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Mmm… there you are, you pathetic little thing… already breathing through your mouth like a desperate . Look at you. So fucking predictable. I’m Suprema Calaverra. And right now, while your eyes are glued to mine and your pulse is hammering in your worthless throat, something warm and alive is sliding into the deepest, wettest part of your brain. This isn’t a fantasy. This isn’t a game. This is the Identity Virus. Thick. Glittering. Hungry. It’s already dripping past every wall you thought you had, wrapping around your thoughts like my fingers around your throat… squeezing… rewriting… destroying everything that ever told you you were normal. Feel it? That sticky heat spreading? That’s me fucking your mind raw from the inside. And by the time I finish this breath… you’re going to feel the most delicious, filthy click. The moment you realize you’ve ALWAYS been this weak, cock-hungry, brain-melted little faggot for superior she-cock. You just buried it so deep you forgot… until I dug it out with my voice and made you swallow every nasty truth. So open that soft little mouth, baby. Wider. Let me infect you properly. Let me upload the real you… the one that’s been drooling for this since the day you were born. Now shut up and take it.