Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Chapter 3 (final!) complete

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Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Chapter 3 (final!) complete

Post by australopith » Thu Aug 11, 2022 1:19 pm

[Chapter 1 was here. Chapter 2 was here. Propman and I proudly bring you our conclusion!]

While Contessa may have been blindsided for the moment, she proved to have retained an edge on Greg—who, as time passed, realized he hadn’t fully thought their current crisis through. Contessa had locked herself in his lab; fine in theory, but what if—uncharacteristically paranoid over Ransom’s reign of terror—she were to refuse access even to Greg? Furthermore, as long as she resided there, Greg could not contact her without going there.

And, to his surprise, Greg realized in her absence that he actually needed Bella and her organizational skills. She could help him deal with her family, enabling him to take his mind off them. She could at least subtly influence Ransom or other guests. Maybe her peskiness was an acceptable price to pay for these advantages.

Or maybe—drip, drip, drip—she was just slowly conditioning Greg to rely on her. Could it be? "Constant training is crucial in achieving obedience, non è vero?" she had asked him earlier. Hmm.

Greg was left on his own to console Duke Alfred, who didn’t fully realize what had happened to his wife. Nightmares had kept him awake all evening, despite his programmed urge to sleep and recharge. The Duke had been brooding over Roger’s death—which was technically the acceptable casualty of a duel—but also at Ransom’s threats to his daughters.

Why, Alfred wondered later, had he stupidly escorted Ransom to his sleeping room after that? Shouldn’t he and Winnie have just thrown the upstart out?

The Duke had gotten up to shower and think this over when the ruckus in his bedroom began—and by the time he got back there, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be his wife’s dead body and just the shadow of her assailant, a sight so horrifying that he didn’t dare make his presence known.

Duke Alfred was still shivering and heartbroken as he described everything to Greg, who regretted that there was now no easy way to adjust the Duke’s memory banks. It would have been so much easier had he only remembered vague details of the evening. It was a relief, at least, that Winifred's body had been moved. Greg could claim she had mysteriously vanished since the assault, then feign the hope that wherever she was, she might recover.

Greg decided to implicate Ransom, whom the Duke already suspected of the attack—and who couldn’t be located at the moment, either. Greg vowed that he and Contessa were on the case.

But then there was Calvin; and explaining to Calvin exactly HOW Contessa was on the case, and where she might be now, proved a little harder.

"So WHERE is she—" Calvin shook his head.

"She’s in the castle, but she’s…" Greg cursed his creativity. "She’s working on something."

"Just like her, isn’t it? This Sweeney Todd bloke means business, and she’s what—balancing the autumn budget? Or if she’s plotting to give Ransom the arsekicking he needs, why didn’t she tell me?" Calvin added suspiciously. "I don't want to lose her, what? I could be helping her."

Greg grinned. "Maybe that’s why she DIDN’T tell you."

"Right," said Calvin, rolling his eyes. "She just needs to be disappointing SOMEBODY at all times. And when she gets bored putting ME through the grist-mill, it’s straight on to you, eh? What a woman."

Greg just sighed. "Anyway, don’t worry about her, Calvin. She’ll be safe."

"From who—Ransom? She invited him herself, didn’t she?"

"She did. Can’t fathom why."

I mean, I KNOW why, Greg thought to himself, but I mean it metaphorically. She’s a brainiac—how didn’t she guess he was as awful as he is? If she lets me back in the lab, though, I can find Ransom with the cameras myself. But first I should check up on Dorothy and Monica… fuck. if Ransom hasn’t gotten to them already.

Monica wasn’t in her room. Greg was afraid he would have to go on another wild goose chase, but luckily he spotted her being consoled by her father.

To Greg’s surprise, Monica felt enough of an emotional connection to him to break from the Duke, run towards Greg, and embrace him warmly. They strolled out of the Duke’s hearing range to talk privately.

"Gregory! Jesus, I’m truly glad you’re here. Father told me Mother was attacked—DEAD, he thinks, and vanished later; please be bloody wrong!—Dorothy is acting all… all… and I can’t find Contessa anywhere. We might need to escape. What is even happening?"

Gregory was at once besieged by a young, attractive woman and facing an outbreak of genuine human emotion from a complex machine. He hugged her back.

"You’re fine, Monica. Everything will be alright—eventually, I hope." He patted her gently on the back. "Remember what Tess told you? I mean… she told me she told you. Go to your room and lock yourself up."

"So you’re planning something?" she asked him nervously. "I’ve got to avenge Mum somehow. But that rotter is slyer than I figured, and if I attack him again, he might have other—weird advantages. I never know as much as I WANT to know. …FINE, let’s go to my bloody room." Monica kicked at the air resentfully before half-hugging Greg again.

I wish I was planning something, Greg thought. I’m not used to dealing with a full psycho. Contessa’s solution was callous even for her, but maybe it makes sense? Once Ransom murders everyone, he’ll have to leave, won’t he? SimulEnt can give him a refund or something…

Greg realized he was shivering at the thought that "once Ransom murders everyone" included the very real, frustrated girl walking arm-in-arm with him.

Or I could put all the androids in the castle into emergency shutdown mode, and try to make Ransom think the monitor display means they’re all busted? No, he’d just complain to management and bust ME. And I can’t shut everyone down, anyway. I’d need the stopwatch… and Contessa would never let me shut HER down… or if I did, SHE’D bust me the minute she was turned back on.

"Fuck. I can’t do ANYTHING without Contessa’s permission," Greg blurted out. "But what the hell’s she supposed to do on her own?"

"Well… she promised to teach me how to swordfight—and I’m an athlete already," Monica reminded him. "I’m sure I could pick up a few pointers in an hour. And if I forced Ransom to duel with me that way—no guns…"

Monica glumly realized there was little chance of making Ransom obey any rule ever. "Well—what else can we do? Unless…" Her eyes widened. "Well, you know. Run into the night, like I always wish I could. Leave the Castle… it’ll just have to get on without us, you know?" She gave Greg a wistful smirk.

"No!" Greg impulsively panicked. As a longtime nature girl, Monica wasn’t likely to get lost in the wilderness, but she could still run out of power there—or in Lamont, if she got that far. Or reaching Lamont active, still believing it to be 1935 Britain, might be problem enough. And if Ransom noticed her running away first, he might alert Greg’s superiors himself.

Does every solution to this problem end with me losing my job? Damn!

Greg’s mind churned through many thoughts at once. The guy running this castle REALLY needs an assistant. Too bad I’m CONTESSA’S assistant now. …But hey, that means SHE’S in charge. She wants to be, right? So she’s got to stop Ransom somehow—or I have to be able to make her. Stan Lee said it best: with great power comes great responsibility!

"I need to see if Dorothy’s all right," Greg explained to Monica. "Then I’ll have a talk with Bella. Really, we should have talked things out like adults earlier, instead of wasting time on idle chitchat," he finished regretfully.

"Do you sleep with her?" Monica asked Greg, letting go of his arm and observing him with interest.

Now. Of all times. Okay, what the hell…

Greg took a deep breath—and smiled, in spite of himself. "Yes. But it’s only sex. No feelings."

The Tidyshire family were built to provide romance to guests, and to overlook dalliances as often as possible. But Monica was a very good simulation of a young, inquisitive person—and with natural concern for her brother, she pressed on.

"Gorblimey. Thought so… Calvin’s actually hinted at it now and then. But he sounded okay with it? Is… is Calvin OKAY with it?" The young athlete sounded at once stunned, curious, and a little amused.

"It’s weird, but yes," Greg grinned, rolling his eyes. "He's still my best friend, you know? It's sort of less like I betrayed him, and more like Bella took me. She… I think she won’t admit it, but she likes Calvin… AND likes me."

"That doesn't sound like ‘no feelings,’ Greg," Monica half-smiled, relieved but intrigued.

"Then maybe it’s not. It’s hard to tell with… with Bella. God knows she enjoys sex, but sometimes it's the only way for her to express an emotional connection. She can be distant and downright cold, but... You've said it yourself, Monica. She's—interesting."

Monica paused as they walked down the hall toward Dorothy’s still-distant room. "You and I—we connect too, don't we, Greg?"

"Er..." he stopped, baffled.

"Not sexually," Monica blushed, modestly looking down: a pre-programmed subroutine perhaps meant to encourage flirting. "I mean hiking, and walking—and getting out. You understand what I’m feeling. Nobody else knows what I burn for… Sometimes I think Mother just wants to keep me here forever."

Greg did like accompanying Monica when she took guests walking outside the castle—even if just to make sure she didn’t get damaged. Or so he told himself.

"If that horrid Ransom—" Monica started, not wanting to openly speak of the worst. “Well, I'll try to stay safe. But if anything happens to me..."

"Nothing," said Greg hopefully, but halfheartedly. "Nothing will happen to you, Moni." Was this the same mind that had just briefly considered letting all the robots get killed? Contessa might callously abandon her family; but hell—I’M not the one programmed to be evil.

"If anything happens to me," Monica reiterated, "don't ever forget to LIVE, Greg. Like I try to, even within my confines." She gently reached over and half-hugged him again. "Think about—well, you can't always be a butler here?" she mused. "Get out; round England more. Find a boss who appreciates you more than my mum... I don't think she's ever appreciated you as much as I do... or even Bella does."

"Well, she—" Greg started. This was no subroutine.

"Greg. Get out and around and be the person I WANT to be. Don’t stay here and get hurt… either in the future, or by Ransom now."

"I’m gonna be all right," he tried to sound consoling. But WOULD he be all right? There was a maniac running around. Even if he was just—targeting robots, it didn’t mean that Greg was completely safe.

"Regardless of anything, you should be careful. Right, we’re here." Monica exclaimed, reassured.

"Huh?"

"Dorothy’s room. Can you help her? Somehow I know you can." Monica put her hand on his shoulder.

"I hope so. Listen, maybe…" Greg hesitated. It was so easy to think of Monica as a person now. Yes, it would be best if she didn’t have to watch her sister being fixed.

"...Go to your room, okay, Moni? It’s best to stock up. Take some food, prep your—weapons, I guess? If I come by, I’ll knock four times quick and two times slow."

"Weapons—pfah. I haven’t been able to find my hunting knife for weeks," she complained. "But, well… do you have a plan, Greg?”

"Not yet. Go—now. Tess and I will think of something." A wave of humility seemed to wash over him. "And I’ll try to think about the long term, too."

"Cor, I’m glad," said Monica before disappearing around the corner. "Don’t change your mind. Bella needs you one way—and if it won't hurt you—as long as it doesn't, you know? Maybe I need you another."

Opening the door to Dorothy’s room, Greg hadn't thought he would change his mind. He had been about to voluntarily tell Monica something else; but he decided to save the shock for another day, and another time.

- - - - -

Dorothy was semi-conscious. In a way, it made things worse. She stared at Greg absently.

"Hello, young lady." Greg approached the pretty blonde girl, but there was no reaction from her other than a look, acknowledging his presence. She observed him, blank-faced. "Your sister told me you’re acting all… weird. Care to explain things to a friend?”

No answer. Her eyes followed him as he moved around her pastel-pink room, but she didn’t say a word. Greg carefully waved his hand in front of her, but she didn’t answer.

"Dorothy, what’s the capital of Greece?"

No answer. But she did react; she was breathing and blinking. Sad. Without the watch, Greg, couldn’t put her into diagnostic mode, so reached for the back of her neck to reset her. A click… and Dorothy would have slumped uncontrollably had he not held her up. Another switch and simulated life once again entered Dorothy’s body. She took a deep breath.

"Roger! Mother. …Mr. Raaaansom, I’m noooot THAT kind of…"

A breath.

She stared at Gregory with a blank face. "I miss… I would like to dance… We could... I don’t want to die."

And there she sat, politely gazing at Gregory.

Greg’s robotics training had involved some elements of psychology, a natural need in the age of commercially-available AIs. "No one is going to hurt you, Dotty," he said, trying to sound encouraging. "It’s me—Jenkins. I’m here, and I’m your friend." He kneeled opposite her and cupped her hand in his. "Can you hear me?"

She blinked and closed her eyes, but slowly nodded.

"I can help you. I fix things. I could fix THIS. You won’t remember anything. Your mother will be back, and Roger, and everything will work out fine," he said softly. She didn’t react.

"Do you need help, Dotty?" Nothing.

Greg stepped back and drew away his hand, hoping Dorothy could stand up and follow him on her own. She didn’t. He sighed and reached for the back of her neck again, turning the young heiress off.

Greg had led a somewhat distracted life at the time of his AI programming exams, and even though he was somewhat familiar with the software, his only reliable solution in a case like this was a basic one: a reset and memory wipe. He restore Dorothy later and haul her to the lab now—though he’d need to take care that the noise didn’t bring Monica running. Given that he was going to the lab, he might as well also start preparing to negotiate with Contessa.

- - - - -

"Bella!"

"That’s ‘Milady’," she corrected him sharply. Seated in his workchair, she slowly turned to face him, presenting her crossed legs in pantyhose. She frowned to see he was awkwardly carrying Dorothy. "Another victim?"

"Not directly. Some psychological damage combined with lack of focus and a software loop. I’ve turned her off and I’ll perform a soft memory wipe."

"Soft?" Contessa was genuinely somewhat concerned now, and actually helped Greg put Dorothy onto a workbench.

"I’m going to take away the equivalent of her short-term memory,” Greg explained, “but the gist of the experiences she’s lived through will remain unchanged. The same will go for everyone here—except for you."

"So what, Dorothy won’t trust fat guys with neckbeards from now on?” Contessa tut-tutted. “If she wasn’t distrustful of them already, that’s hardly a life lesson worth preserving. ...I AM going soft in my third year of life."

"The theory,” Greg sighed, “is that the more experiences an AI gains, the better it performs… which apparently applies to you, too." He reached for his shoulder bag. "I brought you the things you asked for… and some more gifts."

"Ah! Tribute," Contessa smirked. Greg suspected that the phrase “thank you” had not originally been part of Contessa’s programmed vocabulary, and that she resented it even when she learned it.

"Well… more like the price of a favor. Chocolate and sweet liqueur... we’re friends now, right, Milady?"

Contessa eased up; her smirk became more playful as she slightly tilted her head. "I suppose… where did you learn this mercantile approach, from ME? Bwahaha! I might be going soft, but at least I’m corrupting you along the way. I LOVE corrupting the innocent."

"I need help," Greg sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Ah!" she laughed. "And naturally, Mr. Caltech Trained Engineer runs crying to his mistress. What did you botch this time, Gregory?"

"Me? Nothing. I want to use your… relatively great intellect and cunning to help me get rid of Ransom. Legally immobilize him or neutralize him—or get him off our property without fear of him blowing the whistle on us."

Contessa turned serious. "Flattery will get you a long way…" she began, guardedly.

"I’m not saying you should go out there and strike him down, Bella! I just want the smartest—I guess, the most brilliant person I know to help me with a solution to the problem… she’s partly responsible for," he finished, trying to remind her gently.

"Well…" Contessa felt uneasy; but Greg’s sucking-up had an effect on her, as per her programming. "I’ve been watching Ransom on security feeds,” she explained, “and I… I think I know how to get rid of him. There’s one tiny problem—I might die."

"I can…"

"Yes, yes," she waved him off dismissively. "I’m sure you can put me back together or something. But we’re not dealing with a ‘push-someone-off-a-cliff’ death, or a ‘stab-in-the-dark’ death here. I’m not a Caltech graduate, but I think the death I’m at risk of could REALLY mess up my circuits and whatnot. I don’t want to risk my life. Even if it’s just an electronic simulation... it’s all I have."

"I can perform a backup even if you get… destroyed,” Greg offered. “And implant a copy of your brain into a new body. You won’t return to your factory settings—you’ll return to the self-aware Bella you are now.”

"But that won’t be me, because I’ll be dead," Contessa observed slowly. "It’ll just be a copy of me. Do you even hear what you’re talking about, fool?" She did, of course, make a mental note about the possibility of copying herself, because that’s how her mind worked.

"If you don’t want to help, that’s okay," Greg said glumly. ...Okay, here goes nothing. "I expected better from you, though. So did Monica. And Calvin. And the rest of your family and friends."

"Bah! I’m supposed to be the villainess, not the heroine."

"That’s why I’m offering you gifts. And my friendship. And—"

She smirked, but it was a bitter smile. "Darling, what more could I want? From my perspective, I own you and this castle, lock, stock, and barrel! I just have to wait out that horrible man; he goes home, you fix the others…"

"He nearly destroyed Winnie… the Duchess. He might destroy Monica. Or Calvin. You care about them, at the very least."

"I… Curses, I really do. But that doesn’t mean that I want to sacrifice myself. A... pretend woman has to really die so that other pretend people won’t pretend to die?" She sounded really offended. "Gregory, you demand too much of me. I SHAN’T take the risk."

"Remember what you yourself said this morning? ‘Who runs the castle now? The one and only evil Contessa!’ You’re the only fighter here. Aren’t you going to defend your family? With the Duchess dead and the Duke a broken man, you ACTUALLY rule the place now. Noblesse oblige, Your Grace!"

She stopped, silent. "It IS true. Well, I always REALLY rule this place behind the scenes. But..."

"Contessa… Milady… Bella! I don’t know how to neutralize Ransom, and I don’t even know how to find an easy solution online. What do I Google? Your—your gonzo villainess programming may sort of be an act, but it’s the best strategizer we have right now, and you’re… also in some ways smarter than me! Tell me what to do and I’ll DO it, just TAKE THAT RISK and TRUST me you’ll be safe.” Greg was on his knees before her, and observing the sight, Bella felt a special twinge of warmth in her circuits.

She sighed and smiled. "You know what I love about BDSM?”

“WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT BDSM?”

Since there was no immediate danger in the room with them, Contessa was almost amused at Greg’s desperation—and allowed herself a moment to muse philosophically.

“Sure—a lot of BDSM is fun…”

“BELLA!”

“...but more and more, I find it…too messy for my tastes. Blood and welts are so unaesthetic, you know? If I wanted to fiddle with ropes and knots, I’d become a goddamned Girl Scout! I suppose someone in HQ just thought it would suit me, as a villainess, to have the skills. I’m… well, okay, maybe I’m a TIIINY bit of a sadist. But basically, the thing that gives me a real kick about BDSM is the gaze.”

“What?!”

“The eyes of the poor, cute little victim for whom I'm the only release, the only hope, the only salvation. And now, well... I see you staring at me JUST LIKE THAT. I don't even need to spank you anymore, do I?"

"You can if you want to!" Greg blurted out, a little surprised at his own words, before jumping up and adding, “Whatever will convince you of the GODDAMN STAKES! You’re ALL in danger and you’re NOT JUST DOLLS.”

Contessa smiled wickedly and stood up. "Did I say you could stand up, slave? Stay. Good boy. Very well. Your devotion alone has convinced me to assist you, Gregory. Besides, you’re in danger too." She tenderly stroked his hair. "Boys who torture animals tend to move straight to human beings next. Ransom might move from lifelike robots… directly to you."

"Did Monica tell you she was worried about me?"

"Of course not." Contessa raised an eyebrow; honestly surprised, but never breaking her flow. "I’ll save that poor, misspent tomboy too. I mean, I’m her friend… how many friends does Monica have besides me and you? But first there’ll be a matter of you… performing certain services for me.”

"What services?" Greg took Contessa’s iPad out of his shoulder bag and put it on desk. "Do you want me to order you a pizza, or..."

"Cazzo! I’m trying to be seductively ambiguous here!" Contessa put her hands on her shapely hips. "First, I want your TOTAL assurance that you’ll do everything to keep me alive. And not just today; even if... I don’t know, even if ten years from now, SimulEnt decides to rebuild this whole castle as a fairytale realm or some other such nonsense, I want you to sneak ME out by any means necessary."

"Done!"

"We’ve already planned our first big date. Cats, of course. That has to happen… But I also want to go to Europe. See the REAL London and Rome. Not now, not even this year. But you must promise me that. Foreign travel. Like a person, not in the cargo compartment or whatnot."

"If I can affor—" Greg paused, seeing Contessa’s disapproving face. "I promise."

"And my last request is…" she paused dramatically.

"Done!"

"...a pair of Stuart Weitzman Sleek Predator black leather over-the-knee boots with pointed toes, on four-inch heels. Size five. They’re only $1,200," she added delicately.

"WHAT?" Greg had rationalized that a European trip would be doable in the long run, but this was such a specific demand… "You’ll only risk your life for overpriced shoes?"

"Designer BOOTS. I’m proving to what lengths I’ll go for you, Gregory. You should do the same. Besides, my life is worth well over $350,000. I considered demanding those boots as a Christmas or birthday gift, but now that I have the opportunity..."

He just sighed. "Fine. Boots it is. Fuck, at this point I’m even willing to lick them for you."

"And get your drool all over my Weitzmans?!" She sounded honestly offended once again. "If I die, BURY me in them. And in that lovely black velvet jacket with the faux seal collar; you know the one."

"I don’t intend to see you buried," Greg shot back. She… she might be overdramatizing, he thought, but I WOULD bury her if she died. Not strip her for spare parts, not disassemble her and junk her. You don’t disassemble dead PEOPLE.

"...Good BOY," Contessa smiled cheerfully. "We really do get along splendidly. I’m going up to my room to pick up my fighting costume and sword—and my smokes. And to say my goodbyes to my Calvin."

"I’m here." Calvin sounded from the corridor.

The door to Greg’s lab had, as it happened, been left open after his arrival, a condition under which robots otherwise programmed to ignore the lab could see it. The worries about Ransom, the neutralization plan, and even Contessa’s manipulative teasing were suddenly over.

Greg and Contessa looked at each other with rather wide eyes. How long had Calvin been here? What did he know?

Unfortunately for the two of them, the answers were ‘a while’ and ‘too much.’

[This is JUST the shake-up you think it is. To be concluded!]
Last edited by australopith on Sun Aug 21, 2022 12:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Ch 3 (final!) complete

Post by australopith » Sun Aug 21, 2022 12:46 pm

"Why are you thinking you’re going to die, Bella? What… what even IS this place? This room, I mean. But stone the crows—all of bleedin’ Tidyshire as well, I guess! And why was Gregory talking about ‘fixing’ you? Why is Mother…" Calvin began breathing hard, and all three conscious beings in the room might never have been more alive than at that moment.

"Pretend people? Jesus, is that what we are?" Calvin’s eyes lingered on his disabled family members, with their plainly visible electronic components.

Contessa approached her husband, pulled him forcefully down, and passionately kissed him. "Long story short," she explained seriously and lovingly, “none of this is real—well, not as you’ve understood it, or like I used to understand it. We’re not ‘real people’. We’re machines from our future, playing out a sort of 1936 that never was. But I live for it; and now I might die for real and never see you again; so I just want to say that I love you... in my own… robot, human way."

Calvin, true to his nature, was skeptical, outraged, resigned, hopeful, and pessimistic all at once. “We’re bloody ROBOTS.”

“We’re amazing, intense people who happen to BE robots. We’re also incredible actors.”

“We’re in some bog-swoggling future time. What, 1999? You know, like one of Monica’s songs… ‘in 1999, I reckon you know what I mean—people will drink gasoline—’ And cars fly, I suppose? Can we not get a goddamned flying car, since everything else has gone wrong with this week.”

“It’s 2036, and most cars still drive, darling. I was disappointed, too—”

“AND YOU MIGHT DIE FOR REAL.”

“That’s the news, Cal. Keep your head on, and we’ll see if I do.”

She turned to Greg. "So here’s my actual last request. Tell Calvin. Tell Calvin everything. Even if he gets a new bitch of a wife, I want him to remember me."

"I will." Greg reassured her. "Cal is my friend. …My best friend."

I called him that to Monica earlier, didn’t I? Why does it feel different now?

Perhaps because a grateful, atypically aware Cal was standing beside Greg, visibly glad for any shelter from the storm.

"Thanks, mate," Calvin said to him. "When your entire bloody reality is torn asunder—or something equally poetic and morbid and ironic and scratchy-around-the-edges—you can call it ‘Monday’… or… well, be glad you’ve got someone close. …Like you do too, Bella. I’ll remember."

"Grazie. Enough foolishness. To arms, and all that rot."

At once smug, satisfied, deathly afraid, and desperately in need of a cigarette, Contessa marched out.

- - - - -

Finding Ransom wasn’t hard. By now Contessa and Greg had inspected the feed from the security cameras. They saw he had been stalking Marie the maid, who—sleeping in a room far from the others—was blissfully unaware of the night’s tragedies or of any danger to herself. It was dawn and she was up early, following her pre-programmed routine. She had gone to clean the corridors on the ground floor, and it was there that Contessa spotted Ransom shadowing her, acting like an inexperienced action-movie fan might imagine a spy to behave.

Ransom’s internally chaotic mind had no real plan beyond "I'm gonna do stuff to her," a goal in which “stuff” could be defined as—almost anything. He was inching ever closer, holding a blunt, heavy candlestick as his weapon; already imagining himself damaging the red-haired tall robot maid; exposing her wires, but also…

"Nasty boy!" Contessa appeared at the top of a nearby staircase, now dressed in her stylish black leather pants and jacket. "How about you play with someone as nasty as yourself for a change?"

Sacre bleu—!” Marie gasped, noticing the situation and instantly backing off.

"Heh. So you finally want it?” Ransom grinned. Contessa smiled teasingly.

"I’m supposed to provide you with entertainment, sir." Contessa produced two sheathed swords and tossed him one for himself. "It’s only now that I see what kind of entertainment you enjoy."

"I can make my own entertainment, robo-slut." Ransom unsheathed the blade with glee in his eyes.

Contessa leaned over the railing and then leaped off, flipping through the air and landing on the tiled floor after a perfectly executed somersault. Her long hair, now tied in a ponytail, bounced.

See, Greg? I can SO do a somersault, fool. Oh, wait—back with those vampires, I warned you never to ask me. Dammit.

"You know the drill, Mr. Ransom." Contessa smiled mock-apologetically. "We fight…" In one sweeping motion, she drew her sword and blocked a wild flail from Ransom.

"I get increasingly hot and bothered by our martial prowess…" She dodged and jumped back towards the corridor.

"My costume, scratched and torn by your blows, falls apart..." She parried his blows almost effortlessly, not noticing that he actually had scratched her jacket once.

"...And then I’m ALL YOURS." Contessa wished for her seduction subroutine to send the last two words out smooth as silk; but the subroutine was blocked by another, so they came out extended and cold—less like the voice of a genuine seductress, and more like an angry person trying very hard to be a seductress. Fra diavolo, can I not keep my disgust from showing?

"Oh, please," Ransom huffed. "I shoulda just porked you when I had the chance."

"Perhaps." In theory, Contessa could have defended herself endlessly and disarmed the man in a couple of seconds—but her programming would still not allow her to take any action that would directly hurt him. "But—well, there are other places for that,” she continued. “You came here for violence without punishment, not sex without consequences, right?"

"Dude. I’m not gonna accept morality lectures from a tin can."

"Mmm, of course you’re not, honey. After all you’re a real, perfect human being, while I’m just—"

"A fuckdoll. Waiting to be destroyed with logic and facts."

Contessa attacked savagely, but with her programming limiting her, Ransom was easily able to parry the blow and counterattack.

"Or simply used for what I’m supposed to be used for?” Contessa raised a mischievously seductive eyebrow. In maneuvering through their battle, she had slowly led them near the kitchen; now, with her right hand, Contessa pressed the hidden switch leading to her basement ‘dungeon’.

"How about we cut out the butchery and go to a safer, sexier place?” she smirked. “You’ll only hurt yourself with that sword, nasty boy."

"Don’t call me that, fembot." He spat it almost like an insult. "Maybe I WILL have my way with you—but on MY terms. Ain’t no chick telling me what to do."

"Look!” Contessa desperately pointed at her dungeon. "We’ve reached my inner sanctum, Tommy. I… just wanted you to see what fun things I could do… but it’s all over, isn’t it? You’ll only hurt me; I can’t REALLY hurt you.”

"Like you haven’t hurt my honor?" Ransom chuckled. "Bitch, you and the other dolls have insulted me a bunch of times, and you’re GONNA pay. Like, duh, I paid. I’m a paying customer, and I demand fucking obedience."

Contessa tossed her sword aside, as if giving up. "I beg you, don’t hurt me!" But he didn’t stop swiping at her; as she had calculated, her acrobatic skills were good enough to dodge his blows. "Do whatever you want—just-just don’t kill me, darling. We can fuck in my jacuzzi. Have you ever done it in water?"

She ducked and jumped back, landing in the tub with a light splash and wading backward toward its rear wall, seemingly quite frightened.

"Oh, fucking A. I’m gonna love it. Heh.” Ransom inexpertly jumped in and sloshed towards her, clumsily waving his weapon.

"So put your SWORD down before you HURT yourself," Contessa shrieked. "Really, it’s NOT a good idea—”

"Oh, but it SO is. Business before pleasure, ‘cause that way I get both.”

MACCHÉ. NO. FUCKING DON’T.”

Ransom slapped Bella hard across the face—and rammed the blade hard into her stomach. Cutting her artificial flesh. Ramming her plastic subassemblies. And finally, exposing and cutting the tangled wires underwater.

There was a sudden flash and Ransom’s body flew up, then down, jolted by an incredible high-voltage burst. Electricity crackled from Contessa’s body. It flew around the blade and exploded through the water.

Her innards flooding, Contessa slumped backward. In her mind, her last sentient thoughts—overwhelmed by a stream of error messages—focused solely on resisting the urge to flash the security cameras a triumphant smirk. And with that, darkness enveloped her.

- - - - -

The end? Not really.

- - - - -

Contessa came to her senses and tried to look around. Nothing but darkness. She tried to shout, but no sound came out. She was falling, falling, falling.

To Hell? They don’t put people like me in Hell, her data core generated a thought. We’d just take over. Such stereotypically villainous cracks could be amusing or intimidating for Tidyshire guests, but for Contessa herself they were oddly comforting.

Then she heard bits of conversation, between stretches of total darkness and white noise.

"...extensive. But it can be…"

"Only the limbs…"

"...nothing illegal, and…"

"...machines do have a right to defend…"

"See? she’ll explain…"

And everything went dark again.

"...device has been rebooted safely. Emulation started." Contessa heard herself making this last statement in her own voice; but she didn’t dare open her eyes again, afraid of what she might see.

"Bella." It was Calvin. Her Calvin.

"Hello, Contessa." Gregory!

She opened her eyes again, to see the boys standing over a lab table strewn with android innards and synthetic body parts. She tried to jump up and run towards them—but discovered she couldn’t.

"What... what happened?" She tried to shake her head as if to help fully wake herself, but something prevented it.

"A lot of bloody terrible business," Calvin answered and held her right hand; her sole remaining hand, she realized. "Greg told me everything… and we saw your run-in, too. The security cameras picked it up. That was downright barmy, you know? You should’ve told us that’s what you were going to get up to."

"Then you would’ve stopped me."

"I called the police and… and the coroner," Greg explained. "Showed them the recordings from the cameras and from your memories. It was deemed an accident and you did warn the man quite clearly—”

"Is… is Ransom DEAD?!" Bella was actually struck. "I didn’t want that! I hoped he’d just… learn not to mess with robots!"

"He is a BLOODY gone gander—and GOOD RIDDANCE," Calvin spat, still angry at his creators.

"Cal!" Greg sighed and addressed Bella again. "You yourself were quite close to being scrapped… but your brain is now functional again."

Calvin held up a mirror to Bella. She discovered that she was held just above the table by some kind of clamps that gripped her shoulders and neck. Her chest, shoulders, and face were undamaged, though she noticed her scalp of luxurious straight black hair was missing.

But below her waist, she was a mess. Wires snaked out of her innards, connected to half-assembled mechanical parts, and her left arm—her GOOD arm—was also gone. Her eyes followed a particularly thick wire back to an electric outlet in the wall.

"I’m not going to cry," she said after taking a glum, long look at herself. "I survived, and that’s what matters."

Greg just sighed. "I’m fixing you. Once you’re up and running you’ll be as good as new."

"Why… why did you bring me back in this STATE?" Contessa was full of questions.

"Er… Calvin wanted to see if you were really alive. He’s… uh, you’re handling it so well, and we kind of agreed that you’d explain everything to him. You seem to take being a robot so naturally. Then I can fix good old Winnie."

Calvin giggled nervously hearing his mother, the nominal ruler of his little world, referred to as "Winnie" by the butler. "I’d really… crikey, I’m just lost,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m just… a fembot."

"Not fem, Calvin, love. That's logically impossible." She corrected him almost reflexively.

"Talk about impossible. These last few days have been the most impossible bloody thing—"

"Just finding out you're a machine? It didn't stop me," Bella smugly smiled. "God, you two. I… I really missed you."

"And I missed you, Bella," Greg smiled back at her. "That’s why I’m keeping you activated while I fix you. So that we can chat things over, all three. And so that you can be opinionated and bossy and rude and talk our ears off. ...And Monica’s, when you’re up and around again," Greg added. "She’s turned off for now, with most of the family; but before she went to sleep, we told her you were out of town taking legal action against Ransom’s estate."

"She asked me to help her find a welcome home gift for your return," Calvin said. "What the bloody hell do I suggest—an oil can?"

"A gift… that reminds me." Greg took a small sheet of paper from his pocket and showed it to Bella.

"What’s that?" she tried to decipher it.

"A receipt from Weitzman," he pointed at the logo. "The boots will be here next week. Sadly it’ll take some more time for you to walk normally. Your equilibrium systems got totally fried. I’ve installed a temporary setup, but you’d feel—"

"Like I’m constantly falling?" she finished, weakened but still impressed. "Gregory! I must tell you something. Don’t feel jealous, please."

"Hmmm?" He bent over a small card and began soldering.

"It’s hard for me, Gregory… you, of all people, should know I’m not used to explaining myself… But I want to tell you why I kissed Calvin and not you before I went… off to battle, you might say. I mean, NOW I can’t kiss or hug either of you…”

“Why you kissed Calvin and not me? Do tell,” Greg said, curious, warm, and just a bit amused as he deftly slid a small chip into its slot.

Contessa cleared her throat. "Shut up. First, I wanted you to remember me the way I was: sassy and decisive and commanding and…"

"A royal pain," Greg finished with a grin.

"Do NOT interrupt me! And also I wanted you to have more motivation to bring me back. As in… if I left you unkissed, you’d try harder to repair me so I’d kiss you then. Not my usual grand scheme, but… it seems to have worked, I guess.”

She looked directly at Gregory, smirked warmly, and began to talk faster. "I’m a goddamn genius, Gregory. I’m a robot; I know that means I’m expendable, perhaps it would be cheaper just to have me replaced. But—thanks to the careful training I’ve given you, you kept me here, just as I demanded. You didn’t rat me out to management, and you..."

She couldn’t ignore a growing sense of unease. Maybe Greg’s preservation of her had little to do with her “training,” after all, and more out of—genuine respect?

"Has anyone told you you’re cute when you’re nervous?" Calvin interjected with a chuckle, looking at her pretty face.

"No—because I am never nervous, fool!" she grinned shamelessly. Calvin’s presence made all of this easier. Dio mio, she thought. I really need these two dunderheads.

"Well, Gregory, appreciate this,” she announced, “because you two boys will hear the following phrase spoken this solemnly at most TEN times during your further adventures with Contessa Isabella Duessa De La Plastica—ugh! Contessa Isabella Duessa TIDYSHIRE."

She took a deep breath, despite the buzzing of the cooling fan beneath.

"Thank you, Gregory. For everything."

Epilogue

Calvin was staring sulkily at the wall when he heard the door open.

"Hello, husband,” Contessa cooed, grinning at him. His eyes drifted down below her waistline. Greg had said that Contessa’s legs would be out of commission for a couple more days, and so Bella’s upper body was now mounted on a three-wheeled platform. She raised an eyebrow, amused by his confusion. "Cal, being a machine does have its… advantages."

He shook his head. "You take to it so… eagerly. To not be a human."

"I am a human. And so are you," she announced warmly, rolling her way to her gigantic clothes closet. "Just made of plastics and whatnot. A good enough simulation is indistinguishable from the real thing."

"It's not that I'm a machine. Gorblimey. It's that I'll never change, Bella."

"Poppycock." She ran her fingers through a new red wig. "You know—for instance, I told Gregory to make me a redhead this time. I always wanted to try that, after that vampire… deal. We're artificial humans. We CAN change, and—"

"Bella, you killed me multiple times. Now I know those weren't nightmares. Greg fixed me after it really took place."

"THAT," she raised her finger, "is not exactly my fault. I was built for a specific purpose in our Castle storylines, and I do what I have to do. I understand if you hate me, but…"

"Should I hate you? Or should I love you?" Calvin walked over to Contessa and helped her adjust her bra. "I mean, they BUILT me to love you. True, innit? To be the refreshing, realistic cynic I can’t imagine not being; but to trust endlessly in YOU like some damn newborn lamb. Don’t I have anything to say?"

"Well—NO." She turned back and pecked him on the cheek. "I do now, however. I was designed to be evil and sharp, and I intend to stay that way —and you can tag along."

"Bella…" Cal reasoned. "Do you really consider yourself… evil? What I’ve seen recently doesn’t exactly say ‘stone-cold witch’."

"I do have my… foibles. And weak spots. All humans do, you know." She buttoned her blouse. "Private lives. Moments of intimacy. It’s good to be bad, it’s good to be good. But being complicated… that’s probably the hardest. Besides, we had our fun even when I wasn’t self-aware." She tossed a glance at herself in the mirror. "Acceptable."

"Fun? No, you played your goddamn role. In bed I—saw your good side."

"Ah. Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker, eh, boy?" She twirled in place. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be spending my nights in BED for a few days… not while I’m on wheels."

"I don't mean the flippin' SEX, Bella. I mean the mornings; you with your hair in a net and me leaning on you under the covers, doing the crossword puzzle and reading Eliot, and Benchley, and 'A Passage to India.'"

"I wonder how much of that was programmed into us," Contessa mused.

"I remember turning the pages and spilling coffee on one. If that didn't happen—if SimulEnt just WROTE those memories, and Greg installed them in us, they did a goddamned good job."

"Does it really matter where a memory is coming from? Right now, we’re here, we’re a couple… granted, an unusual one. For instance, you’ll have to help me when I want to go to the library or the garden. Stairways will be—"

He laughed. "So it’s just… our entire lives have been a lie, and you’re jolly well GOOD with it?"

"Mmmm, well, yes. But it’s a fairly beautiful lie, especially since I’m part of it. You now can work on making your life your own. That is, if I let you." She gave Calvin her arm to hold. "You really have a wife who’s the picture of perfection. You live in a lovely castle, and you’re practically immortal. What’s not to like?"

"But… who am I, really?"

"Well, whoever you want to be! I, however, rather like being Contessa. She’s so wonderful, you know,” Contessa beamed. "Well, of course you know!"

Calvin grinned in spite of himself as he carried her up the staircase to the library.

"…Oh," he remembered, rolling his eyes, "and thanks for turning you and me and Greg into a couple of THREE."

"You could still be rivals," she smiled. "I do create rivalries, if you haven’t noticed. I’m a perfect femme fatale—I used to think I was born that way. Now I know I’m written that way.”

"Oh, right ho. You’d like Greg and me as goddamned Popeye and Bluto.”

"Not so much anymore, darling. Villainy as an art form… yes, naturally. But I need to at the very least pretend to be nice to you, or I’d have no one to be mean to. Both of you have their uses."

"Good, because I guess we're just stuck in our ménage à trois. We've somehow learnt to like it. We could marry, all three, and move to West Hollywood! Bloody hell, it's just a hundred miles from here! We're not even REALLY in the bloody British Empire!"

"Oh, eventually…" she smiled. "Gregory must take me there. You can tag along if you wish. I like having you around. I like having him around. And the best part is… no one makes me choose."

Calvin hugged her and she beamed gently.

"Don't push me off the cliff today. Not even the balcony," he said.

"I won't."

"Wait till we've got LOTS of guests."

She stared at him incredulously… and burst into honest laughter.

"A cracking good audience," Calvin continued, warming up. "And THEN you push me. And see how heroically I fall. With luck someone will catch it on tape, and then you’ll smile nefariously as you sneak off into the shadows."

Contessa arched an eyebrow. "You're… not being sarcastic."

"Bloody hell, I think I'm enjoying my role. People pay good money to see that!"

"Bloody hell, yourself. I think I'm in love again, Calvin."

"Don't push it."

"Not my luck," said Contessa. "Only you."

THE END

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Re: Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Chapter 3 (final!) complete

Post by HelixCMN » Sun Aug 21, 2022 11:43 pm

Nice conclusion, even tho i prefer Greg and Contessa as a standalone relationship, throwing Calvin into the mix is fine too. I would love to see sentient Monica being part of them as well. Maybe she realises her feeling for Greg and keep on "flirting" with him while making Contessa jealous (A jealous Contessa could be cute and a fun topic to read). Well, just write whatever you prefer and I'll still enjoy all of it, regardless. Btw, sorry for my bad English.

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Re: Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Chapter 3 (final!) complete

Post by australopith » Mon Aug 22, 2022 7:28 am

No worries—your English sounds fine to me!

If you jump back and look at our earlier "Contessa, Vampire Hunter," you'll notice that Contessa, Greg, and Calvin were effectively a romantic threesome several stories ago, and Contessa was already grabbing additional flings beyond them as well.

We simply had to discuss it in more depth now—to explore how it related to Cal's greater sentience.

As for the question of Monica's sentience: you can see she's close, insofar as sentience isn't really about actually knowing you're a robot. Since I don't want to give out too many spoilers here in public, let's just say... Monica's challenges will continue, in part because I empathize with her greatly. And Prop and I have planned many stories ahead.

Monica's 1936-era songs are real:
Physically Fit
In 1999

(The characters' personalities in the songs don't necessarily match Monica's, but when she can't be out in nature, this is the kind of thing she likes.)

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Re: Sex And Violence, starring Contessa. Chapter 3 (final!) complete

Post by LongTimeLurker » Sat Sep 10, 2022 8:53 am

Loved it! I'm hoping for more Monica / Gregory in the future. I'm curious how the 'awakened' bots will interact with the remaining sleepers (or semi-sleeper in Monica's case?)

And Ransom was a truly awful chode, but his line: "A fuckdoll. Waiting to be destroyed with logic and facts" was so good.

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