Chapter 3: Gremlin's Gambit
The hum of Mandy’s basement workshop was a physical thing, a vibration in the teeth and bones. Holographic projectors cast shifting azure grids over workbenches littered with enchanted circuitry and disemboweled server racks. Tubes of luminescent fluids—cerulean, viridian, arterial crimson—hovered in magnetic cradles above a 3D-printed altar of cracked obsidian that served as her main terminal. The air tasted of ozone, burnt copper, and the faint, dry whisper of the books lining the walls—tomes bound in materials that sometimes shifted under the light.
Mandy’s fingers flew across a translucent keyboard, her eyes reflecting the data-streams. On a secondary screen, security footage from the courtyard played on a loop: Howard smirking, Ben’s fist freezing, Bruce’s blank confusion.
“Direct attack is suboptimal,” she muttered to herself, her voice flat. “He’s a psychic virus. You don’t punch a virus. You annoy its operating system into a fatal error.”
A soft chime echoed. A communication window bloomed in the air, displaying a live feed from a dock piled with nets and smelling of salt and fish. Gabriel Álvarez’s handsome, stubbled face appeared, a sea gull perched on his shoulder preening a wing.
“Mandy. You look pissed. Jon says even the brine shrimp are nervous.”
“I need a broker, Gabe. Something local, chaotic, and fond of petty destruction. Non-lethal, but profoundly irritating.”
Gabriel’s smile was all white teeth. “You’re describing about eighty percent of Miami, hermosa. Be specific.”
“The kind that lives in walls and eats wireless signals. The kind that unties shoelaces and hides car keys in other dimensions.”
His expression shifted to understanding, then to careful neutrality. He glanced off-screen, then back. “You’re talking about the Little Glitch tribe. They nest in the old Art Deco district. They’re… transactional. And their currency isn’t cash.”
“What is it?”
“They’re gremlins, Mandy. Techno-gremlins. They feed on frustration and lust. Mostly lust. They like pictures. The kind you don’t post on your official business feed.”
Mandy’s smirk returned, razor-sharp. “How graphic are we talking?”
“Their last deal was with a scorned witch who gave them polaroids of her ex doing a strip tease with a hexed garden gnome. They turned his smart house into a psychosexual nightmare for a week. Toilets recited love poetry. His car GPS only led to strip clubs. His blender… let’s not talk about the blender.”
“I can work with that.” Mandy’s mind raced. “I need them to hit a specific target. Apartment 4B, the Mirage Towers. Resident is a hedge mage named Howard Theramore. I want his life to become a cascade of humiliating, inexplicable glitches for the next seventy-two hours. Nothing that physically injures him. Just… unravels his smugness.”
Gabriel whistled. “Big ask. They’ll want premium payment. Fresh, explicit, and personalized. They have a thing for… uniqueness. Not just standard nudes.”
Mandy leaned back, her shaggy hair falling into her eyes. “Tell them they’ll get a full set. Subject: Mai Harata. Dragon hunter, deep-sea streamer, half-English, all adventure. I guarantee uniqueness.”
They haggled for five more minutes, settling on terms. Gabriel would mediate. The gremlins would begin their work upon receipt of the “payment.” Mandy severed the connection.
She took the stairs two at a time, emerging into the main living area. Ben was on the couch, head in hands. Bruce was making tea in the kitchen, his movements still carrying a slight, shell-shocked hesitation. Felicity was curled in an armchair, staring at a textbook without seeing it. Mai was doing handstands against the far wall, utterly nude, her body a pale arc in the afternoon light.
“Family meeting,” Mandy announced.
They gathered. Mandy laid out the plan in blunt, technical terms. Ben’s head lifted, a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. Bruce nodded slowly. Felicity’s brow furrowed.
“Gremlins? Like… folklore gremlins?”
“Like techno-punk chaos sprites who think a corrupted PDF is a gourmet meal and a leaked dick pic is a golden ticket,” Mandy clarified. “They’re perfect. Howard’s entire existence is about control, precision, superiority. We flood his zone with nonsense.”
“And the payment?” Felicity asked, though from the way her eyes darted to Mai, she already knew.
Mai dropped from her handstand, landing in a crouch. “They want pictures of me? Kinky little bastards. What’s the brief?”
“Explicit. Creative.Personalized. They want a show.”
Mai stretched, a languid, unselfconscious movement that made Ben look away and then look back. “Well, I’m not camera shy. Where’s the studio?”
“Basement. Better light control. And I’ve got some… props.”
Felicity stood up. “I’m not sure about this. It feels like we’re just giving him more power, in a way. He violated her, and now we’re selling images of her?”
Mai walked over and put a hand on Felicity’s cheek. Her touch was warm. “Flick, love, he took my agency. This? This is me giving it away, on my terms, for a purpose. There’s a world of difference. Besides,” she grinned, her English accent making the words playful, “I’ve done far more shocking things for far fewer views. This is for the team. And it sounds like fun.”
The basement workshop felt different with an audience. Mandy had cleared a space, using holographic emitters to create a backdrop of shifting, deep-sea blues and abyssal black. Floating orbs of soft white light served as photographers’ lamps. The obsidian altar was the centerpiece.
“Alright,” Mandy said, holding up a complex-looking camera that was part DSLR, part crystalline resonator. “They want a narrative. A story. Start with the explorer. Then… unveil the prize.”
Mai understood instantly. She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other shading her eyes as if looking into an imaginary distance. She was still naked, but the posture was all earnest adventurer. Mandy clicked away, the camera emitting a soft whirr-chime.
“Good. Now, interact with the environment. This is your discovery.”
Mai ran a hand over the cool obsidian of the altar, pretending to examine strange runes. She leaned over it, her back to the camera, the elegant curve of her spine leading down to the full swell of her ass. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression now sultry, inviting. Click-whirr.
“They’re going to want more than just tease, Mandy,” Mai said, her voice dropping an octave. “You said explicit. They want to see the goods. All of them.”
Felicity, who had followed them down and now stood near the stairs, hugged herself. Her face was flushed. She watched, hypnotized, as Mai turned to face them. She began to touch herself, not in a hurried, masturbatory way, but with a slow, theatrical sensuality. Her fingers traced the undersides of her breasts, pinching her nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. She arched her back, offering them to the camera.
“Tell me what they like, Mandy,” Mai purred, her hands sliding down her flat stomach. “Do they like it clean-shaven? Do they like a peek?”
Mandy’s voice was all business, but her cheeks were faintly pink. “Spread your legs. Let them see.”
Mai obeyed. She hooked a foot on the edge of the altar and leaned back, opening herself completely to the lens. The soft holographic light glistened on her inner folds. She used two fingers to part herself further, a raw and intimate display. Click-whirr. Click-whirr.
“Christ,” Ben whispered from the doorway. He hadn’t been able to stay away. Bruce stood behind him, his expression unreadable.
“They’ll want penetration,” Mandy stated, as if discussing a lens filter. “Foreign object. Something thematic.”
Mai’s eyes sparkled. She looked around, then grabbed a smooth, polished quartz cylinder from a shelf of components. It was about the size of a small cucumber, cold and gleaming. She held it up, raising an eyebrow.
“Perfect,” Mandy said.
Felicity’s breath hitched. She watched, her own pulse pounding in her ears, as Mai brought the quartz to her soaked opening. Mai maintained eye contact with the camera, a challenge and a promise, as she pressed the cool stone against herself. She gasped, the theatricality giving way to genuine sensation as the tip breached her. She worked it in slowly, inch by inch, her free hand braced on the altar, her knuckles white.
“Fuck,” Ben breathed, his hand unconsciously adjusting the front of his jeans.
Mandy kept shooting, moving angles. Close-up on the quartz disappearing into Mai’s slick flesh. Wide shot of her body bowed in pleasure. Mai began to move, fucking herself on the stone with slow, deep rolls of her hips. The wet, rhythmic sound filled the humming room. Her moans were low and real.
“They’ll… they’ll probably want a finish,” Mandy said, her voice slightly strained now. “A climax. For the authenticity.”
Mai nodded, her movements becoming more urgent. Her other hand found her clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles. “Yeah… oh, yeah, give them a show…” she chanted, her accent thickening. “Watch me come for you, you little digital perverts… watch me fucking squirt on this rock…”
Her body tensed. A sharp cry tore from her throat, not a performance but a raw release. Her hips stuttered, and a gush of clear fluid spilled out around the quartz, dripping onto the dark altar with a soft patter. She held the position, panting, as Mandy captured the aftermath.
Silence, broken only by the hum of machines and Mai’s ragged breathing. She carefully withdrew the quartz, setting it aside with a clatter.
Mandy lowered the camera, her knuckles white on its body. “That… that should do it.”
Felicity realized she was biting her own lip hard enough to hurt. Arousal was a hot, insistent throb between her own legs, a confusing mix of horror, voyeuristic excitement, and sheer admiration for Mai’s fearless ownership of the moment. She felt Bruce’s presence behind her, a solid warmth. She didn’t turn.
Mai straightened up, sweaty and triumphant. “Well? Do I get a copy for my channel? ‘Mai’s Deep Dives: Special Gremlin Edition’?”
Mandy was already transferring files, her fingers a blur. “Uploading to the encrypted drop. Gabriel will handle the handoff.” She typed a final command. “Payment sent. Operation… Annoying Bastard is live.”
A moment later, a notification pinged on her main console. A video file, sent from an unrecognizable, glitching address. She opened it.
It showed Howard Theramore’s stylish, minimalist apartment. He was at his desk, sipping coffee. Suddenly, his expensive ergonomic chair let out a loud, rasping fart noise and dumped him onto the floor. His multi-monitor setup flickered, and every screen filled with a slowly scrolling, pixelated image of a middle finger. His smart speaker began blasting polka music at maximum volume. Howard scrambled up, his face a mask of bewilderment and dawning fury.
Mandy’s smirk was a thing of pure, vicious joy. “First wave delivered.”
Ben laughed, a short, relieved sound. Bruce clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Mai, still gloriously naked, sauntered over to Felicity. “See? Told you it would be fun.” She winked, then headed for the stairs. “I need a proper shower. That quartz was colder than a mer-man’s heart.”
Felicity finally turned, finding Bruce’s eyes. The heat in them mirrored her own. The violation, the scheming, the explicit transaction—it had left a charged wire humming in the air. Without a word, she took his hand and led him back upstairs, past the living room, straight to her bedroom. The need for reclamation was gone. Now it was just hunger.
She closed the door and pushed him onto the bed, following him down. Their kiss was devouring, all tongue and teeth. She tore at his clothes, and he at hers, fabric ripping in their haste. There was no gentle preamble. She guided him inside her with a desperate groan. He was already hard, thick, filling her in one brutal thrust that made her see stars.
“Harder,” she gasped into his neck, her nails digging into the muscles of his back. “Don’t be gentle. Just fuck me, Bruce.”
He obeyed, his hips pistoning, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a rhythm that matched the chaos they’d just unleashed. Each drive was a punctuation mark on their fury, a physical echo of the gremlin’s first glitch. She came quickly, a sharp, shattering climax that wrenched a sob from her throat, but he didn’t stop, chasing his own release with a gritted-teeth intensity until he spilled into her with a ragged groan, collapsing his full weight upon her.
They lay in the wreckage of the sheets, slick and breathing hard. Down the hall, the shower started. In the basement, machines hummed. Somewhere across the city, a gremlin tribe cackled as Howard Theramore’s espresso machine began spraying foam in the shape of obscene runes.
For now, the score was even. But the wire was still humming.
But the wire was still humming.
Ben followed Mandy up the basement stairs, the memory of Mai’s performance and the video of Howard’s chaos playing on a loop behind his eyes. The air in the main living space felt different, charged and thin.
“He’s gonna know it was us,” Ben said, running a hand through his short hair. “The gremlins. He’ll trace it back.”
Mandy dropped onto the couch, pulling a tablet into her lap. Her smirk was present, but her eyes were sharp, analyzing invisible data streams. “He’ll figure it out. Probably already has. Guy’s not stupid. But he’s got one trick. A scary, invasive, really good trick. It’s still just one trick.”
She glanced at him, her expression shifting into something older, weathered. “My parents spent my whole childhood dealing with shit way above their paygrade. Godfreys. Elves. Void creatures. They had zero magic. Zip. Just stubbornness and a real talent for being creatively annoying. That’s the lesson. Not power. Creativity.”
The front door swung open, and Beth Williamson stepped in, the fading daylight outlining her short blonde hair. She carried a canvas bag smelling of developer fluid and sea air. She took in Mandy’s posture, Ben’s tension, the silent house.
“What’s with the vibe? It’s like a crypt in here.” She dropped her bag. “Where is everyone?”
“Felicity and Bruce are… decompressing,” Ben said. “Mai’s showering.”
Beth’s photographer’s eyes narrowed on her sister. “You’ve got the plotting face. The ‘I just rewired reality as a prank’ face. What happened?”
Mandy summarized it in clinical bursts: Howard’s courtyard demonstration, the gremlin deal, the photo shoot payment. Beth listened, absorbing, her head tilting slightly.
Her only comment was a flat, “You didn’t ask me to take the photos.”
“Next time, Shutterfly,” Mandy said, a ghost of a real smile touching her lips.
Ben leaned against the kitchen counter. “So what’s the next move? We just wait for his apartment to scream show tunes?”
As he asked, the sound of the upstairs shower cut off. Dripping footsteps padded down the hall. They all heard Mai’s voice, bright and unashamed, outside Felicity’s door.
“Room for one more in there? I’m all clean and terribly under-stimulated.”
A muffled laugh, then Felicity’s voice, raw but willing. “Door’s open.”
Ben’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pure, lustful yearning crossing his face before he could suppress it. Mandy saw it.
“Next time, Romeo,” she teased softly, her attention already returning to her tablet.
Beth, unphased by the sexual logistics, circled back. “Seriously, Mandy. What’s next?”
Mandy shrugged, a deceptively casual gesture. “Depends on him. If he licks his wounds and quits? Nothing. We won. If he retaliates?” She looked up, and her eyes were chips of glacial obsidian. “Then he learns what it means to piss off a Williamson. It’s not just me. It’s Mom and Dad, who can annoy a demigod into surrendering. It’s Rick and his… resources. It’s Calista and her elfin fire. It’s Grandma Irene, who’d whack him with her purse and make him apologize for existing.” A slow, cold smile spread. “Hell, the family cats could probably orchestrate his defeat through sheer, persistent irritation.”
Beth smiled too, picturing Rembrandt and VanGogh methodically knocking every precious item from Howard’s shelves.
A loud, abrupt knock hammered at the front door. Three sharp raps. It wasn’t a friendly sound.
Everyone froze. The humming wire in the air snapped taut.
“That’ll be his next move,” Mandy said, her voice dropping to a monotone. She stood, smooth and deliberate. Beth and Ben fell in behind her as she walked to the door.
She opened it.
Aunt Judy stood on the porch, completely nude. Her professionally blonde hair was disheveled. Her face, usually a mask of polished control, was twisted into a rigid parody of anger. Her eyes were slightly glazed, fixed on a point just over Mandy’s shoulder.
“This is unacceptable!” Judy’s voice barked, too loud, the cadence wrong. “The noise, the comings and goings! I am evicting you all! Effective immediately! Pack your things!”
Ben blanched, taking a step back. “Holy shit.”
Beth peered around Mandy, her camera-brain assessing angles and light. “Is this him? The body-snatcher?”
“Yeah,” Mandy said, sounding profoundly bored. She reached out, grabbed Judy’s bare wrist, and yanked her inside, closing the door behind her. Judy stumbled, her nude body moving with an unfamiliar, clumsy aggression.
Mandy looked directly into her aunt’s glazed eyes. “Really, Howard? Back to making the women get naked for you? Already out of ideas? That’s kind of sad.”
Judy’s head jerked. “This is a serious legal matter! Do not trivialize this!”
“It’s not,” Mandy said flatly, crossing her arms. “It’s you throwing a tantrum because some gremlins shat in your psychic cereal.”
As Mandy spoke, keeping Howard’s focus locked through Judy’s eyes, Beth’s thumbs moved silently over her phone screen. A quick text. Sent.
“—you have twenty-four hours to vacate, or I will have the authorities physically remove you!” Judy-Howard ranted, spittle flying. “Your little games end now!”
The tirade reached a shrill peak. Just as Judy drew breath for another threat, a gnarled, age-spotted hand clamped down on her bare shoulder from behind. The grip looked frail; the force behind it did not.
“Get out of that body now.”
Shiv O’Connor’s voice was low, a rasp of gravel and ancient peat smoke. It held no magical thunder, only an immovable, weary authority that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the house.
Judy convulsed. A sharp, dry heave wracked her, and her eyes rolled back for a second. When they cleared, the glazed, foreign fury was gone, replaced by swimming, profound confusion. She blinked, looking down at her own naked body, then at the faces around her.
“What in the…?” Judy whispered, her voice her own again, trembling. “How did I… why am I… did I come over like this?” She looked at Mandy, horror dawning. “Did you invite me over and I took something? I don’t remember taking anything!”
Shiv released her shoulder. She adjusted her shawl, giving Beth a nod. “I think I’m done here, child. Explanation later.” She turned and shuffled back out the open door, heading down the path toward her own house without a backwards glance.
Judy wobbled, clutching her forehead. “Somebody give me a goddamn robe and a very large drink. Then someone tell me what the hell is happening.”
Mandy fetched a robe from her room. Beth helped a shaken Judy into it, tying the belt securely.
“It’s okay, Aunt Judy. It wasn’t you,” Beth said softly.
“The hell it wasn’t! I was right here!”
Mandy nodded, handing her a glass of water first. “You were. But you were being piloted. By the guy who tried to steal Felicity’s research. He used Mai first. Then Bruce. Then Ben. Now you. It’s his only trick.”
She explained, succinctly and without embellishment. Judy’s initial confusion melted into cold, sleek anger as she listened. She smoothed the robe over her thighs, her professional composure slamming back into place like a vault door.
“A psychic hacker,” she summarized, her voice icy. “Using my body to threaten my niece with eviction from my own property.” She took a slow sip of water. “I am not amused.”
Beth, sitting beside her on the couch, patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Mandy can handle this twerp.”
From down the hall, through Felicity’s closed door, new sounds filtered into the living room’s tense silence. A low, shuddering moan that was unmistakably Felicity’s. Then Mai’s pleased, throaty laugh. The rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, faster now, joined by the creak of bedsprings bearing more than two peoples’ weight.
Ben stared hard at the floor, his ears turning red. Judy arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the hallway and then to Mandy.
“And that,” Judy said, the ice in her voice thawing into dry incredulity, “is the sound of them ‘handling it,’ I presume?”
Mandy just leaned back, listening to the symphony of her friends reclaiming their agency in the most visceral way possible. The gremlins were at work. Howard’s last gambit had been effortlessly swatted aside by an Irish grandmother. Her family was, metaphorically and soon literally, in the house.
She picked up her tablet. The wire wasn’t just humming now. It was singing.
“Yeah,” Mandy said, a true, wide, and dangerous smile finally spreading across her face. “That’s exactly what that is.” Her fingers began to dance across the screen, pulling up fresh schematics, contacting new contacts. Howard had shown his hand again. The next move was hers, and it wouldn’t be defensive. It would be a thing of beautiful, irreversible annoyance.