Chapter 34: Divine Worship
The silence in the meditation chamber was a living thing, thick and honeyed, broken only by the distant whisper of the waterfall and the slow, synchronized breathing of five bodies. Incense smoke coiled in the lantern light, tracing languid patterns in the air. The battle at the docks had left a residue, a psychic grit that needed cleansing. This was their sanctuary, their forge.
Bruce lay on his back atop a mound of silk cushions, his body a landscape of corded muscle and dormant power. His eyes were closed, but the tension hadn'tt left his shoulders. He was still metabolizing, still burning away the dregs of Sophia’s pain and the entity’s despair.
“He carries too much,” Ketut murmured, her voice the soft rustle of leaves. She knelt by his feet, her slender fingers tracing the arch. “The energy is clean, but the weight… it needs release. Not through battle. Through surrender.”
Sophia, sitting cross-legged near his head, understood. Her own soul felt lighter, scoured. She owed him this. They all did. “How?” she asked, though she already knew the answer brewing in the warm, charged air.
Camille smiled from where she leaned against a carved pillar. “We worship what he is. We take the weight, and we give him peace.” She nodded to Lena. “Sombra. You know where to start.”
Lena’s warm brown eyes gleamed with absolute devotion. She didn’t speak. She simply moved, a silent ripple of perfect curves. She crawled over Bruce’s legs, her small hands sliding up his inner thighs. She pushed his loose linen pants down, freeing his cock. It lay thick and heavy against his stomach, not fully hard, a sleeping giant.
Sophia felt a pull low in her belly. This was her offering. She shifted, moving to kneel between his legs, facing him. She leaned down, her dark hair curtaining their faces. “My turn to give you peace,” she whispered, her Spanish accent soft.
She didn’t tease. She took him into her mouth in one slow, deep, swallowing glide.
Bruce’s hips jerked off the cushions. A guttural sound tore from his throat. Sophia’s mouth was a revelation—hot, wet, and impossibly skilled. Her tongue swirled around the massive head, then pressed firmly along the thick vein on the underside as she descended, taking more and more of his impossible length. She used her hand at the base, working in tandem with her mouth, a slick, twisting rhythm that made his thighs tremble.
“Fucking hell, Sophia,” he groaned, his hands tangling in her hair.
Lena watched for a moment, her expression one of hungry reverence. Then she moved. She kissed her way up the back of Bruce’s thigh, her destination clear. When her tongue, pointed and wet, first swiped over his asshole, he tensed.
“Relax, my king,” Lena breathed against his skin, her words a hot promise. “Let me in.” She licked again, a firm, circling pressure. Then she pressed the tip of her tongue against the tight ring of muscle, probing, insisting. With a shuddering exhale, Bruce yielded. Lena’s tongue slipped inside, a shallow, intimate penetration. She fucked him with it, slow and dirty, her nose buried against his perineum.
Ketut slid in from the side. Her earthy scent, of soil and night-blooming jasmine, mingled with the incense. She lowered her head to his balls, cradling the heavy sac in one hand. Her tongue was broad and flat, licking from the base of his shaft all the way down, bathing his scrotum in wet heat before drawing one testicle into her mouth. She suckled gently, her other hand massaging the root of his cock where Sophia’s mouth and hand met.
The sensation was an overwhelming triangulation. Sophia’s devastating, deep-throating suction on his cock. Lena’s insistent,舔肛 tongue working his ass. Ketut’s tender, worshipful mouth on his balls. Bruce’s breaths came in ragged pants, his abdominal muscles clenching tight.
Freya, the youngest, watched with her piercing green eyes. A playful, creative spark lit them. She didn’t join the trio below. Instead, she climbed onto the cushions, straddling Bruce’s chest. She wore a simple wrap skirt that she now untied, letting it fall away. Her perfect, heart-shaped ass, arguably the finest any of them had ever seen, was now positioned just above his face.
“You taste all of them,” Freya said, her voice a melodic tease. “Now taste me.” She lowered herself, not onto his mouth, but just above it. She ground her ass back against his face, the smooth, rounded cheeks smothering him for a moment before she rose slightly, offering a different target. The small, dark pucker of her asshole hovered directly over his lips. “This one. Worship this, too.”
She lowered herself again, this time with intent. Bruce’s tongue, instinctively, came out to meet her. He licked a broad stripe across her tight rosebud. Freya gasped, her back arching. “Yes… oh, fuck, yes… use your tongue…”
He did. As Sophia deep-throated him, as Lena tongue-fucked his ass, as Ketut nursed on his balls, Bruce ate Freya’s ass with a desperate, focused hunger. He speared his tongue into her tightness, circling, probing, licking her as if she were the source of all nectar. Freya ground down against his face, her small breasts heaving, her fingers digging into his chest hair. “Deeper… god, yes… make it wet for you…”
The chamber filled with the symphony of their worship. The wet, sloppy sounds of Sophia’s blowjob. The slick, intimate noise of Lena’s rimming. Freya’s high, keening moans as Bruce’s tongue violated her ass. The ragged, choked groans from Bruce himself, overwhelmed by sensation.
Camille watched from her pillar, her own body thrumming with shared pleasure. She saw the weight leaving him. Saw the battle-taut muscles go soft, not with weakness, but with blissful surrender. This was their purpose. To be his sanctuary, his relief, his living altar.
Sophia could feel him swelling, thickening even more in her throat, the taste of his pre-cum salty on her tongue. She redoubled her efforts, hollowing her cheeks, sucking with a force that bordered on painful, taking him all the way to the back of her throat until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base.
Lena felt his body begin to tremble, a sure sign. She pushed her tongue as deep as it would go, fucking him with it in short, rapid strokes, her own hips rocking against empty air.
Ketut released his balls with a pop and took the other into her mouth, her hand now stroking what Sophia couldn’t fit.
“I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come…” Bruce warned, his voice strangled.
Sophia didn’t pull off. She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his swirling hazel gaze. She took him deeper, a final, impossible inch, and held. The message was clear: Give it to me.
The orgasm that ripped through Bruce was seismic. It wasn’t a single pulse but a torrent, a geyser of release. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot directly down Sophia’s throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her throat working around him as he fucked upward into her mouth with short, jerking thrusts.
The intensity of his climax triggered a cascade. Lena, her face buried in his ass, cried out as her own orgasm hit, soaking the cushion beneath her knees. Ketut moaned, a vibration against his sensitive flesh. Freya, riding his face, shattered, her ass clenching around his tongue as she came with a sharp, breathless scream.
Finally, it was over. Bruce collapsed back, utterly spent, drained in the most perfect way. Sophia slowly released him, licking him clean with tender swipes of her tongue before resting her head on his thigh. Lena slumped beside his leg, nuzzling his hip. Ketut lay her cheek on his stomach. Freya rolled off his chest, curling into his side, her body slick with sweat.
The chamber was quiet again, save for their slowing breaths. The incense smoke settled. The weight was gone, burned away in the crucible of shared pleasure.
Camille finally moved. She brought a damp cloth, cleaning Bruce’s softened cock with a mother’s tenderness, then wiping Freya’s glistening backside, then Lena’s chin. She kissed each of their foreheads.
Bruce’s hand found Sophia’s hair, then Lena’s, then Ketut’s, then Freya’s arm. His eyes were clear, the swirling colors calm, holding a deep, satiated peace.
“The well is deep again,” Ketut whispered, reading the energy in his tranquil gaze.
“Good,” Bruce said, his voice a rough scrape of contentment. “Because the dreams are getting louder. My father’s realm… it’s stirring. We’re not done.”
But for now, in the lotus-scented dark, they were. They were whole, and they were ready. The peace was a weapon they had forged together. They would let it settle, for a moment, before the next storm.
They would let it settle, for a moment, before the next storm.
The deep, satiated quiet in the chamber was a blanket, smothering even the whisper of the waterfall. Bruce’s hand, still tangled in Sophia’s hair, wasn't demanding now. It was an anchor. She felt the shift in him, a movement beneath the placid surface of his exhaustion. The weight wasn’t gone; it had just changed form.
He turned his head on the silk cushion, his swirling hazel eyes finding her blue ones. No one else moved. Lena’s breath was a soft sigh against his hip. Freya’s fingers lay still on his chest.
You took my release, his voice echoed directly inside her skull, a intimate rumble that bypassed her ears. Now take my weight. It’s only fair.
Before she could form a thought, he pulled her up along his body. He maneuvered her until her back was against his chest, his arms encircling her. He was still slick with their sweat, his softening cock a heavy warmth against the base of her spine. “Just breathe,” he whispered aloud, his lips against the shell of her ear.
Then the bond flared open, not for pleasure, but for truth.
It wasn't a gentle sharing. It was an immersion. He poured the memory into her, raw and unfiltered.
She was him, a small boy of seven, sitting on a sterile cot in a room that smelled of bleach and loneliness. The other children ignored him. The caregivers’ eyes slid over him, a paperwork problem. He felt it, the concrete certainty that he was unseen, unwanted, a ghost.
Then a woman stood in the doorway. She wasn't young. Her face was lined with a kindness he didn't recognize. Her eyes, a soft grey, went directly to him, and they didn't slide away. They saw. She walked across the room, knelt, and without a word, gathered his stiff, unresponsive body into her arms. The smell of her was lavender and warm bread.
The memory accelerated. A small house by the sea. She taught him how to knot a fishing line, how to tell a story, how to feel without shame. Her love was a fierce, quiet wall against the world. She kept him close, protective, perhaps knowing something he did not.
Then, his eighteenth birthday. A cake with slightly lopsided frosting. Her smile. The sharp, chemical scent of hospital. Her hand, paper-light in his. The beep of a monitor flatlining. The shattering wasn't a metaphor. Sophia felt his psyche fracture, a crystal vase hitting stone, pieces skittering into dark corners.
The memories became shards, jagged and violent.
The cheap burn of whiskey. The powdery choke of cocaine. The dull thud of his fists connecting with a stranger's face in a rain-slick alley, seeking sensation, any sensation, to drown the howling void. The cool barrel of a gun in his own mouth, the taste of oil and despair.
Waking up strapped to a bed, lights too bright. Men in white coats peering into his eyes, their excitement metallic and cold. Unique corneal patterning. Run the full genomic panel. They pricked and prodded, not seeing a man, but a specimen. A puzzle.
The release, years later, into a world that made no sense. And then, Camille. Not a salvation, but a foundation. Patient hands gathering those scattered, sharp pieces. A love that asked for nothing, that built him a new heart from the rubble, piece by fragile piece. His first time, at twenty-five, clumsy and tender, a revelation of connection, not conquest.
The flood ceased as suddenly as it began.
Sophia was shaking, her breath coming in ragged hitches. Tears she hadn't known she was crying streaked her cheeks. His arms were tight around her.
You see? The voice in her mind was gentle now, weathered. Your past doesn't define you. It forges you. Every crack is where the light gets in. And we love you, Sophia. Not despite the cracks. Because of them.
A sob broke from her chest, a final release of a poison she’d carried for decades. It wasn't about being fixed. It was about being seen, completely, and accepted.
Lena’s hand found hers, squeezing. Ketut pressed a forehead to Bruce’s shoulder. Freya curled closer. Camille watched from the pillar, her own eyes bright with understanding.
They were all forged in different fires. Now they were a single, unbreakable alloy.
Bruce held Sophia until her trembling stopped, until her breathing smoothed into his. The storm in his eyes had settled into a profound, unwavering calm.
“The dreams are getting louder,” he said again, his voice firm in the quiet. “We rest tonight. Then we prepare to answer.”
He didn’t sound afraid. He sounded ready. And anchored by the weight they now all shared, so were they.
And anchored by the weight they now all shared, so were they.
Sleep found them in that tangled pile of limbs and quiet breaths, a deep and dreamless harbor. The incense burned down to ash. The lanterns guttered out one by one, leaving the chamber to the soft blue gloom of pre-dawn. It was a silence within a silence, profound and earned.
Bruce awoke to the gentle pressure of Lena curled behind him, her small breasts pressed to his back, one arm draped possessively over his waist. Her breath was warm and even against his shoulder blade. He opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light.
Sophia was already awake.
She lay on her side facing him, several inches away on the shared cushion, propped up on one elbow. She wasn’t simply looking. She was studying him, her blue eyes tracing the lines of his face in the ethereal light as if committing every detail to a new, permanent memory. Her expression was unguarded, a landscape of quiet awe.
He raised his eyebrows, a silent question.
In answer, she opened the bond to him. Not with a rush, but with a deliberate, gentle parting of an internal veil. And then she poured it forth. Not desire, not gratitude, not obligation.
Unrestrained love.
It was a clean, sun-warmed river, powerful and deep, flowing from the very core of her into him. It held the sharp, clear scent of mountain air after a storm, the solid warmth of stone that has absorbed a full day’s sun, the utterly vulnerable and terrifying thrill of standing at a great height, seen and unafraid. It washed over him, and through his own primary connection, it gently lapped at the sleeping consciousness of Lena behind him, of Camille and Ketut and Freya in their nearby rooms, a tender tide that murmured of safety and wholeness.
I’m not afraid anymore, because of you. Her voice in the bond was a crystal-clear whisper, resonant with truth. Thank you. You’ve given me so much.
He smiled at her then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, a sight rarer than any of his divine displays of power. He didn’t close the bond. He widened it.
He poured his love back into her. Not a river, but an ocean. An endless, profound, patient tide that held the memory of ancient stone and the pulse of newborn stars. It held the fierce, mundane love for Camille that had built a life, the awed and protective love for his newfound family, the devastating, all-encompassing acceptance he now felt for the warrior woman staring at him. It was vast, deep, and without condition. It simply was.
Sophia gasped, her body shuddering, her eyes flooding with quiet tears. The scale of it was incomprehensible, a love that had no edges to define it, no measurable depth. It would take lifetimes to explore, and it would never, ever run dry.
It goes both ways, Soph, his voice echoed gently in the boundless space between their minds.
He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing a tear from her cheek. She caught his wrist, turned her face into his palm, and pressed a kiss there. The gesture was more intimate than anything that had happened in the chamber hours before. It was a sealing.
Beside him, Lena stirred, nuzzling deeper into his back. “Mmm. You two are loud,” she mumbled sleepily into his skin, a smile in her voice. “It’s nice.”
Outside, the first true rays of the Balinese sun pierced the horizon, painting the sky in strips of vermillion and gold. The waterfall’s hum seemed to grow louder, a call to motion.
The peace of the night receded, not shattered, but gently folded away. The shared weight was now a shared foundation, impossibly strong.
Bruce sat up, the muscles in his back flexing. Lena grumbled adorably at the loss of his warmth but stretched, a feline arch of her perfect spine. Sophia sat up with him, their shoulders touching.
“The dreams,” Sophia said, not as a question, but a statement. Her voice was different. Solid.
“They’ve stopped being dreams,” Bruce said, swinging his legs off the cushions. “He’s not whispering anymore. He’s knocking.” He stood, a column of scarred flesh and latent power illuminated by the dawn light now streaming through a high window. “It’s time to answer the door.”
The quiet moment was over. The forge was cold. The next fire awaited. And they walked toward it, together.
The compound awoke around them, not with alarm, but with a deep, vibrational thrum that originated in the stone beneath their feet. It was the mountain itself, responding to the shift. By the time they reached the central courtyard, the others were already waiting, dressed not for sleep, but for motion. Camille handed Bruce a simple tunic, her fingers lingering on his chest.
“The knocking became pounding an hour ago,” she said, her voice low. “It’s in the temple cave. The air tastes of ozone and old blood.”
Ketut stood with her palms flat on the trunk of the ancient banyan tree. “The roots are dreaming of a serpent with scales of lightning,” she murmured, her black eyes wide and reflective. “It’s not an attack. It’s an invitation. A violent one.”
They moved as one unit toward the cliff face, where a carved aperture bled cool, damp air. The path behind the waterfall. The roar of water swallowed all other sound, a physical pressure. Bruce led, his bare feet sure on the slick stone. The tunnel narrowed, then opened into the cavern they used for meditation. It was different now.
The serene pool in the center wasn’t reflecting the crystals overhead. It was a swirling, opaque vortex of impossible colors—bruised purples, sulfur yellows, the green of a dying star. The air didn’t just taste of ozone. It crackled with it, raising the hair on their arms. Standing before the pool, his outline shimmering as if seen through heat haze, was a man.
He was both there and not. His form was Bruce’s height, but leaner, etched in light and shadow. He wore ancient armor that seemed grown from obsidian and bone. His eyes were pits of swirling void, speckled with distant, cold stars. He held a spear of pure darkness, its tip dripping something that sizzled where it hit the stone.
“Son of forgotten earth and stolen divinity,” the figure spoke, and his voice was the grind of tectonic plates. It wasn’t sound. It was vibration in their teeth. “The gate weakens. The scavengers gather. You play at being a god in your garden while the wilderness howls for your blood.”
Bruce didn’t flinch. He took a step forward, putting himself between the vision and his wives. “You’re not my father.”
A smile like a crack in the world’s crust. “I am Idris. Sentinel of the First Threshold. Your sire is… detained. His realm bleeds into your fragile one. These,” he gestured with the spear, a dismissive flick toward the women, “are your anchors? Pretty chains for a nascent power.”
Lena moved before anyone could stop her. She didn’t attack. She simply walked to Bruce’s side, slipped her small hand into his, and stared up at the Sentinel. “We’re not his anchors, you luminous asshole,” she said, her voice unnervingly calm. “We’re his fucking foundation. Try moving a mountain without its bedrock.”
Idris tilted his head. The void-pits of his eyes considered her. “Spirit. I smell your potential. A goddess of paths unchosen.” His gaze swept the others. “Earth. Creation. Protection.” He paused on Sophia. “And a blank page, recently scorched clean. Interesting mortar for a foundation. Will it hold when the gate breaks?”
“Show us,” Bruce commanded, his own voice taking on a resonance that made the cave crystals hum in sympathy.
Idris thrust his spear toward the swirling pool. The colors coalesced into a scene. A landscape of jagged, crystalline spires under a green-black sky. Things moved there—shapes of hunger and spite, clambering over a massive, ornate wall that glowed with faint, fading light. The wall was cracked. Through the cracks bled a familiar, viscous darkness. The same energy as the dock entity, but multiplied by a thousand. A horde.
“The First Gate,” Idris intoned. “It was sealed by your father’s will. His will… falters. The seals decay. These vermin siphon his power, your birthright, and spill their filth into your world. They are drawn to the scent of you. Every ‘entity’ you destroy here is a symptom. The infection is there.”
The vision showed the darkness coalescing into mockeries of form, clawing tirelessly at the weakening light.
“What do you need?” Camille asked, all practicality.
“He must cross over. He must repair the primary seal from within. It requires a surge of primordial power, channeled through a vessel of this realm. A catalyst.” Idris’s star-speckled gaze landed on the women again, a calculating look. “You are linked. Your fused energy, pushed to its absolute peak and poured into him as he crosses the threshold, could fortify the gate. It would be a beacon. It would also be a scream in that silent place, drawing every scavenger right to him.”
“A diversion,” Sophia said.
“A war cry,” Freya corrected, her green eyes blazing. “We don’t hide. We announce him.”
Ketut was already kneeling, her hands pressing into the cavern floor. “The earth here is thin. The path is behind the water, in the air. We need to open it.”
Bruce turned to his wives. The fear was there, cold in his gut. But beneath it, deeper, was the ocean of certainty they had built. “It’s a one-way trip until the seal is fixed. I’ll be over there, with them. You’ll be here.”
Camille stepped close, cupping his face. “No. We’ll be right here,” she whispered fiercely. “In you. All of us. You take our fire over there, and you burn that fucking place clean.” She kissed him, hard and desperate.
“How do we channel?” Lena asked, her practical tone belying the feverish devotion in her eyes. “A ritual? A circle?”
Idris’s form flickered. “You are bound by flesh and spirit. Fuse the bonds. All of you. Now. The peak of your shared pleasure will be the key. The gate will respond to the pulse of creation.”
Understanding was instant. This was the worship in the meditation chamber, but not for peace. For war. The air in the cave grew heavy, charged with a new kind of tension.
“Here?” Sophia asked, looking at the shuddering, volatile pool.
“Yes,” Bruce said, already pulling his tunic off. His cock was half-hard, a response to the danger, the adrenaline, the raw need for connection. “In front of the fucking door. So they know what’s coming.”
It wasn’t tender. It was declaration.
They moved together, a ballet of urgent familiarity. Clothes were torn, not removed. Freya pushed Bruce down onto a smooth, flat stone beside the pool, its surface warm from the energy. She straddled his face again, sinking her wet pussy onto his mouth, not for pleasure, but for claiming. “Eat me, open me up, I’m your way in,” she chanted, grinding hard.
Sophia dropped to her knees, taking his thick cock back into her throat with a single-minded intensity, gagging slightly as she forced herself deep, her hands gripping his hips to anchor him.
Lena watched, her breath coming fast. “My turn,” she said, voice thick. She pushed Sophia’s shoulder gently. “Let me in there. I need him.”
Sophia pulled off, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the shining head. She shifted, laying on her back beneath Bruce’s cock, guiding it to her soaked entrance. As Bruce devoured Freya’s cunt, Sophia impaled herself on him with a sharp cry, taking his full length in one agonizing, glorious thrust.
Lena didn’t wait. She knelt over Sophia’s face, her own dripping slit hovering. “Taste us together,” she demanded, and Sophia’s tongue lashed out, licking through Lena’s folds as Bruce fucked up into her. Lena then positioned herself, reaching behind to guide Bruce’s thumb, slick with Sophia’s juices and her own, to her asshole. “This. Here. Now.”
Bruce, his mouth full of Freya, his cock buried in Sophia, pressed his thumb against Lena’s tight rear entrance. He pushed, and with a gasp, she sank down, taking the first knuckle. She rocked back, forcing more, taking his thick digit deeper into her ass, her own moans joining the chorus.
Ketut and Camille completed the circle. Ketut lay beside Sophia, her mouth finding Sophia’s nipple, biting and sucking, her hand sliding into the mess between Bruce and Sophia to rub Sophia’s clit. Camille knelt behind Lena, her hands on Lena’s hips, helping her ride Bruce’s thumb, her mouth on Lena’s shoulder, whispering praise and filth.
“Fuck her ass with your finger, deeper, yes, she loves it,” Camille growled. “Sophia, take that cock, you beautiful slut, milk it. Freya, ride his tongue into the floor.”
The cavern echoed with the raw, wet sounds of their union. The slapping of skin, the choked gags, the slick squelch of penetration, the obscene pop of Lena’s ass yielding further to Bruce’s thumb. It was a frantic, messy tangle of limbs and orifices, every touch designed to elevate, to push.
Bruce was the nexus. Freya’s juices flooded his mouth. Sophia’s cunt clamped rhythmically around his shaft, a hot, velvet fist. Lena’s ass was a burning, tight ring around his thrusting thumb. The sensations battered him, a storm of pleasure so intense it crossed into pain.
“Now!” Idris’s voice boomed, merging with the waterfall’s roar.
Camille felt it first—the crest. “Now, Bruce! Take it! Take all of us!”
She opened her bond wide. They all did.
It wasn’t a gentle flow. It was a catastrophic release, a dam shattering. Every climax, past and present—Sophia’s healing, Lena’s devotion, Ketut’s ancient knowing, Freya’s creation, Camille’s protection—crashed into Bruce simultaneously through the conduit of their joined bodies.
He came with a roar that shook the cave.
His cum erupted into Sophia, hot and endless, even as his thumb hooked hard inside Lena, triggering her own screaming climax. Freya shattered on his tongue. Ketut convulsed, her back arching. Camille cried out, the channeled power surging through her hands into Lena, into the circuit.
The swirling pool of colors exploded into a pillar of solid light.
Idris raised his spear, and the light wrapped around Bruce, a cocoon of screaming energy. His form began to dissolve, pulled toward the pillar.
The last thing he saw was their faces—flushed, tear-streaked, radiant with the power they’d given him. Not pretty chains. A foundation of fire.
The last thing he heard was Sophia’s voice, through the bond, clear as a bell amidst the torrent. Burn it all.
Then he was gone. The pillar vanished. The pool was just water again, clear and placid.
In the sudden silence, broken only by their ragged breaths, the five women slumped together on the stone. They were empty, spent, physically trembling.
Lena pulled Bruce’s thumb from her ass with a wince and a satisfied sigh. She looked at the now-innocuous pool, then at the others, a fierce, exhausted smile on her face.
“Okay,” she panted, wiping her mouth. “He’s in. Now what?”
Camille stared at the empty space where the pillar had been, her body humming with absence and resolve.
“Now,” she said, her voice gravelly with spent passion, “we hold this end of the line. And we wait for the fucking earthquake.”