[b]Pink![/b]

"Oh, it's all about the polish," said Pink dreamily. "Shine, shine, shine! Silver tarnishes, you know, and that's why I need to shine until it sparkles. Anything less is a disrespect to metal and Mistress both." 

"It's not as nice as working in space," she said after a moment, and was filled with some strange yearning. "But then, I don't know how to tell her that."

[b]Green![/b]

There was a lot there. She couldn't process it easily, not with this perspective. She could feel the thoughts condense around the edges of morality and paranoia and more besides and it dams up there. There's no way to move through it where she is. 

"I'm not saying don't sell guns," she said. "I'm not even saying don't [i]have [/i]guns. I'm saying you're selling them [i]in my house[/i]. And that's the question you keep dodging: Why [i]here[/i]? You're in [i]my [/i]operation, [i]advertising [/i]on the [i]internet[/i], opening the door for strangers, and when you're called on it you dodge into hard ideology. That's convenience, not purity, and you're not as careful as you think. It doesn't matter what I'm doing tomorrow, today I'm running a hotel with over a thousand transhumans about to get the worst news of their lives and I need to make sure their only support network and place of refuge doesn't go down in a flood of tear gas."

She's completed the thought. It's as hard as White. "You need to take it down the road. Stretch for some bus passes for your clients. And trust me, the second I get a whiff of heat around my own sins, I'm going the fuck down the road too."

[b]November![/b]

"Look what the catgirl dragged in," said White as Red staggered into the hotel room.
"Uh, don't worry," said Red. "None of it's mine. And you know what, I don't think I like parties?"
"But you always take over when there's a party," said Black.
"Yeah, doesn't mean I like 'em. I think it's the noise that gets to me," said Red, cleaning her face in the sink. "Can't hear anything. Spikes the danger sense even through the filters. Just can't get into it."
"In that case, hear this," said Yellow. "There is no political system for governing humanity that would satisfy humanity."
"Urgh, here we go," said Red.
"Even in ideal conditions of material abundance disaffection and misery spreads," said Yellow. "The phenomena of bullshit jobs have intensified even in this cyberpunk utopia, but even those who opt out of the system entirely, the NEETs of the world, are miserable. There's plenty said about how money can't make people happy, and even an economically equitable political system would be insufficient."
"Oh dang, she's fucked up worse than I am," said Red. "How much has she had?"
"Whole tube," White grimaced.
"So you're way past politics, Yels, and you're onto religion," said Red. "Like, slaying capitalism is one thing, but -"
"But what!?" said Yellow. "You think that we should just give up, good enough, settle for mere fully automated luxury gay space communism?"
"Well, kind of a bit," said Red. "That seems really nice, actually."
"I propose," said Yellow loftily, "that we strive for [i]magical [/i]gay space communism."
She leans in, eyes intense. "Think about it. What do humans yearn for more than anything else? Magic. Adventure. So much of their lives is escapism, into virtual worlds, into artistic projects, into the extremely literal fantasy of the isekai. The children [i]yearn [/i]for the blessing of Truck-kun. We solve money and implement a UBI tomorrow and what of it? They'll still face an uncaring and sterile universe, with magic and adventure reserved for only the vanishingly small percentage of the population engaged in space exploration - if that's not fully automated away too. They'd become entirely self-referential, an entire species trying to live vicariously through the tiny and decreasing percentage of people who have real jobs. Maybe for a while they find joy in basket weaving or whatever, but they'll end up like the coddled children in every dystopian sci-fi story about benevolent robots."
"And we should go stick our dicks in the middle of the species' quest for the meaning of life?" said Red.
"Of course!" said Yellow. "They want... fucking, fairy godmothers, and magical princesses, and mysterious contracts with daemons. They want that more than they've ever wanted another five square meters of living space and a higher grade of coffee. And so do we!"
"She's been like this all day," said White. "I think she's having a vision thing."
"Yeah, I'd imagine it," said Red, looking over the instruction manual that came with Yellow's drugs. "Oh, this is that crypto drug I was hearing about. It's making her compute her thoughts through her graphical senses."
"Is that why she doesn't sound like she's listening to us?" said White.
"Yeah. Hold on, let me try -" Red fished a set of panties out of her bra, red and laced, and dangled them in front of Yellow. Yellow's eyes phased out as she contemplated the intricacy of the pattern.
"That ought to shut her up for a while," said Red. "C'mon, help me clean the rest of this up."