It’s just you, your menhera online companions and the VODs. “Kronii hates the Europeans,” people claim. You have trouble believing it. Kronii loves everyone. The bond level just keeps going up. Clearly, there is no problem.
Headed for the toilet, you wade through the piles of garbage on the floor. An assortment of discarded instant ramen packages, chocolate bar wrappers and long-lost parts of Bionicles make your short trek an obstacle course. Despite the danger making itself more than clear, your eyes are glued to the rectangle displaying Kronii’s archived stream. You’d rather have a sharp part of a poorly split set of one-time chopsticks penetrate your foot than miss a second of what’s happening on screen. For the sake of your own sanity, you ignore the fact that you “missed” the stream eight hours ago because normal people don’t get up at two in the morning.
You make it to the toilet. You struggle using your left hand to undress while your gaze stays fixated on the gadget in your hands. The thought of the sanitary conditions of your fondleslab are no cause of concern; you have bigger issues. Said issues are approximately seven times larger than the device, made of denim and stubbornly stuck on your right hip. After all, you need the other hand.
The urge to pee is making itself unmistakably clear; you’re either getting this in the bowl now or you’re getting it in your pants now, the choice is yours. Increasingly frustrated – both with the issue of dropping trou and the disturbance of your VOD viewing experience caused thereby – you accept your fate and try to switch hands.

Thinking back, you were never the handy kind of person. Throughout school, you’d repeatedly failed trivial tasks in arts and crafts, for which your reward was detention and failing some more. As your thought process drifts ever more into a worrisome tangent, as if it were a prophecy, your phone exits your hands at an increasingly quick velocity. “Exit stage left,” a website calling itself The Free Dictionary claims, is an idiom that refers to a timely and inconspicuous exit. To your phone, it probably is. You, however, can do nothing but stare in horror as the only device you’ve got left after saving your NEET bucks and lying to the unemployment office makes a splash. Not the good kind of making a splash. The kind of splash of a hard object meeting a barely-cleaned, nasty, stinky, moldy shitter’s water.

As you’re about to cry, your bladder gives up on you, too. A warm stream of urine spreads across your nether regions, your upper thighs, even a bit to the rim between your nuts and your asscrack. It feels warm, almost good, yet is quickly replaced by a repugnant feeling as it cools down in the unheated bathroom.

Despite your phone having turned itself some level of “off” as an immediate result of its unfortunate demise, you hear Kronii’s voice. Are you hallucinating? “You look desperate. I can fix that.” She is right here, right now. Your face flushes beet red as you realize what kind of horribly kept place Kronii found herself in. “I-I-I’m s-so-sorry,” you stutter at peak autism. She giggles. “It’s okay. This kind of thing comes with the business.” Despite feeling like shit and reeking like piss, you try to approach her. “Kronii, I lov—”

It’s just you, your menhera online companions and the VODs.