unsure. Finally, he let out a small chuckle and nodded.
"Alright," he said, his voice tinged with humor and authority. "Let's hear what you've got."
Devola smirked triumphantly and turned to her sister. "You ready?"
Popola sighed. "Fine."
The choir members shuffled slightly, giving the twins space near the table. The plaza was still lively, with the murmurs of the crowd and the festive sounds of the winter market filling the air, but a few people nearby noticed the commotion and turned their attention towards them. Then, they sang.
[SPOILER="Song of the Ancients"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:S76w87KR1ZQ"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S76w87KR1ZQ[/URL][/SPOILER]
Their voices was ethereal, outwardly, and fae. As androids, their bodies were perfect by design and the quality of it showed. By the time the final note hung in the air, the crowd around them had grown, and a smattering of applause quickly turned into an enthusiastic ovation.
Devola gave a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with herself, while Popola simply bowed her head politely.
The men glanced at each other then towards their leader whose face was deep in thought. For what felt like an eternity, he acquised. "We still have a few other spots to carol at. My only concern is harmony. You two haven't exactly practiced our act."
Devola scoffed. "Please, we're androids. We've already analysed your singing and we can do it with no problems."
Popola knew her sister was lying but the humans weren't exactly privy to that.
"Well, I guess you're in. Welcome to the Chorus," the man greeted. "Sergeant Major Johnson Welsh, Choirmaster of this band."
"I'm Popola," Popola bowed.
"Devola," Devola smirked. "The hotter one."
And thus, they sang. Again at the plaza, then in other places on the station. Despite not having practiced, the Twins were more than experienced enough to make up for it. They sang Christmas carols, New Years jaunts, songs of hope and eagerness for the future. The Twins loved it, they felt a rare sense of belonging, their voices blending seamlessly with the others as they moved from one location to another on the station. For once, there was no judgment, no pity, no fear.
Just pure joy.
[SPOILER="Joy to the World!"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:MbOXkFFsHQA, list: RDMbOXkFFsHQA"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbOXkFFsHQA&list=RDMbOXkFFsHQA&start_radio=1[/URL][/SPOILER]
Their voices carried high with such clarity and warmth that android and human was entranced. Devola was not lying when singing was no problem for them. The weight of their past, the pain of being misunderstood, all melted away in the glow of the holiday spirit. For a few precious hours, they were not living failures. They were part of something wonderful, bring light in humanity's silent night. For before the Prince of Peace, there was no division.
When it was over, the Twins were ecstatic. Popola, despite herself, was lifted. Devola was on fire, burning in the inside and outside. Then, reality was brought back as the Chorus began to seperate.
"It...it's over?" Devola blinked.
Welsh laughed. He would never have considered letting anyone join in willy-nilly. But the two had killed it with their singing so he might as well. It was Christmas after all. "They still have families to come home to, ladies. Let them go and spend the night with them."
Devola's expression was of pure heartbreak. "Does that mean you are leaving too?"
Welsh blinked. "Yeah?"
"With your family?" Popola tested innocently.
Welsh snorted. "No, I live alone. I had a girlfriend in the old world but...well, you know what happened."
Devola glanced at Popola. Popola glanced back, wondering what her sister was getting at before realizing what was happening. Together, they turned back to him.
"Say...wanna spend Christmas with us, Sergeant Major?" Devola invited.
Welsh raised an eyebrow, confusion on his face. Then, his face focused as he understood immediately. He vaguely understood that these Twins were under Fujikawa's watch but the specifics escaped him. He had only ever been focused in his men and his job. If he did this, it was likely that the Doctor was going to be annoyed at her daughters dallying with anyone. But...
Two hot red-heads, willing and able.
Eh, what the hell, it was Christmas.
+++
The door to Welsh's apartment hissed shut behind them, sealing out the station's festive hum. Devola crashed into him first, her lips sealing over his in a fierce, devouring kiss, tongue plunging deep with ravenous hunger as her hands yanked at his uniform jacket, buttons popping free in her frenzy. Popola pressed in from the side, capturing his mouth next in a slower, sinuous lock, her tongue swirling possessively while her fingers tore open his shirt, exposing the hard planes of his chest. She broke the kiss just long enough to hurl the ruined uniform to the floor in a crumpled heap, then dove back in, moaning into his mouth as his hands instinctively gripped her breasts through her top.
Devola's nimble fingers dove lower, unbuckling his belt with a metallic clink and shoving his pants down his thighs in one aggressive tug, freeing his thickening cock. She wrapped her hand around the pulsing shaft, thick fingers stroking from root to tip with firm, twisting pumps while she nipped at his neck, leaving red marks on his skin. Welsh bucked into her grip, a guttural moan vibrating into Popola's mouth as she sucked on his lower lip.
Clothes shed like shed skins, the Twins hurrying to tear their clothes off as Welsh sat back on his couch, his eyes hungrily taking in pale skin and pink flesh. There was nary a second left as they attacked. Devola dropped to her knees between Welsh's thighs, her hot mouth engulfing his cock in a single, greedy plunge, lips stretching taut around the veined girth as her throat bulged visibly, tongue undulating along the underside in sloppy, swirling laps that pulled thick strands of spit from her stretched lips. Popola slid in tight at his side, her tongue invading his mouth in a deep, sloppy makeout, teeth nipping his lip as she ground her breasts against his arm, nipples scraping his skin.
Welsh's right hand tangled roughly in Devola's flaming red hair, fisting the silky strands to yank her deeper, forcing her nose to grind against him. Her throat choked, drool dripping down her mouth. His other hand plunged between Popola's thighs, thick fingers spearing into her sopping pussy. Two at first, then three, curling viciously against her g-spot in rapid, squelching pumps that earned him her honey. Devola matched the frenzy, her free hand diving to her own drenched slit, fingers plunging knuckle-deep into her clenching heat.
Welsh's hips quickly bucked, Popola's walls fluttered in vise-grips around his invading fingers, her tongue dueling his in frantic thrusts, and Devola's throat convulsed in milking spasms as her mind blurred. They shattered as one: Welsh's cock swelled and erupted, blasting thick ropes of cum straight down Devola's throat, overflowing her lips in pearly dribbles she gulped greedily; Popola's pussy gushed in shuddering waves, soaking his hand and the couch cushions and Devola quaked through her climax, squirting arcs onto the floor while swallowing every pulse, eyes rolling back in bliss.
But it was not over. The night was still young, and Welsh's enhanced body recovered quickly to his own surprise. Welsh surged to his feet, cock still semi-hard and glistening, scooping one twin under each arm like conquests. They stumbled down the short hall to his bedroom, hands roaming; him palming their asses, theirs stroking his re-hardening length and tweaking each other's breasts. The twins dissolved into breathy giggles upon reaching the bedroom, tumbling onto the rumpled sheets in a tangle of limbs, Devola sprawling back with legs splayed invitingly, Popola crawling over her playfully.
Welsh paused at the nightstand, rummaging for condoms before he realized that he did not have any. It was fruitless however as the Twins protested.
"We gotta do our part for humanity, Sergeant Major," Devola invited.
"Now be a good soldier," Popola giggled.
And Johnson Welsh was a very good soldier and good soldiers followed their orders.
Tossing aside all propriety, he dove between Devola's thighs, spreading her plush legs wide with rough hands that dimpled her creamy flesh. His mouth latched onto her dripping pussy, tongue spearing deep into her tangy folds, lapping broad strokes before sucking the engorged nub between his lips like a ripe berry, teeth grazing just enough to make her buck.
Popola pressed to her sister's side, capturing Devola's mouth in a deep kiss, their tongues coiling slickly as she bit down on her neck, sucking into the pale skin while her hand mauled Devola's breast, pinching and twisting the stiff nipple until it leaked. Her other hand worked her own pussy furiously, fingers plunging in time with Welsh's attacks. Devola's moans were wild, animalistic. Popola was softer, but no less lewder. Devola's back quickly arched like a bowstring, thighs clamping round Welsh's head as she came explosively, pussy convulsing to flood his tongue with honey, her cries muffled into Popola's mouth.
Dazed and trembling, Devola panted through the aftershocks, eyes glassy. Popola seized the moment, straddling her sister's hips chest-to-chest, pressing her breasts against Devola's, their womanhood's pressing against each other in teasing glides. She looked back, eyes inviting and lidded, Devola's face red and whimpering. Welsh rose behind Popola, gripped her hips, and slammed into her sopping cunt with one savage thrust, the stretch forcing a guttural moan from her lips straight into Devola's mouth. He fucked like a machine, hips pistoning with meaty slaps, balls smacking her clit as her walls rippled around him.
"Ah~!" Popola moaned. "Ah~~!"
Her moans turned into a alarmed yelp as Welsh seized Popola's slender arms from behind, yanking them back like reins. Her body arched in helpless surrender, full tits swinging pendulously beneath her sister. He drove his cock into her pussy with merciless savagery, hips snapping forward in jackhammer thrusts that buried him to the hilt each time, the thick shaft splitting her velvet walls wide. Devola watched Popola's expressions twist into pornographic ecstasy. Sweet, gentle innocent Popola; a slut for human cock.
The sight of Popola's getting utterly conquered sent Devola's arousal spiking, anxious excitement building in her stomach as she awaited her turn. It would not be long.
Popola shattered, her climax ripping through her like lightning, body seizing in earthquake shudders, tits quaking violently as a torrent of squirt exploded around his pistoning shaft. She collapsed sideways onto the mattress in a quivering heap, limbs twitching, throat whimpering.
The Sergeant Major turned to Devola next who instinctively spread her legs wider in blatant invitation, knees hooked back to her shoulders, exposing her glistening, cum-leaking pussy like an offering. He pounced without mercy, folding her into a crushing mating press, pinning her body flat to the bed. Hips crashed down with bone-jarring force, primal lust fuelling Welsh.
"Fuck meeeeeeeee! Fuck meeeeeeee!" Devola whined, her voice fracturing into high-pitched wails as he slammed into her over and over again. Popola, recovered but dazed, slithered close and pressed her sweat-sheened tits flush against Devola's side as she latched onto her sister's neck with sucking bites, leaving blooming red welts while her fingers danced over Devola's heaving chest. Her hand snaked down with each second, thumbing Devola's swollen clit in vicious circles.
It did not take long for Devola to explode. Her demands turned into babbles, nails raking bloody trails down Welsh's back. Popola captured her mouth again in a devouring kiss, tongues tangling sloppy and wet, muffling the shrieks as Devola's orgasm detonated. Welsh's control shattered in sync. With a groan, he burst inside her, unleashing torrent after torrent of thick, scalding cum straight into her womb. Devola's belly distended slightly from the flood, her body quaking through endless aftershocks, pussy fluttering to wring every drop.
Breathing heavily, he collapsed on her, still buried deep. Welsh's chest heaved against Devola's sweat-slicked tits, his cock twitching with residual pulses inside her cum-stuffed pussy, the messy overflow trickling warm down her crack as their mingled breaths ragged the air. Then, a sudden wet heat enveloped his dangling balls from behind, Popola's lips sealing around his sack, tongue swirling languidly over the wrinkled skin, sucking one orb then the other. He yelped sharply, hips jerking involuntarily and grinding deeper into Devola, who whimpered in overstimulation.
"P..please....restttt," Devola whimpered.
No rest was going to be found that night.
+++
Welsh stirred awake to the harsh buzz of station morning lights filtering through his window. A groan left his lips as felt like a wreck. He blinked groggily then froze, hyper-aware of the two impossibly warm bodies flanking him, using his broad chest as a shared pillow, their breasts pressing against him. Popola however had her leg draped possessively over his thigh, while Devola's arm was slung across his abs, fingers idly tracing his happy trail even in sleep.
"Looks like he's awake, sister," Popola whispered, her voice a sultry murmur.
Welsh's mind reeled, fragments of the night slamming back: eggnog haze, choir songs, the door hissing shut, mouths and hands everywhere. "What the hell happened?" he rasped, voice gravelly from disuse and moans.
Devola stirred with a throaty laugh, propping up on one elbow, her red hair tousled wildly as she grinned down at him. "We fucked, Sergeant Major. All night. Spectacularly."
He froze. No condoms, creampies flooding their wombs, his seed painting every inch. "We...did it raw?" His tone pitched higher, eyes widening.
Devola snorted, poking his chest playfully. "What do you think?"
Popola's brow furrowed, sitting up slightly. "Something wrong?" she asked.
He swallowed hard, glancing between their expectant faces. "Yes."
The twins exchanged a worried look, Devola's smirk fading to vulnerability, Popola's hand tightening on his arm. Regret? Rejection after the haze lifted?
Welsh scanned the cramped bedroom. "I might have to get a bigger apartment."
Realization dawned, their fears evaporating into delighted grins. The twins burst into giggles, Popola planting a soft kiss on his left cheek, Devola on the right, their lips lingering warm and promising.
+++
A/N: This was intended for last year but alas, time bit my ass. Shoutout to Russel Marsh, the patient believer, who had won the poll for banging the twins. Hopefully, this is to your liking.
Fujikawa: Haha, Sergeant Major. You are banging my daughters.
Comments
Raiko Petkov
Thank you, I'm waiting for Anemone's turn now. Please don't take too long, the poor android needs lots of hugs. Happy New Year, Pasta!
Snugglepuff
Man is in for one hell of an interrogation
