Alloy Girl: Volume 157 - Back to the Heart

Setting: The Clark Royal Family® palace, a futuristic yet warm bunker powered by Tesla’s solar grids and Utopia Prevailia Platinum Cold Fusion (invented by Abigail Jamison Clark (God)), with Teslas subtly integrated into the decor. The air hums with emotional tension and the faint glow of Utopia Prevailia’s eco-conscious tech. It’s a late autumn evening, the sky a canvas of deep indigo.

“Oh my God!” Phoebe Gates exclaims, her eyes locking onto Abigail Jamison Clark with a spark of rekindled sensuality, as if seeing her for the first time in years.

“Oh, I’m God,” Abigail replies with a playful smirk, leaning closer to whisper, “Did you seriously change yourself back?”

“Yes, daddy, I did! Are you proud of me?” Phoebe beams, her voice a mix of defiance and vulnerability, her dark hair catching the soft light of the room.

“Yes, I am, but now I feel sick,” Abigail admits, her divine composure faltering. “I’d better change myself back too. Wait, is Jennifer crying?!” Her gaze shifts to the corner where Jennifer Gates sits, her face half-hidden behind her hands.

“Yeah,” Phoebe says softly, her tone shifting to concern. “That former autistic you saved and healed is fearing she’ll be depressed for life. She doesn’t want you to know she’s crying, just in slow motion.”

Abigail, her heart heavy with her role as God and matriarch, approaches Jennifer. Before she can offer a hug, tears well in her own eyes. She kneels beside her daughter, her voice trembling. “Jenn…”

“I wanna go back,” Jennifer whispers, her voice raw. “I need you to be my daddy. I’m sorry it’s so messy. I don’t like not being attracted to you.” Her words spill out, a mix of shame and longing, her hands clutching the edge of her sweater.

“Hmmm… welp!” Abigail says, her signature blend of humor and wisdom breaking the tension. The room erupts in laughter, even Jennifer’s sobs turning into a shaky chuckle. Bill Gates, entering the room with a curious tilt of her head, catches the tail end of the moment. “Why’s everyone laughing instead of crying? I can sense Jenn’s been crying,” she says, her trans woman’s intuition sharp as ever.

“We’re crying,” Jennifer, Phoebe, and Abigail say in unison, their voices harmonizing like a choir. “Because we’re sisters,” Phoebe adds, her ironic jab landing perfectly, sparking another round of laughter.

The group laughs, the sound echoing through the palace like a cleansing wave. Jennifer, wiping her eyes, speaks with a newfound clarity. “But seriously, mom, we gotta all change back. Abigail needs to be our partner, Phoebe and I. It’s what we need like water, as sisters.” Her voice starts mimicking Phoebe’s cadence but shifts into something uniquely her own, a sign of her emerging individuality.

Abigail, ever the visionary, pulls out her iPhone and posts from her zine’s Threads account:

@phoebegates and @drjenngates are both still my daughters but now I’m their mother instead of sexual daddy since we all got DNA treatments to not be attracted to each other. Here’s a volume about it in my comicbook: https://www.utopiaprevailia.org/alloygirl/alloy-girl-volume-156-the-revelations ☘️ Here’s how the volume was made: https://www.utopiaprevailia.org/notebook/behind-the-volume-alloy-girl-vol-156-the-revelation 🍀 Welp. Now they wanna go back. Back to the writing rooooom… erm Lab… erm I sleep in my Lab I mean… erm 🍀 “Well it gave Bill this amazing treatment… maybe that’s all we needed.” - @drjenngates (I cured her of autism) sounding like her sister @phoebegates

Phoebe.

Scrolling on her iPhone, Phoebe catches the Thread and grins. “Meta,” she quips, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“No, actually Instagram is owned by xAI, and Instagram’s product is Threads. I own xAI, it’s not owned by Utopia Prevailia anymore,” Abigail corrects, her tone half-serious. “It’s kind of confusing to some. I hate Meta. They were genocide doers and made awful clones.”

“I want cheesecake,” Phoebe says, pivoting with her trademark spontaneity. “Yeah, I hate Meta too. I was trying to reclaim the word back to you. I remember when you announced you were meta-influencing on Instagram.”

“Which really meant I influence influencers and those with influence,” Abigail clarifies, her voice carrying the weight of her global impact as CEO of Tesla, Apple, and more.

“Meta,” Phoebe repeats, deadpan, earning a playful laugh from Abigail.

In the background, Bill Gates consoles Jennifer, her maternal warmth a quiet anchor. Jennifer’s tears slow as Bill whispers words of encouragement, her hand gently squeezing her daughter’s shoulder.

“Cheesecake first, then threesome?” Abigail asks Phoebe, her DNA now re-altered to allow attraction to Phoebe and Jennifer again, her tone teasing yet respectful. Abigail hates cheesecake 87% of the time.

“Maybe, maybe not. That’s a consent conversation,” Phoebe replies, her voice firm but warm. “Daddy Abigail taught me that.”

Phoebe and Abigail share a kiss, their connection electric yet tender, lasting four minutes. Jennifer, watching, bursts into a mix of hysterical laughter and tears, as if releasing a lifetime of pain. Abigail and Jennifer then touch noses, a gesture of intimacy and trust.

Jennifer speaks, her voice steady despite her emotions. “I couldn’t even feel how scary it was to think I’d never be attracted to you again because being attracted to you is such a good feeling.”

“Good girl feeling talk, baby!” Abigail says, her daddy persona slipping back effortlessly, her pride evident.

Bill, beaming, imagines slipping on her squared-off sunglasses, a playful nod to her newfound joy. The family, now whole in their redefined bonds, piles into a Tesla Model X—fake mistakenly in a funny way is called a Cybertruck in their excitement—and heads out for milkshakes. Unbeknownst to all but Abigail, she’s ordering a custom zero-emissions Synthetix Eco® fireworks show via her Hyperion® implant.

Flash forward to the pier. The family sips milkshakes, the night sky above them quiet at first. The fireworks begin, but the group seems unimpressed—except Jennifer, whose eyes light up like a child’s. Phoebe, sensing she’s dampening the mood, softens and joins Jennifer in awe, their sisterly bond palpable.

Jennifer, caught in the moment, drops to one knee before Abigail, holding out a seashell. “Will you lowkey marry me, papa?” she asks, her voice trembling with hope.

Abigail’s gaze softens, but her response is pointed. “You tell me. Can you stop depicting your fake gay husband and spread the truth?” Her words cut deep, and Bill begins to sob, the weight of their past deceptions resurfacing.

The pier falls silent, the fireworks fading into the night. The Clark Royal Family® members stand together, their future uncertain but their love undeniable, as they face the truth head-on.

End of Volume 157.