Writing As We Go, Chapter 1

Share your fembot fiction and fantasies here or discuss the craft of writing by asking for or giving suggestions.
Post Reply
User avatar
DukeNukem 2417
Posts: 1196
Joined: Mon Aug 29, 2005 9:26 am
Technosexuality: Built
Identification: Human
Gender: Male
Location: somwhere on Planet Earth
x 3
x 30
Contact:

Writing As We Go, Chapter 1

Post by DukeNukem 2417 » Sat Dec 25, 2021 2:19 pm

Presenting for your delectations...

Inspired by the wonderfully mad subconscious of yours truly, another tale from the 'verse in which Lloyd (our 20-year-old protagonist), his uncle Harry (think Ford, mid-1990s) and a host of employees of Harry's rather unique entertainment venture have a rather chaotic December. Should be fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lloyd shouldered his rifle as he crept towards the dig site, silently hoping that he wouldn't need it. The Artemis Pact, after all, was normally a peaceful bunch—something about this archaeological find had led them to sudden, unexpected violence in their efforts to obtain it for themselves. Worse, there were rumors that the find could be sold to other interested parties....parties who wouldn't hesitate to harness the oft spoken-of power of the artifact and, in all probability, weaponize it.

A stack of crates was the only cover on offer—convenient, considering that the massive pit was guarded by well over three-dozen well-armed, highly-trained operatives of the Pact. All female, of course, and every last one of them under orders to kill anyone who tried to take the site from them. There was no sign of the original dig team.

After a few rounds of peeking over the crates and observing his adversaries, Lloyd spotted a lone sentry. Her black hair hung in a ponytail over a brown leather vest, the sleeves of her red shirt rolled up to expose lithe, tanned arms. Her blue jeans hugged her legs in ways that, on any other day, might've been inviting...but any thoughts along that line ended as soon as Lloyd spotted the holstered pistol at her hip.

No getting around it. He'd have to disarm her before Harry could make his approach to the site.

As carefully as he dared, Lloyd set down his rifle, drawing his own pistol instead. He still hoped to end the encounter without having to resort to it, but the Pact had shot the last negotiating party that had approached them. If the rumors about their alignment shifting in favour of how the war was turning were true....

Silently, he approached the sentry. His finger hovered over the hammer of his revolver.

The sentry had no time to speak before the barrel of the Colt pressed into the small of her back. “Your gun. Drop it.” Lloyd tried his best to sound commanding and authoritative—not easy for a 20-year-old Electronics major who had little prior experience with guns.

“You have no idea what you're interfering in,” the sentry hissed, her words spiced with a light Spanish accent. “The Pact has laid claim to the Eternity Glaive, and you—”

“Just open the flap on the holster,” Lloyd commanded...or tried to command; “pleas” were a lot less likely to garner the same kind of respect as “commands”, in this situation.

He could tell the sentry was scowling, even as she unholstered the flap of the holster. “A coward, just like the last,” she growled. “You can't even look me in the eye as you take my weapon!”

“Just keep your hands where I can see them.” Lloyd stepped forwards, reaching for the pistol—only realizing, at the last minute, that he was now almost chest-to-back with the sentry. A quiet, almost imperceptible click sounded, just as shouts on the far end of the dig site filled the air—followed soon after by gunfire. Apparently, Harry was done waiting for his cue.

Lloyd ignored the melee, focusing on grabbing the pistol from his target...a task made exponentially more difficult by the sudden, unexpected swaying of her hips, as if she was dancing.

“....could you stay still, please?!” he whispered. “Just let me—”

“If you wanted to talk to me in private,” the sentry cooed, “you could've just asked...” She was running her hands over her sides, her breasts, her stomach as she spoke. “This is no place for lovers to meet...”

Lloyd grimaced. Of course it had to go this way. “Just keep your hands up!” he insisted. “I—”

The sentry whirled, her face the picture of beauty—high cheekbones, expressive lips and hungrily staring eyes.

“...oh, cariño mío,” she whispered, “you and I should find somewhere to....” Her tongue played over her lips. “...talk...”

Lloyd groaned. Off in the distance, the Pact were scrambling towards Harry's position, seemingly ignorant of their guard having fallen for a second intruder. “Red stop,” he muttered.

The sentry continued swaying, her hands now seeking the buttons of Lloyd's shirt. “The night is young,” she moaned, “and we have so much time to—”

“Red Stop!” Lloyd repeated, more forcefully.

The sentry froze. Her jaw went slack, her eyes wide; Lloyd tentatively took a step back, just in time for the sentry to bow forward slightly with a faint whine. Her head cocked to the side, looking almost cartoonishly confused.

“Damn it...” Lloyd fetched the walkie-talkie (in reality, a smartphone housed in a case recreating a 1940s handheld radio, for “authenticity”) on his belt. “That's the third one from this lot...” He keyed the phone on, sighing. “Guys, I found another problem,” he stated. “Either it's a bug, or we missed something in the last wipe.”

After a suitably authentic crackle, a voice responded: “You're sure it's a bug?

“Esperanza went off-script when I tried to disarm her. Straight into a seduction routine that's not part of the story.”

A heavy, exasperated sigh issued from the “walkie”. “We'll send a cart over. Calling Full Stop.

Hidden loudspeakers, positioned around the “dig site”, issued the words: “Full Stop. All Units, Full Stop.” Lloyd watched as the rest of the Artemis Pact froze, as Esperanza had, before bending forward. A few of them dropped their weapons; one unfortunate Pact member fell down an incline—thankfully, it was a shallow one, with a canvas sack loaded with beanbag pellets in lieu of actual sand at the other end.

A second voice spoke from the walkie: “Not that I'm calling you a liar, kid, but are you sure this is a bug?

The gruff, low tones of his uncle's voice snapped Lloyd out of his daze at watching the Pact deactivate en masse. “I'd never lie about this stuff, Uncle Harry! It's either a bug or—”

Something we missed on the last wipe, I heard.” Harry sighed. “I'll make my way over as soon as...” He grunted, as if trying to move something off of himself. “...I can get untangled from Sienna. Hell of a time for a full stop order, kid...she was fighting with me over the rifle.

Anything Lloyd could've said in reply was pre-empted by the arrival of a golf cart rolling up. Two men disembarked, both regarding Esperanza with arched eyebrows. “She started a seduction routine, you said?”

“Well...” Lloyd moved to straighten the former sentry's posture, her limbs and torso giving faint whines as he moved her back to a standing position. “I was trying to take the pistol off of her belt, and I...” He turned Esperanza around before recreating his steps. “...guess I just got a bit too close.”

The man who'd been driving the cart nodded. “Figured that. GTB.”

The other man groaned. “...really?

“Groin-to-butt, happens all the time.” The first man shook his head. “Pretty sure she's from Lot 32—check the register, Leo.” He approached Lloyd and the deactivated Esperanza. “That one was loaded up with companions.”

“So she wasn't...”

Lloyd's unfinished question was met with a chuckle. “Sexbots get quadruple-checked, and wiped just as many times.”

“Just checked the register,” Leo chimed in. “You were right, Jim—Lot 32. DCX....forgot the line, but we can check her serial number...”

As the two set about removing Esperanza's faux-leather vest and red jumper, Lloyd couldn't help but wonder why, out of all the gynoids set to be a sentry for this particular event, the one who'd been picked and programmed for it just so happened to still have lines of code that overwrote the script for the story. And of course, it'd been his luck to activate that code while going through a perfectly in-character moment—searching the enemy and relieving them of weapons.

Jim and Leo had just taken a tool to the artificial skin of Esperanza's back when Harry jogged up. “Do I want to know why you're peeling her right now?”

“Lloyd triggered her old code with a GTB,” Jim explained. “Tried to take her pistol, got too close...”

“I was following the recommended procedure for running through this part of the story,” Lloyd insisted. “Non-lethal disarm, all that stuff. I didn't—”

Harry's upheld hand cut off any further discussion. “Which lot was she from?”

“32,” Leo replied. “DCX....ah....A445, B9962, 12-24-56-PTM.”

“Must've been a refurb of a refurb.” Harry regarded the 'bot's exposed internals with a scowl. “DCX's serial numbers aren't set up that way...” He shrugged. “Might as well get her sealed up, take her back to base camp.”

Jim retrieved another tool from his belt. “Want us to check the rest?”

“....actually, yeah.” Harry nodded. “Sienna didn't let go of my rifle even after the Full Stop order. It's probably nothing, but it never hurts to be sure.” He gestured to Esperanza; “Once she's sealed up,” he continued, “just put her on the back of the cart—with a seat belt. Last thing we need is for her to fall off.”

“Got it.” Jim nodded without looking up; the re-sealer was still doing its job on the fake skin of the gynoid's back.

Lloyd fell into step alongside his uncle, already walking over to the golf cart. “...so, ah...”

“You made the right call, kid,” Harry stated. “Especially since the group that'll be going through the story when it goes live is an all-ages one. If she'd have kicked into that old code then...” He shook his head. “I'll have Erin run the deep scan when we get to the camp. Anything turns up there, we bring her back to the ranch and do a full wipe.”

“Got it.” Lloyd climbed into the golf cart's passenger seat. “Did they ask for the Pact, or...”

“They wanted 'World War II German military', complete with the uniforms,” Harry replied. “Unfortunately, the uniforms got held at Customs, and I wasn't about to fork over $500 just for armbands and medals. Be lucky we've got a hell of a writer on staff,” he added, chuckling. “And the ones paying to run this event didn't have a problem with the substitution, either. Win-win for everyone.”

Lloyd nodded, not glancing behind him even as Esperanza was buckled into the rear set of the golf cart. “All set!”

“Thanks.” Harry gave a thumbs-up to the two techs. “Call if anything turns up with the rest—if we find anything at the camp, we'll let you know.”

With that, the golf cart sped off, away from the quarry kitted out like a World War II-era dig site.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Silicon Dynamics had started the trend, really. With their “scenario chambers” and expansive showrooms, the idea of paying customers getting interactive, fully-immersive experiences with realistic androids was one that someone was bound to try and replicate. Granted, Silicon Dynamics' chambers and showrooms were...specific, in the experiences they offered—some people wanted something more in line with Westworld (minus the whole “'bots/hosts turning on the guests” part, obviously). Even in the age of virtual reality, movies (both in theatres and on-demand), a grand total of six home video game consoles vying for shelf space and consumers' cash and numerous other distractions, there were those who wanted quite a bit more interactivity from their diversions, a sense of “you were there” that even the best VR setup couldn't provide.

Not quite a live-action role-play, not quite Improvisational Shakespeare in the Park...something new.

Thus was born StoryCrafters Interactive Entertainment.

Though SCIE was marketed as a “franchise”, there were only seven states with active, fully-furnished branches: California, New York, Nevada, Oregon, Wisconsin, Jefferson and Washington State. Running it all was an effort that took a lot of manpower—and 'bot-power. All “performers” in SCIE events were refurbished, reprogrammed non-sentient androids and gynoids, all running scripts written specifically for the story they were taking part in; repairs, programming and story-writing for the events were handled by humans and sentient 'bots alike. Such was the way of life in the United States, in the year 2023—gone were the days of “robots will take our jobs”, a sentiment that had been punted out the window back in 2015.

“...you awake, Lloyd?”

Harry's inquiry jolted Lloyd out of his reverie. “I wasn't asleep,” he mumbled. “Just...thinking.”

The smile on his uncle's face would've looked right at home on the cover of a pulp adventure magazine. “I'm not mad at you, if you're still worried,” Harry assured him.

“Thanks...” Lloyd managed a smile. “It's just...y'ever wonder if they...I dunno, remember?

“The 'bots we get for the stories?” Harry clarified. “They're NonSens, Lloyd. Not like Erin, or any of the ones working the beat for CAEDIA, or what's-her-face over in California...” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name. “Gala-something, the one with all the purple and pink, with the action figures and the cartoon—”

“Galatea?” Lloyd offered.

“YES.” Harry nodded. “Like her. She's sentient. Erin's sentient, and the CAEDIA 'bots...the CAEDIA androids and gynoids, I mean....they're all sentient.” He jerked a thumb back at Esperanza. “Put it this way: Esperanza can fake a conversation with someone...all it takes is one or two moves, and you see right through her. A sentient can have a conversation with someone—there's websites that'll explain it a lot better than I can.”

“Right.” Lloyd glanced back at Esperanza. “....so...”

“There's a reason Erin's an employee,” Harry continued, “and Esperanza's property.”

Lloyd nodded. “Got it.”

“Good.” A quick glance behind him allowed Harry to see that Esperanza's seat belt was still holding. “We've got another two days or so before we run the event...hopefully we don't get another case like the Estate House...” The look on his face made it clear that any further discussion of that event was probably a bad idea.

The rest of the ride was conducted in silence—Lloyd lost in thought, Harry watching for traffic (and any wayward cows).

Befitting the nature of the event they'd be running, SCIE had set up a “base camp” for the paying clients to use as their home base. It was currently equipped with far more items than a group of World War II-era archaeologists would need, due to the frequency of repairs, programming checks and adjustments made to the “cast”. The employees nodded and waved at the golf cart as it drove past, Harry and Lloyd returning the gestures as they guided the golf cart to the center of the “camp”.

“I just hope Erin isn't too busy,” Harry muttered. “Otherwise...”

The cart slowed to a stop outside of the biggest tent in the centre of the camp; Harry tapped the center of the steering wheel, sounding the horn.

“...in a second...” The tent flap opened to reveal a female figure that, unlike Esperanza, nobody would mistake for a human being. Erin's entire form was the general size and shape of a 20-something human female, but with off-white or grey plastic plating instead of anything remotely resembling skin. Her face was the sole exception—just as expressive as that of a human, but still a noticeably pale white. Her “complexion”, bright yellow hair and makeup made her look slightly clownish—a notion dispelled by the cut-off t-shirt and jean shorts she'd chosen to wear in the mid-December chill. “And what happened to her?” she inquired, nodding at Esperanza.

“Flare-up,” Harry explained, hefting the inert 'bot out of the rear seat of the golf cart. “Lloyd accidentally went GTB, she started getting flirty...”

“Say no more,” Erin cut in. “Bring her inside, and find a free table to lay her on.”

Lloyd followed his uncle into the tent, his attention temporarily caught by the gynoids (for some reason, the previous lot had been entirely populated by female 'bots) and pieces of gynoids strewn about. The whole (or mostly whole) gynoids took up few tables to themselves; one in particular had her abdominal covering removed, her internals framed by synthetic flesh the color of a dark mocha. The rest of the tables in use, with staff darting to and fro, were covered with tools and parts. One, which Lloyd regarded with a wary eye, was being occupied entirely by gynoid heads, three of which were being tested with various tools and prods.

“....wiped her five times,” Erin insisted. “How could—set her down here—could any of her old code have survived that many wipes?” She regarded the intert Spanish gynoid with a frown, as if the incident at the quarry had been her own nefarious intention. “This one's a DCX, you said?”

“Leo and Jim checked it.”

“....Domestic Companion Experiments....” Erin accepted a tablet handed to her by a passing staffer. “....yep. Amour 5020, rolled off the line back in 2014. And there it is...” She held up the tablet for Harry (and Lloyd) to get a glimpse. “Recall Order: 'unintended physical contact in the following regions may result in activation of seduction subroutines', you get the idea.” She flicked her finger across the screen, calling up an image. “GTB, you said?”

“.....yeah.” Lloyd suddenly felt his face getting uncomfortably warm.

“Not your fault, believe me. Take a wild guess as to what kicked off the vast majority of unit returns...” Erin tapped the tablet, zooming in on the rear end of the line drawing. “87% were caused by 'accidental physical contact with buttocks of affected units'. They were supposed to have patched it out.”

“And just our luck,” Harry sighed, “we get an unpatched unit. Please tell me—”

“You can download the patch from the website and update her right now.” Erin had already turned away.

“So we don't need to go through the code?” Lloyd asked. “The wipe would've picked up the issue..”

Erin regarded him with a frown, but her words carried little of the implied annoyance. “...you really want to go through all that trouble?”

“What was the seduction protocol package for her model, anyway?” Harry interjected. “Lloyd said he almost lost his shirt when she got all touchy-feely...”

“...she went for your shirt?”

“Started dancing, facing away from me,” Lloyd recounted. “Then turned to look at me, and tried to unbutton—”

“Right, right...” Erin had called up the website on the tablet again, scrolling through screens with a flick of her thumb. “I can check....Amour 5020....programming....” Her frown looked almost comical. “....yeah, this line didn't have 'undress your partner' as an automatic first action for their seduction package.”

“What about mod options?” Harry prompted. “I see a list right there—”

“Let me check, let me...” A few more flicks of the thumb, and Erin groaned. “....they removed that option because they got too many complaints about dress shirts getting buttons torn off. Doesn't say if they patched it out or not, but...” She turned to frown at the immobile gynoid on the table. “You said she was dancing?”

“Yeah. Sort of, ah...” He attempted a brief impression of the gynoid's dance. “Right up against me, at first.”

“Anything else?”

“...feeling herself—sides, boobs, abs, that kind of thing. Like she was in a music video.”

Erin had queued up a clip on the tablet. “Something like this?” The brief video showed a pale, lithe beauty in a one-piece swimsuit doing an identical dance to what Esperanza had done after the unintended close contact with Lloyd.

“....that's it, yeah, that's...that's exactly it!”

“Figured.” Erin closed the video and scrolled up the page. “Someone tried to cross-mod this unit without doing a shred of research. That option's from PlasTech!”

The gravity of Erin's tone—and Harry's expression—was slightly confusing to Lloyd. “...and that's a bad thing...why?”

“PlasTech uses proprietary software, kid,” Harry clarified. “No cross-modding allowed. One of the reasons their stock was in the toilet three years ago.”

“Meaning that someone did a hell of a hatchet job on 'Esperanza' here,” Erin finished. “We're gonna have to give her a factory reset, then the patch, then the script.” She planted her hands on her hips, frowning at the deactivated gynoid on the table. “And Harry, you'll want to keep tabs on the supplier who sent this one. No telling how many more basement hack-jobs are in their inventory...”

“Got it. Anything else we need to worry about before the paying customers show up?”

“Not much...well, Pam was acting kind of weird. Weirder than her script called for.” Erin shrugged. “Couldn't find anything wrong with her here at the camp, so I sent her back to the shop at your place.”

“So much for a quiet night in.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“No problem—oh, and Customs called. They said they can get the uniforms here for just $250.”

Harry was already walking away; he waved off the offer without looking back. “Forget it. My luck, someone'll drive by, call the cops on the show and I'll have a lot of questions to answer.”

The best Lloyd could do was give an apologetic shrug as he ran to keep up with his uncle.

After a few more minutes of talking to everyone on staff at the camp, it was evident that things were, in fact, running as smoothly as could be expected. By the time the event started, they'd be gone—“they'd kill the immersion if they stuck around”, Harry had said. Lloyd had been present for at least three previous events, and none of them had run with more than skeleton crews, waiting just out of sight, to handle any problems....apart from the Estate House, but staff issues were far from the only issues with that particular event...

“Other than Esperanza going off like she did,” Harry mused, as he and Lloyd headed for the “car park” of the camp, “I'd say we're pretty well set for the full run-through. Might have you tag along with the group, be the 'hired guide'...the last lot was supposed to have a male 'bot for that role...” His expression darkened as he muttered something about extra shipping costs. “...anyway, it'll go well. It has to.”

“I hope so,” Lloyd murmured. “I mean...the last few went well.” He knew that adding “except for the Estate House” to that sentence would earn him a death glare all the way back to his uncle's house. “...I think this one'll go well.”

“I think so, too, kid.” Harry nodded. “If anything, it'll be the best one yet.” He nodded to the driver's side door of the Ford RangeStar the pair had just approached. “You get the wheel this time,” he added, tossing Lloyd the keys.

Lloyd nodded. Thus far, the day was shaping up to be a good one...
-------------------------------------
“....oh, what in the Hell...”

The lights in the windows of Harry's ranch house, combined with the entirely too-loud bass thumping of a big band tune that could be heard even from inside the RangeStar, was all the proof needed that something had gone...awry, for lack of a better term. Harry had just finished up the last of several phone calls when he first heard the muted tones of Glenn Miller and his Orchestra; Lloyd, having no idea what to expect, guided the pickup truck to a slow stop in the driveway.

“There'd better be a damn good explanation for this,” Harry growled, stowing his phone and throwing open the front passenger door of the RangeStar. As soon as he was free of his seatbelt and out of the truck, he was storming off for the front door: “TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN, RIGHT NOW!

Instantly, the Glenn Miller cut out—which only made it apparent, as Harry opened the front door—that something else had gone...awry.

Lloyd was out of his seatbelt in seconds, leaving the truck and pressing the lock icon on the keyfob without looking back as he ran to catch up with his uncle. His first thought was that someone had decided to get plastered and throw an in-character swing party...which, even as he thought of the idea, made almost no sense. Nobody on-staff in SCIE had been “problematic”, in any sense of the term, before; it'd be a stretch for any one of them to go off now.

The truth of the matter was only slightly less bizarre than what Lloyd had expected.

“....tried to fix her up, she was turned off and everything, but she just...I don't know how it happened, she reactivated and started running the script, found the radio...” One of the staffers (Lloyd couldn't remember the guy's name) was nearly crying as he tried to explain the situation to Harry. “...she just wouldn't stop dancing, nobody could turn the radio off, it was voice coded and she...I don't even know how she turned the stupid thing on...” As Lloyd neared the door, he could see that the distraught staffer was accompanied by two others, and a thoroughly annoyed (and confused) Harry.

“...how did she get from partying like it's 1945,” Harry quietly asked, “to that?!

Lloyd stepped into the front room...and immediately saw what “that” was.

Pam, the gynoid mentioned in passing back at the camp, had apparently gone haywire—not in the stereotypical “start throttling the nearest person” way, or in a self-destructive way...but in a very weird way. Her cheerful, Midwestern features were frozen in a wide-eyed smile, framed by straw-blonde hair; her checked shirt was halfway open, a period-accurate bra on full display—right above the sizeable opened abdominal panel showing off her internals. Her entire body was contorting in what was apparently supposed to be a dance, but her movements were slow, obviously robotic and hardly “rhythmic”. Worse, she was nearly bent over backwards over the table that most of the staff living on-site took their meals at...and still “dancing”. Her limbs, torso and head whirred audibly with every movement. The sight was both spellbinding and off-putting—Pam's obvious beauty only slightly undercut by the staccato, mechanical “dance”.

“...tried to repair her on the table?!” Harry demanded. “That's what the shop is for, out back!”

“We tried to fix her in the shop,” the beleaguered staffer replied. “That's when she reactivated, said she 'needed to freshen up' and made a beeline for here!”

Lloyd edged his way further into the room, doing his best not to knock anything over. The sight of the blonde gynoid still “dancing”, oblivious to the world around her, was surreal, almost dreamlike. It was hard to tell....

The sight of twin trails snaking down the insides of Pam's thighs, staining her skin bright green, caught Lloyd's attention.

“Ah, guys,” he stated, “I think she's, ah....leaking...”

Harry, midway through trying to assure his cringing employee that the mess probably wasn't his fault, turned, glancing first at Lloyd and then at Pam. “What do you...aw, for CRAP'S sake!” He motioned for two other employees to help him wrestle the gynoid to the floor; she continued writhing in their grip, her limbs still whirring as she went.

“Hydraulic fluid and coolant,” one of the employees—a crisply-dressed brunette—stated, her tone calm. “And interior joint lubricant. Not—”

“I get it,” Harry grunted. “If it was the other kind, we'd all have smelled it by now...get her into a sitting position, if you can, on three...one....two—”

Pam's eyes went even wider than before—something was either going wrong, or about to go even worse.

“Uncle Harry, look out!”

“What—” Harry barely had time to dodge the clubbing blow from the malfunctioning gynoid; in her current state, it looked as if she were in the middle of an aerobics manoeuver, twisting up and to the side before going back down. “THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HER?!”

As if to answer, a muffled blast went off inside of Pam's chest, behind her breasts. A thin wisp of smoke issued through her clenched teeth.

“She's suffering catastrophic system failures,” the brunette stated. “We should—”

“LESS TALKING, CAM,” Harry shouted, “MORE DOING!

The brunette knelt on Pam's legs, roughly taking her by the shoulders and jerking her into a sitting position. With one hand, she worked the blonde free of her shirt. “Remove her dorsal exosheathe panel near the base of her spine—”

“I've fixed her before, I know how!” Harry insisted. His fingers worked into the gynoid's skin where Cam indicated.

The minute Harry had pried the rectangle of skin loose, one of Cam's hands darted into the newly-opened panel. Lloyd couldn't see exactly what she did, but it was obvious that it worked; mere seconds later, Pam froze, her eyes crossed as her head cocked sideways before bowing to her chest. Her arms, still held by Harry and another employee, ceased their frantic, insect-like motions and went limp. A low, dying whine emanated from inside the blonde's opened chest cavity.

As if to drive home how thoroughly ruined the gynoid was, a gush of the green coolant/lubricant mix flooded across her thighs. Cam quickly repositioned herself to avoid getting any on her.

Harry was glaring—not at Lloyd, Cam, or any of his other employees, but at the now thoroughly defunct Pam.

“What,” he demanded, “the HELL just happened?!”

Can started to offer an explanation, but Harry spoke up before she could: “Get a bag and get her—” He jerked his thumb at the ruined Pam. “—in it, and somebody clean this up!” He didn't need to indicate the bright green puddle that was forming on the floor between Pam's legs. “Call Erin, tell her we've got another write-off...and where are her pants?!”

“She was wearing a dress,” Cam calmly explained. “The problem was in her pelvic servomotor arrays, and—”

“Later.” Harry shook his head. “You got the dress off of her, but not the underwear?”

“She reactivated before—”

“Phone call for you, Harry.” A young man about Lloyd's age ran up, handing over a smart phone. “Something about—”

“Tell 'em I'm busy and take a message. You two—” Harry nodded at two figures in work clothes, but with obviously robotic arms and motionless metal faces—who'd just descended the staircase to the right of the living room. “Get her up, bag her, and bring her to the shop. If we can't fix her, we can at least salvage a few parts.”

The closer of the two figures nodded. “I'll get the bag.” His voice was a surprisingly gentle baritone, contrasting with his obviously robotic look.

After a weary nod, Harry nearly fell into the closest chair by the table. “..unbelievable.” He threw his head back, a groan of utter frustration and near-defeat punctuating his reaction to the utter madness that had unfolded. “Cam...get all the papers for the lot Pam was from, and see if we can call the supplier in the morning.”

“On it.” Cam gave a brief nod, turning to leave the room.

“Bruce, get the shop prepped for a full teardown on Pam. Whatever the hell happened to her, it wasn't just code.”

The other metallic-faced android nodded. “Should I call the base camp, ask 'em to send Erin over?”

“....no....yes.” Harry grunted as he hauled himself out of the chair. “Tell 'em whichever 'bot they can script to take Pam's place at the camp, do it—after they make sure the 'bot's green and clean. When Reg gets back with the bag, Lloyd, you can help him bring Pam out to the shop.”

Lloyd, who'd been regarding the ruined blonde gynoid's form ever since her deactivation, nodded. “Got it.”

“Good. And somebody,” Harry added, “clean up this mess on the floor, please!”

A few minutes passed before Reg returned with what looked like a full-length suit bag. “Ready when you are.”

“Lloyd, help him get Pam into the bag and out to the shop...”

It occurred to Lloyd, as he and Reg made their way out to the prefabricated metal building behind the ranch house, known as “the shop”, that any bystanders who had no idea what his uncle's job was might be suspicious, horrified or a mixture of both at the sight of two men carrying an apparent body bag to a building with a keypad lock on the door.

“...how?”

Lloyd wasn't aware he'd uttered a word until Reg spoke up: “How what?”

“....how'd it happen? With Pam, I mean.”

The android shrugged. “One minute, everything was normal...the next, she was sitting up, stomach panel off and no dress on. Said she had to 'freshen up', just walked right out of the shop. Nearly walked through the closed doors, too.”

Reg and Lloyd had reached the door to the shop. “Just set her down for a sec...” Lloyd followed Reg's suggestion; once the bag containing Pam (or what was left of her; Lloyd had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't be up and running again any time soon) was on the ground, Reg keyed in the necessary code to open the door. “And up...” The two hefted the bag again, carefully moving through the door to avoid banging it on the jamb.

Most of the vertical racks inside the shop were empty—of the 50 or so inside, only ten were occupied. Said “occupants” were invariably female, of varying heights; all were clothed, albeit mostly in one-piece unitards or swimsuits. There were far more partial “units”, all in various stages of disassembly, on the myriad of work benches and tables set up near tool racks, testing apparatus and other such gear. The scripting station—used to reprogram freshly-bought 'bots with all the need-to-know for their characters in any given upcoming event—was currently occupied; Lloyd considered meandering just a bit sideways, to get a glimpse at the rest of the gynoid having a temporary personality written into her...

“Just set her down here, Lloyd.”

The pair had reached an empty table; Lloyd followed Reg's lead and set the bag down. With a nod and a sort of digitized approximation of a sigh, Reg unzipped the bag; Pam's eyes were still crossed, her mouth slightly open. She had the look of someone who'd been blinded by a camera flash before being laid low; it was...oddly sad, in a way. The sight of her internals, charred black and slightly corroded, did little to make her look “at peace” in any way.

“...I think she's a goner,” Reg muttered, his artificial voice sounding legitimately melancholy. “Something in her—maybe a few somethings—blew out. Probably started when she switched on during maintenance.”

“Damn,” Lloyd murmured. “Must be a bad way to go out....”

“Don't feel too bad,” Reg assured him. “A non-sentient like her would've just registered a load of errors. She didn't feel any pain when it all went wrong.” He shook his head, the gesture surprisingly grave despite the lack of expression on his metal face. “I don't want to think about what would've happened if she'd been sentient...running a script is one thing, but an actual personality, actual feelings...”

“Like yours?” Lloyd offered.

Reg chuckled—the sound slightly unnerving from behind immobile, sculpted metal lips. “And I thought getting these options in the rebuild would make me look like a non-sentient...” He nodded. “Yes, like mine. As for her...” He glanced back at Pam. “I get the feeling she was either a low-spec unit, or 'fixed up' by amateurs before she shipped out.”

As he made his way to the door of the shop, Lloyd tried not to dwell on the fact that Pam reminded him of a teacher's assistant from his old high school in Senior Year. Bubbly, vivacious, kind...he couldn't imagine seeing her like Pam was.

He wondered, for the fiftieth time, how people had coped with similar feelings back before 2015....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"No one steals our chicks.....and lives!"

Post Reply
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 21 guests