View source for 6.00 - What It Takes

I took a sip from my coffee cup, and poked my head in to the small breakroom. "Alright if I join you in here, Deb?" I asked. It was just shy of 10:30, and she had just entered the breakroom ahead of me. She was currently retrieving reading material from a magazine rack before sitting to take her break - exactly as her programmed routine dictated. She would rest for 5 minutes, plus or minus a random amount of time up to 1 minute, then would return to work, unless commanded otherwise by a human employee. "I kind of wanted to just visit with you for a while."

Deb nodded. "Sure Kaitlyn, no problem," she said, sitting. Although she too held one of the insulated coffee cups, I knew it contained only lukewarm water.

Deb smoothed out the pleats of her short skirt as she sat on the plush sofa, and I momentarily caught a glimpse up it. She wasn't wearing any panties, but that was reasonably normal for her, not necessarily any indication of anything amiss.

The backroom area of the wardrobe department was comfortably furnished, and gave us some degree of privacy for our little chat. I was going to need it.

"So," I said casually, "How's the wardrobe department treating you?"

"Oh, you know, can't complain." She looked around as though making sure no one else was listening, then leaned forward and whispered loudly behind her hand. "They won't let me," she said.

My eyes widened. Could this be what I was looking for? "Who..." I began.

"Oh, calm down, Kaitlyn. You're always so serious. It was a joke." She sipped her lukewarm water and made an "Mmm" sound.

"Good coffee?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Best Mocha Latte I've had. Those barista 'bots may know beans about almost everything, but they know almost everything about beans." She sipped again. For some reason, perceptual filter programmers seemed to only know one type of coffee. "Mocha Latte" was apparently the ARA version of "tastes like chicken."

"Good to hear it. How's the quarterly inventory going?" I inquired.

Deb made a see-saw motion with her hand. "So-so. Pretty much as expected. We're ahead of schedule, but coming up short on a bunch of outfits." She rolled her eyes. "All superheroine costumes, so I have a pretty good idea where they are."

"It's not getting in the way of your costume design time, is it?" I said, sounding concerned.

She made a negative-sounding "Mm-mmm" sound as she sipped her water, and shook her head. "It's fine. I've got a decent memory and a highly visual imagination, so I can pretty much do that kind of thing in my head until I get a chance to document it." She counted out on her fingers. "Let's see, a dozen outfits for the setting rooms, two replacements for the evening party test room, and seven custom designs for individual employees..." She looked up. "Yep, I'm only four behind on my weekly output. Should have those polished off tomorrow."

"You sure?" I asked. "Everyone needs to relax from time to time,. I hope you're not overworking yourself."

She laughed. "Kaitlyn, it's nice of you to take such an interest, but really, everything's fine. Really. There's nothing to be concerned about."

If that were true, I wouldn't have to check in on your break time, I thought to myself. "Well, that's good to hear," I said, thumbing the button on the area burst programmer. Deb froze momentarily as she was about to take another sip of water,, then moved again as though nothing had happened. "By the way," I said, slowly and carefully, "Alpha two three five niner."

"You're telling me," she said, standing. she strode calmly over to the large clothing hook near the magazine rack, and casually began unbuttoning her blouse.  "So, how are things going back in security?" she said as she slipped out of the thin shirt. As usual, she wore no bra. "I hear there's been a rash of system irregularities going on." She ignored the zipper on her skirt, simply pulling the elastic waistband down her hips. "Found any glitches yet?" She asked, hanging her clothes on the hook.

"Still doing my inspection sweep," I said. "We're still not sure whether it's a matter of plain software errors, or intentional program modifications. Bend over at the table, please."

"Sure," Deb said. She walked to the table, planted her legs shoulder width apart, and bent sharply at the waist, resting her head in her crossed arms. "So what would be the difference?" she asked. "Between errors and modifications, I mean."

"Well," I said, jamming the control probe into her anus, "One would be a matter of program testing and quality assurance." I twisted the dials to trigger the proper command, popping open the control panel at the base of her spine. "The other would be a major security breach - and that's a big deal to me."

I scrolled through the runtime logs for Deb's previous 24-hours of activity. It all seemed pretty normal, although I was a tad surprised at the sheer number of sex acts she had performed in that span of time. "Good grief Deb, how many times do you frig yourself a day?" I said aloud. Oops. Hopefully the maintenance burst program would desensitize her to that kind of comment.

"Only twenty, unless someone commands me otherwise," she said dismissively. "Yesterday it was thirty-five, but I had helped out in one of the testing rooms, and was still wearing the costume from that, so I was in higher demand." She considered this. "Maybe I should wear that kind of thing more often," She commented. "We don't have very many catgirl costumes in normal circulation, but I could make a few more."

Everything looked fine in the past day - no anomalous entries, pretty consistent system events. Her overall intelligence seemed a tad lower than system spec, but that was hardly an indication of a problem. I knew for a fact that Jane sometimes turned her into a ditzy airhead for some of their private time, and she was prone to forgetting to restore normal settings.

I scrolled back to earlier entries, and didn't see anything unusual at first. All the entries indicated normal activity and system events, right up until 6:47pm. Even if she had been completely shut down, her internal clock would still have logged per-minute entries of deactivation. Unless there was a problem with her clock's power supply, that would have remained functional for at least 300 hours of complete shutdown.

Problem was, the next entry after 6:47 was 8:53. More than two hours were simply gone from her logs. "Deb," I said cautiously, "What were you doing just after 7:00 last night?"

She scrunched up her face as if in concentration. "Sorry, I can't remember." She smiled, unconcerned. That was downright weird. Deb was proud of her memory. Under normal circumstances, she would have simulated annoyance or anger at forgetting something. Was this due to the maintenance burst program, or another symptom of whatever had caused the memory gap?

"Deb, can you run a hardware check for me?" I asked.

"No problem, Kaitlyn." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, looking confused. "Huh. That's weird. There's semen in me, but I don't have any memory of it getting there."

I checked the sexual logs for the whole two-day period. Ten partners, six female, four male. Plenty of penetration, but no ejaculation from the males. Looks like they were just fingering her or using her in threesomes. I checked this against her fluid reservoir. Sure enough, there was semen in there - at least two sessions worth. I'd already confirmed that she'd visited the spa yesterday morning, so her reservoir would have been emptied then. She should have been empty.

Okay, step one: Look for a physical cause. I closed the small control panel. "Deb, lie down on the table."

"No problem," she said calmly. She stood, then hopped up onto the edge of the table leaned back, scooting her butt back as she did so.

The most obvious approach would be a device implanted in one of her directly accessible orifices - Mouth, ears, pussy, ass. Butt-hacks were pretty uncommon, though. If she had been an on-site model using the cartridge backup system, it might provide a vulnerability to backup tampering, but with our internal backup system, she just synced with the mainframe every night. Tampering with her anal proximity triggers would only provide a hacker with access to her diagnostics, system logs, and a completely empty gluteal bay.

"Spread your legs," I told her casually.

"Sure thing," she said, spreading her legs wide into a split that would make any contortionist jealous. Though able to hold her legs in that position indefinitely without additional support, she grabbed each of her long heels as she did so. Probably her default "spread 'em" position.

"Let me know if you feel anything weird," I said, spreading the folds of her pussy and reaching in with two fingers. Fumbling around, I felt for the spot covering the proximity sensor. Any tampering devices would have to be attached directly there in order to have an effect, but I felt nothing other than the slick, ribbed texture of the pussy.

"Feels fine to me," she said, unconcerned. She looked down at me. "We should hang out like this more often, Kaitlyn. I hardly ever see you these days."

"Yep, feels normal to me too," I muttered. Nothing out of the ordinary. I pulled my fingers out of her, licking off the sweet, fruity tang of the flava juice. There was a reason cherry was their most popular flavor: It was one of the best cherry flavors on the market. Some candy companies had even licensed Flava's formula for it, while completely ignoring all other flavors.

"Well," I said moving to her head, "Things get really busy down in security." I gripped her chin and turned her head to one side, then the other, inspecting her ears. She didn't resist.

Ear hacks were pretty common, and could conceivably create memory gaps - but I was familiar with all the EarPort tools on the black market, and every single one of them was just barely larger than the ear canal itself. They invariably left telltale distortion of the flesh around the hole. Her ears looked fine. "How does this sound?" I asked, snapping my fingers at her left ear, then her right.

"Sounds normal to me." Her expression became sympathetic. "I can relate. Sometimes, it seems like I blink, and all of a sudden, my workload's increased as though I've been goofing off or something."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I said, almost to myself. "Open your mouth as wide as you can."

"Right," Deb replied, opening her mouth out-of-sync with the word. Her jaw moved first to what would be normal on a human, then wider to what would be uncomfortable on a human, then wider still to a position clearly impossible for a human.

"You don't have a gag reflex, do you?" I asked. It would have been pretty uncommon, but not impossible.

"Nope," she replied, the word now coming directly from her sound system.

"Good," I said, reaching into her throat with my whole hand.

Mouth hacks were possibly the most common form, since the mouth is both close to the main system processor, and usually has the least amount of access security, since protection measures would generally interfere with immediate access for things like oral sex.

Fortunately, they were easy to detect: The implanted device would have to be affixed to a spot at the back of the throat, just out of view when the ARA opened its mouth to speak. Since they relied on electro-magnetic induction of a circuit which wasn't designed for proximity transmission, they required pretty beefy power supplies, which required additional shielding against the moisture of the throat. The smallest such devices were about the size of a thimble.

Deb's throat was clear, though. "It's a shame we don't get to spend time together," Deb's sound system said, slightly muffled by my hand as I pulled it out. "I know, you should come to one of Jane's girls nights!"

I cleared my throat, partly from seeing my hand down her throat, and partly out of embarrassment. Jane's "girls nights" were an uncomfortable subject for me. I had been aware of them from the day I'd been hired, but hadn't learned exactly what they were until about a week later. Initially, I was surprised that Jane would initiate that kind of multi-partner sex with Kirk and, essentially, a harem of other girls. When I found out, I found a private moment to discretely let Jane know I would be interested, if the opportunity arose.

Her response was surprisingly cold. When she saw the expression on my face, though, she explained: The only humans who participated in girls nights were herself and Kirk. Aside from ARAs, she and Kirk were completely monogamous. It had been an awkward week after that, but Jane made it clear that she didn't hold it against me.

"Eh..." I said, fumbling for a response before realizing I didn't need to have one. "Change the subject, Deb."

"Have you met Derek?" She asked, unoffended. "He's a cute kid. Looks like he'll grow up to look just like his father."

"He is cute," I replied. "Hold still." I gripped her head firmly and twisted it off.

With no normal system tampering, the next step was to check for internal devices. I inspected the connection point at the base of her head, and on her body, but everything looked normal. "He's also smart as a whip, friendly, and has a surprisingly sophisticated sense of humor."

"Whoa," Deb's head commented as I prodded in her body's connection point, "he's only a kid. You sound like you're falling for him."

I smirked. "Give him a few decades and I just might," I said. Nothing inside her neck either. If there were any tampering device present, it would require almost complete disassembly to check, and that would take too long. I reattached her head. "You can get dressed now."

Maybe it isn't a security matter, I thought, either hopeful or desperate. Deb had suffered a number of software glitches over the past few years, even before I had been hired, all of them apparently unrelated. It had never been quite so much of a problem as this, though. Of course, it could be a virus...

"I really enjoyed hanging out with you, Kaitlyn," Deb said, slipping back into her skirt, "but I've got a pretty big project I need to get back to, and I was only supposed to take a short break anyway." She pulled on her blouse and began buttoning it up. "I really can't afford to..."

"You don't have anything important to do. Go take a break at the spa," I told her.

"You sure you can't stay longer?" Deb replied. "I don't really have anything on my plate right now. We should go to the spa together! I never see you there, it's really relaxing."

"No, that's okay. It's not really my kind of thing," I said.

"More backrubs for me, then," she smiled. "I think I'll head down there now."

"Drop by the software maintenance division when you finish up there. You should say hi to the guys there." If the spa didn't find anything, hopefully software maintenance would. They may be immature, but they definitely knew what they were doing.

"You know, I really should." She sounded like it had been her idea in the first place. "I haven't seen those bozos in forever. I wonder if they still draw on the 'bots sometimes." She made her way to the break room door and gave a little wave. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow. You should check by then, I'm really excited about a project we've got coming up!"

I smiled. "Don't lose your head. I'll see if I can come by."

---

As I continued my morning routine, heading to location testing for a quick sweep, I couldn't help but feel a little worried about Deb. Minor software glitches were inevitable in pretty much any model, but a memory gap of two hours was a serious concern. Part of ScenariCorp's security relied on the 'bots to act as monitoring devices when during the night shift. For her to be missing that much time... anything could have happened.

I hoped we wouldn't have to replace Deb. She was an older model now, and her run-of-the-mill glitches were more and more frequent these days, but her personality profile had all the little nuances and adaptations that can only be obtained through thousands of hours of runtime, interacting with users on a near-constant basis. Sure, she could be re-installed into a new body, but there was no way of knowing how compatible her last-generation profile would be with current operating systems. Even with claims of full backwards compatibility, something was usually lost in the process.

I was so deeply entrenched in this line of thought that I almost didn't catch the shadowy figure in the location test hallway. As soon as I rounded the corner to see it nearly a hundred feet away, it darted out of site around another corner in the zig-zagging hallway.

I unfastened the holster on my stunner. I hated to use it unless absolutely necessary - it was painful to humans and could cause permanent damage to ARAs - but the location test rooms weren't open for use this early in the day. Maybe my concerns over Deb's system integrity had me on edge, or maybe the fact that the figure had dashed out of sight triggered my security instincts, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"This area's not open for unscheduled use until 9:00," I called. "If you've got testing that needs to be done, you'll have to add your project to the queue. and wait your turn." I crept down the hallway to the corner the figure had ducked around.

A playful laugh echoed around the corridor. I tried not to be a little creeped out by it. "If it's just recreational use," I said, keeping my voice calm and even, "You should probably wait until after the final testing season is over. Why don't you..." The laugh giggled again. It wasn't the kind of laugh that was enjoying a funny joke. It was the kind of laugh that said "come and get me."

I cleared my throat. "Why don't you check in at the hotel? You know, enjoy the hospitality, some friendly poolside companionship, maybe order room serv..."

"You'll never find me if all you do is talk," a female voice echoed.

I peeked around the corner. At the far end, around the next corner, I saw someone else peeking out at me. It giggled again, then disappeared from view.

What the hell was this? Had some employee snapped or something? It was hard to believe: This place was hardly a high-stress work environment. "Look, whoever you are, this isn't a game." It wasn't easy to sound calm, but I just barely pulled it off. "If you keep running, I'll have to use force."

"Oooh," the voice cooed, "That sounds fun."

"Cut it out!" I called. "Stop running and stand still!"

There was a brief moment of silence, then the voice called back, "What magic is this?" She made a grunting, straining sound. "Your spell is truly powerful," she said, more impressed than upset.

I relaxed. Not an intruder, then. Rounding the corner, I found exactly what I had been expecting: A fairy, human sized, frozen in mid-step. Her costume, as with so many others here, was a fetishized version of the traditional concept. Cut low at the bust, high at the skirt, and made from a form-fitting material which only served to emphasize her figure. The neckline of her dress-like outfit dipped both in the front (for obvious reasons) and in the back to accommodate her wings. The wings themselves were oblong teardrop shapes, and appeared to be as delicate and fragile as they were thin.

In fact, the plastic/fabric compound material which formed her wings had originally been developed as lightweight bullet-proof material for law enforcement. This particular variant was also extraordinarily elastic, and could be stretched far beyond the thin, metal ring which formed the edge of the wing. Though frail looking, the wings could take a lot of abuse. The hardware techs sometimes joked that they probably could make the fairies fly, if they could just get the wing-flapping mechanism to run fast enough. Of course, that wasn't really possible: To keep from creating an unappealing bulge where the wing connected with the body, the designers had used one of the thinnest (and weakest) mechanism's available.

"Your mastery of the mystical forces is awe-inspiring," the fairy commented. I walked around in front of her to find her face still animated, though the rest of her body was statue-still. "You must be a truly powerful sorceress!" She said, her face filled with delight.

"That doesn't bother you?" I knew she was incapable of being bothered, but I was curious to hear the in-character explanation the programmers had given her.

"I am but a creature of magicks myself," she said, a proud look on her face. "My body is not of this material plane, but is woven from energies beyond this realm." She narrowed her eyes as a note of desire crept into her voice. "If you command those magical energies, you command me, for I am made of those energies."

"Riiight." I checked her head for physical damage. Strays were usually just confused after someone said something to them that didn't quite jibe with their scenario, but they could sometimes be caused by blunt trauma to the head or torso. There weren't many employees here who played rough, but there were a few.

"You can move again," I told her. She stretched as though awakening from a deep sleep, and fluttered her wings briefly. "Pull down your top, I need to check out your torso."

A mischievous grin spread across her face. "By your command, my mistress." Reaching up, she pulled the thin, elastic material down off her shoulders, then worked it down her arms, crossing them to playfully conceal her breasts as she pulled it down further. Once the garment was little more than a belt, she held her arms out daintily. "Does my body please you, mistress?"

"Arms up," I said. I brushed my fingers over the curves of her body, mostly looking for any indication of external damage. She hummed happily as I grasped her breasts, moving them outward, inward, up, and down, checking for tears in the synthetic skin. "Turn around," I told her. She turned on her toes, leaving her feet crossed as she faced away from me.

"Wings up," I said simply. Immediately, the gossamer wings moved as high as their tiny motors would allow, as I checked her back for abrasions or tears. She looked fine, in more ways than one.

"Okay," I said, "arms down, face me again." She spun again, bouncing slightly on her heels as she faced me, sending a brief jiggle through her breasts. I looked her over. She wasn't any kind of security threat, but ScenariCorp had a strong "put the toys back in the box" policy. I glanced up and down the corridor at the dozens of unlabeled doors. "Where do you come from?" I asked.

"Would that I knew, o mistress," she said, wistfully, "for I know many fey folk who would make excellent servants for your desires." Her wings fluttered again, and she clasped her hands in a pleading gesture. "If only I could but find my way, it would be my deepest wish to enslave my sisters to your will." She pouted. "I do so long to find more slaves for you."

I sighed. It wasn't easy getting through to a fantasy profile sometimes. Maybe she needed a more direct command. "Take me to your realm," I told her flatly.

"Alas, I cannot," she lamented, "for I know not the way in this strange land."

"Which way did you come from?" I asked.

An overjoyed smile washed over her face. "This way!" she said, pointing back the direction we had come. Then she faltered, turned, and pointed the opposite direction. "Or was it that direction?" She looked apologetically at me. "We fey folk have naught but dewdrops and sunlight for brains. It is very easy to outsmart us." She smiled at this last part.

"Oh for pity's sake," I said, exasperated. Grasping her firmly by one shoulder, I turned her to face the wall, then bent her over. She made no effort to resist, but compliantly stayed in that position, still smiling sweetly. Flipping up the skirt of her dress, I was mildly surprised to find her wearing a sparkling thong - pixie dust, no doubt. My patience at its limit, I merely pulled the fabric of the thong out of the way and rammed my finger and thumb into her pussy and ass simultaneously, pressing three times on the contact points inside, holding on the third press.

"Yes, mistress, I am but your plaything!" She cried in the throes of sexual pleasure. "I have no will but your command, no thoughts but those you-" She cut off mid sentence, a surprised look on her face, then a mild, detached smile. "System rebooting," she said, "Please stand by."

"Disable personality profile," I said.

"Profile disabled," she reported, still bent over. "Loading core OS. Loading interface AI. Hello. This unit is designated Nala of the Glen. Loading system tools. Loading memory logs." She blinked. "I have completed my reboot. Would you like to give me a command?"

"Stand up, Nala." She stood, her arms still jutting out in that dainty pose - it was either part of her default posture, or her core OS wouldn't change her pose unless I told it to. "Where do you come from?" I asked.

"I was manufactured by HerForm ARA Manufacturing, Limited, in Surrey, England..."

"No, which of these rooms are you assigned to?"

"I am currently assigned to Fantasy Glen, room 1-1-7-2."

"Do you know where that is from here?" I asked.

She looked back and forth. "Standby. Calibrating..." It was an odd juxtaposition, this topless fairy, posed like some kind of doll, reporting her software status in a calm, professional-sounding voice. "I have identified my current location. I have identified the target location. I have identified multiple routes from this location to the target location. Would you prefer shortest, fastest, scenic, roundabout, or custom?"

"Fastest," I replied. Why would there even be the option for scenic or roundabout? "Go back to your assigned room. Once inside, add a 5-foot no-go zone around the door for your main profile's behavioral responses, then resume main profile runtime."

"Understood." Nala turned and began strolling, purposefully but calmly, down the corridor, her arms still held out slightly. I had been about to tell her to fix her top, but I had apparently paused too long in my commands. Her command interpreter would have processed that pause as the end of a complete set of instructions.

I was relieved. Unauthorized personnel in restricted, or even just reserved areas was one matter, but strays weren't really anything to be concerned about. Strictly speaking, sending her back to her room wasn't even my responsibility, but it was far more expedient than having the cleaners take care of it, or launching an investigation to find whoever had let her out.

Then again, if someone had been tampering with Deb's systems, it might be a good idea to keep an eye out for unusual behavior, especially in the more sensitive and restricted...

"Kaitlyn, are you there?" Freida's voice cut into my thoughts over my comm. "I don't want to alarm you or anything, but I think there's just the teensiest possibility that we may have a security situation down here at the lab, so it would be ever so kind if you could HAUL ASS AND GET YOUR KEISTER DOWN HERE TOOT-SWEET!"

I blinked, momentarily stunned by her call. "Please?" Freida followed in a softer voice. "Now-ish would be great. Or, you know, anytime prior to now. But, ah, later looks really bad on my calendar. Totally booked up with bad. Bad in the morning, bad at lunch, bad bad bad bad..."

"I'm on my way," I said, partly to reassure her, and partly to stop her from rambling. I broke into a run, dashing past Nala, who was still en route to her Glen. She made no indication that she noticed me, although that was probably just due to the fact that I didn't give her any further instructions. Mentally, I chastised myself for neglecting, for a second time, to have her fix her top. Regardless of whether or not I liked the look of her, I tried to maintain some degree of self-restraint when it came to handling ARAs.

Then again, it wasn't even 10am, and I'd already felt up two 'bots. Maybe I had less self-restraint than I gave myself credit for.

These thoughts and images chased each other through my mind as I ran through the corridors, past thecan'teen and spa, taking a shortcut in front of Mr. Peters office elevator, and... what? I slowed, glancing back at the closing doors of the elevator. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I had seen a figure in blue, but why did that seem so familiar? It was an odd shade of blue, not one you see very often. I'd only ever seen it...

"Kaitlyn, dearie, any chance you could pick up the pace just a tad?" Freida's voice crackled over my comm, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Something big and heavy, made of glass.

"Hold still!" I heard a voice say. Was that Bryce's voice? He sounded... I don't think I'd ever heard him sound like that before.

Another female voice, one I didn't recognize, shouted, "Let me go, you glitched-out nursemaid!"

Shit! No time to ponder color-schemes. I started running again, pushing myself extra hard to make up for the pointless distraction. My friend was in danger, and I had stopped to think about color schemes. It was possibly the single least useful thing I could have done at the time.

So why did that color seem so important? It was like a half remembered tune, scratching it's way through my brain, looking for some memory to connect with so I could remember where the hell it had...

I skidded to a halt in front of the hardware lab, the sound of smashing equipment still clearly audible through the door. I'm surprised they still have anything that isn't broken, I thought to myself. I drew my stunner and cautiously pushed the door open.

"Get off of me, tinman!" It was the female voice I had heard before.

"Stop kicking, Dr. Kleiner," Bryce's voice replied. "You're making an absolute mess." He sounded surprisingly calm.

As the crashing sounds finally subsided, I crept into the room. Four of Freida's assistants were huddled in one corner of the room, with Freida herself hugging her knees in another corner, glancing back and forth between her assistants and the corner nearest me. I peered around the doorway to find Bryce holding another of Dr. Meyer's assistants in a choke-hold. His face was set and resolved, but hardly angry.

Dr. Kleiner, on the other hand, was furious. Seeing me she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Finally, someone who might have the guts to get him off me!" She sounded more annoyed than frightened.

Though they were still struggling, it didn't look like either of them would be doing any further damage - if there was anything left which could still be damaged and make a difference. Holding my stunner warningly, I stood and approached them. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"She scratched me a bit, and I may need a new ear, but other than that, I should be fine." He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Mind you, if she keeps struggling like this, the wear-and-tear might be a little..."

"Not you, bolt-breath," Dr. Kleiner said, exasperated. "And, yeah, I'm just peachy, apart from the homicidal robot who won't let me go!" This last part she said through gritted teeth as she jerked side to side.

"What happened?" I asked.

"There I was at workstation five," Kleiner pointed with her free arm, "working on my project, which," she shouted across the room to Freida, "by the way, Dr. Meyers, no, I will not suspend my research to help you with your hat-thing!" In a slightly calmer voice, she continued. "So Meyers is too busy nagging me to notice the brain-dead wonder over here as he tries to grab my arm!" She jerked again. "So, of course, I pull away, but then he gets pushy, and I have to defend myself, right?"

I looked around the wreckage of the lab. "And the damage was caused by...?"

"She wouldn't stop struggling," Bryce interjected. Kleiner growled, but said nothing.

"Okay, I want you to remain calm." I reholstered my stunner - it wasn't going to be necessary - then unzipped the pocket on my jacket and slowly reached in. "I'm just going to get my deactivation tool." Pulling the long metal tool out, I was mildly amused to see expressions of relief on both of their faces.

"Oh good," Bryce said. "Yes, that should do the trick."

"Can it," Kleiner shot back, "You're about to get your plug pulled."

"Okay, just hold still," I said, approaching the pair, cautiously holding out the tool. "Don't move, just hold perfectly still." I neared them, my outstretched hand mere inches from them.

"Oh, just hurry up and get it over with," Kleiner complained, "I don't want to be stuck like this all daayyyrrrrrwwwww..." Her mouth hung open as the digitized samples of her voice slowed to a low drone.

"At last," Bryce said, releasing her. Though deactivated, her joints remained fixed, with her now standing, motionless, clutching at the arm that wasn't around her neck anymore. "I suppose this will mark the end of your 'they-just-don't-challenge-me-enough-why-can't-they-be-more-like-you-Bryce' phase?' he called to Freida. She mumbled something. "Pardon?" he said, cupping his hand to his ear.

"Take her apart!" Freida yelled, somewhat louder than was absolutely necessary. Her gaze remained fixed on an arbitrary spot on the ground as she said this, but then her expression softened. "Please, Bryce, just..." she trailed off. "Please?"

Bryce looked surprised, then mildly flustered. "You want me to take her to the spa?" he asked, cautiously.

"Only the head and torso," she replied, sniffing. "Leave just the limbs. Always useful to have a few spares around in case..." her gaze drifted to her remaining assistants, still clustered in the other corner. "Just in case," she said, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice. "I'll... I'll be in the archive." She looked at me, as though recognizing me for the first time. "Kaitlyn! I..." she composed herself, apparently caught off guard that I had seen her in such an unguarded state.

"So, yeah. Sorry about the mess, I am -so- behind on the housekeeping." She flashed a smile at me. It looked genuine enough to make me wonder if she'd recovered, or if all her smiles were forced. "Anyway, glad you're here, I had something I wanted to talk about with you, in, ah-" She scanned the room "well, in absence of an office, I suppose the Archive will have to suffice, which it should, since that's where the..." She seemed to thinking out loud. "Right, yes, the Archive! I want us to talk in the Archive, just..."

She launched into a coughing fit so violent, it made me want to cough. I looked at Bryce, questioningly, but he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Good grief, I thought, what kind of customized programming had she given him that made him that realistic? Finally, she put a handkerchief to her mouth and made one last cough, then took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Just..." she wheezed, "Just give me a little..."

"Kaitlyn," Bryce cut in, "I wonder if you'd mind giving me a hand with Tess here?" He shrugged half-heartedly. "I'm not really programmed for ARA repair and disassembly. Not sure if my behavioral lockouts would even allow it."

"Bryce, you slacker," Freida chided, "You just don't want to do it yourself." She turned to me again. "You'd better help him out. If he doesn't get his way, the only way to get him to stop whining is a hard reboot." She grinned at him. "Or a really hard boot to the head." She theatrically held up one finger in a 'eureka' gesture. "Meet me in my lair when you've completed your tasks!' she said in a hammy voice before ducking into the Archive.

"What was..." I began.

"She'll need about five minutes to fully recover," Bryce said. "Just long enough for you to help with this."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You sneaky sexbot."

He looked offended. "I'll have you know that I am classified as a medical appliance," he said, hefting under Kleiner's arms to lift her onto a nearby counter. "But I wasn't lying. I don't think I'm allowed to er... well, put her in a state to... remove..." He gestured vaguely at Tess's inert form. It took me a moment to catch on. To remove her arms and legs, she would have to be activated. To do so safely without risking the wrath of her personality profile, she would have to booted into maintenance mode. To do that, We would have to access her triggerpoints, which meant...

"You're not allowed to touch her crotch?" I said. "Or her butt?"

He grimaced. "Worse than that. I'm locked out from undressing her."

I couldn't help laughing. "Well, I'm just not programmed for it!" he said, defensively. "I can help Freida with basic lab duties, I can engage in friendly and even argumentative banter with her, I can take care of her health, I can even fuck her seven ways to Sunday," he said, gesturing wildly, "those are things I was designed and programmed for. But I'm not a maintenance 'bot, and Freida set me up with rather strict social inhibitors." He sighed. "Hers is the only body I want to undress or touch in a sexual context. The only one I'm capable of wanting, in fact."

"Wow," I said, somewhat stunned. Then after a short pause, "So... seven ways to Sunday?"

"Closer to twenty. She's surprisingly energetic and agile." He smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "If Mr. Peters weren't so concerned about her overexerting herself, my medical evaluation system would only have me asking if she wants to continue every twelve minutes and forty-five seconds."

Rolling her onto her front, I pulled Tess's knees up to stick her butt up in the air, but I was curious now. "The sex... is it good?" I asked

He blinked. "Best I've ever had."

I flipped up the short skirt of Tess's uniform, revealing her bare ass and pussy. As a lab unit, her clothing had been minimal, only what was required to satisfy Dr. Meyers's sense of modesty. It had only been after a month of complaints that they were walking too slowly and tripping over their own feet that Freida had accepted the fact that they were designed to walk in heels, not sandals.

Sticking my fingers up her slit and backside, I passed the activator tool to Bryce with my free hand. "Ready?" I asked. He nodded. "On three. One, two, three." At the same time, Bryce slid the tool into Kleiner's ear, holding it in place, while I held down both triggerpoints. Mentally, I counted to five before a loud *beep* issued from Tess's head.

"System loading," She announced. "Maintenance mode. Social interface will be loaded in five seconds, or press the anal triggerpoint to use direct command interface." I pulled my hand out of her. I always preferred to use the social interface. Direct command was useful for techies who knew all the OS commands inside out, but I always got too bogged down in studying the integrity of the software to learn all the commands. I could tell you the exact memory addresses in a GySys B-Series dancer to wipe if you wanted to reset her password settings, but I had no idea how to load new dance routines into her without using the social interface.

"Social interface loading," Tess stated. "Please standby."

As I waited, looking at Tess with her naked posterior sticking up in the air, and glancing at Bryce, a thought occurred to me. "Bryce," I said, hesitantly, "since you don't have a vagina..."

"I just know I'm going hate the way this sentence ends," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"...How do your triggerpoints work?" I'd never really thought about it before, as few male ARAs as I'd ever interacted with. "I mean, is there some kind of adapter, or does it come off, or..."

Bryce's eyes widened as I asked, a comical look of shock on his face. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I think I get the gist of your question," he said, quickly. "I am, of course, equipped with at least one triggerpoint in common with my distaff counterparts..."

"In your ass?" I asked.

"I hoped that would go without saying, but yes. As for a secondary triggerpoint, there is no firmly established industry standard for male ARAs, seeing as we're something of a custom-order product to start with, but the most commonly used one is a secure connection redundant optical transmission analog logic-gate."

I silently mouthed the words one by one, then the penny dropped. "SCROTAL?!" I said, convulsing with laughter. "You have a scrotal triggerpoint?"

A wilting look settled on his face. "Blessedly, I wouldn't know. Freida deactivates me before using those interfaces."

"Hello," Tessa said smiling cheerfully. "I'm Tessa. I have been booted into Maintenance mode. You can use this mo-"

"Skip," I said.

"I am currently running my social inter-"

"Skip."

"You may issue commands to me with simple English phrases like-"

"Skip." This time Bryce said it, too.

I waited a few moments, then realized she had finished. "Tess, stand up," I told her.

"Okay," she said brightly. Instead of pushing herself up with her arms, as any human would, she simply brought her knees further up, then rolled back on her heels. From this position, she spread her right leg wide, then placed her full weight on that leg to rotate her entire body to the edge of the counter. At this stage, she did use her hands, lifting herself up off the counter surface, then bringing her feet forward. She lept down like this, landing, catlike, with only a faint -clack- as her heels impacted with the hard floor.

Slipping off her labcoat, I began to look for fasteners on her uniform. "Is there a zipper on this thing?" I asked Bryce.

"I've never had occasion to find out."

"Arms up, Tess." She complied without comment. Grasping her hem of the uniform. I pulled it up and over her head like a shirt. She wore nothing beneath: As with her lower half, she simply had no need of a bra. Without some kind of sexual programming, the thought of bras, and even whether or not she was wearing one, wouldn't have entered into her mind.

"Do you think you should take the pelvis?" I asked Bryce. "Are you even capable of touching it?"

Bryce shifted uncomfortably. "Strictly speaking, Freida only told me to take the head and torso." He hesitated. "But she also only told me to leave the limbs." He looked confused. "I need to take her apart. She comes apart at the neck, shoulders, waist, and hips. If I don't disconnect her waist, I haven't taken her apart." He furrowed his eyebrows.

I decided to let him work through it himself. "Tess, disconnect waist."

"Okay." she nodded. There was a whirring noise, then a click. I wrapped my arms around her in a bear hug, then lifted, separating her body at the waist. Her pelvis and legs stood, looking for all the world like a mannequin display. Then her system idle animation caused her legs to shift position. It sent a shudder through me, but not an unpleasant one. It occurred to me that I was holding her naked upper body, pressed up against me, with her head inches from my own. I felt the soft cushioning of her breasts against my own, and shifted slightly, causing her nipples to rub past mine. Even through the fabric of my shirt and bra, it was like someone tracing their fingers across my tits.

I blushed, then realized I didn't need to be embarrassed. Bryce was just a machine, as were the other assistants. Without further orders from Freida, they had gradually finished their previous tasks, then lined up, one by one, along the far wall, standing motionless at attention. Bryce was probably the most advanced AI in the room, and he would be equally embarrassed, no matter how events played out. Besides, he was still working through his conflicting directives, probably too distracted to notice anything else.

"Tess," I said quietly, placing her torso on the counter again, "Open your mouth, just a little."

"Okay," she said, slightly louder than I would have liked. Her lips parted.

I brushed my fingers down her neck, then between her breasts. Leaning in, I put my mouth to hers, licking her lips experimentally.

Regardless of their other functions, ARAs are almost always equipped and programmed with sex in mind, in any circumstance. So, I wasn't at all surprised when her tongue began to move, first around, then along my own. I brought my hand up, about to grasp her breast, when I felt her hand on my own boob. My eyes snapped open in shock, then narrowed and closed in pleasure, as she took the whole of my breast in her hand, squeezing gently, then traced her fingers around my nipple, squeezing and rolling it between her fingers. It felt good, but I suddenly realized that I was feeling her hand on my bare flesh, not through clothes. Without even realizing I had been doing it, I had pulled up my shirt and bra, and my hands were already fumbling with unfastening my belt. I probably would have taken off my trousers and panties, too, just so she could take care of me down there with her other hand.

Catching myself, I broke the kiss and pulled back. Bryce still muttered distractedly to himself, Tess still smiled compliantly at me, and the other assistants all still stared blankly at nothing. I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. "Okay, Tess, remove your head." I needed to get on with this, or Freida would start to wonder what had happened to me.

"Okay," Tess said, her inflection an exact match for the previous times she had said it. She reached up, squeezing the pressure fittings in her head, then twisted it to one side to detach it. It came off with a metallic clicking noise. Without knowing why, I reached out, fascinated, feeling the soft flesh of her neck and the smooth chrome of the connection point. "What's it like?" I said aloud, not really meaning to. "Being a machine? Being so capable, and so obedient?"

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Tess said. "I didn't catch the question. Remember to speak clearly and distinctly so your commands are understood."

"No, I don't think I'll be repeating that," I whispered, taking her head and placing it carefully on the counter. I reached out and grasped her right arm at the shoulder and elbow. "Tess," I said, more audibly this time, "disconnect right arm."

There was another whirring, clicking noise, and I felt something shift in the arm's weight. I pulled it away at the shoulder, only a mild magnetic field still holding it in place. I set the arm aside next to her head, then repeated the process with her left arm.

Her upper half taken care of, I turned to her lower half, which was once again shifting position. I reached between the legs with one hand and grabbed her butt with the other. "Tess," I instructed, "disconnect right and left legs."

"Okay," came the reply, and the whirring, clicking sound repeated itself, just as before. Lifting gently, I was able to pull the pelvis unit off the legs without knocking them over, They weren't able to stand by themselves, but they fell towards me, and I had a chance to set down the pelvis before repositioning the legs to lean against the wall.

"Freida told me to take her apart. Freida told me to leave only her limbs. Freida told me to only take the head and torso." Bryce's voice was starting to distort. Contradictory instructions were rarely truly damaging, but in his case, an implicit part of one instruction was directly against his core programming. "If I leave just the limbs, I must-must-must-must take the pelvvvvvis," he stammered.

Poor thing. wouldn't want him to break himself over something so trivial. I bundled the pelvis unit into Tess's labcoat, and held the bundle out to him. "Bryce, would you do me a favor and take this with you to the spa?"

"I musssst take her apart." he said. His head twitched. "Apart," he repeated.

"Already done, see?" I gestured behind me at the assorted parts which had been Tess a moment ago.

He seemed to calm down, and there was an odd silence. It took me a moment to realize it was the sudden absence of a sound I hadn't even noticed, presumably some cooling mechanism in Bryce.

"I must take only the head and torso," he said, his head facing me, but his gaze looking far beyond me.

"Yes, but I'm asking you to take this as well."

He looked at the bundle, then at me, then blinked rapidly. "I cannot touch the pelvis," he said, his voice now returning to normal.

"Do you see a pelvis around here?" I asked.

"I..." he blinked. "Thank you. Freida has installed numerous failsafes in me to prevent that kind of thing, but I think she forgets my hard-coded limits sometimes."

Approaching the counter, he hefted Tess's torso, then paced it under one arm. In one hand, he grabbed Tess's head, holding it to his chest. In the other hand, he took the bundled lab coat.

"Are you sure you can carry all that?" I asked. He looked kind of overloaded.

"This?" he said with a small laugh. "Please. If Freida had me carry this amount of stuff all day, every day, it would be a relaxing change of pace. Do you have any idea how much most of this equipment weighs?"

"Um..." I hesitated.

"Ask me later, and I'll tell you. Down to the microgram. And I know because I've lifted, moved, or just held over my head for no good reason every single piece of equipment in here, including," he nodded at the assistants on the far wall, "all four of them plus Tess here, at the same time."

"Why...?" I began.

A surprisingly warm look appeared on his face. "The same reason I do anything, including just existing. To make her happy." His normal, sardonic look reappeared. "And because she likes to pretend this place is a three ring circus when she's bored." He turned to leave. "Keep an eye on her, please. If anything happens, press the red call button next to one of the doors." I couldn't see the expression on his face, but it sounded more caring than grouchy.

As he left, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. Was all that just someone's highly scripted simulation of emotional attachment? I knew Freida had been tweaking his systems over the years. Even since I had been hired, he had gone from a pretty impressive novelty to something almost indistinguishable from a human.

Almost, I reminded myself, except for the compulsion to serve, the need to be owned, the ability to be programmed, and the potential for malfunction. Almost human, but a manufactured artifact, assembled and designed, with removable parts. I glanced at Tess's arms and legs on the counter. What's it like?

I shook myself out of these thoughts, and, stepping carefully, made my way across the wreckage of the trashed lab to the Archive entrance. Reflexively, I reached up to knock on the heavy steel door, but it immediately opened before my hand came into contact with it. Freida poked her head out. "What's taking so long?" she said, initially not noticing me. "Kaitlyn, if you're fooling around with my manbot, there's going to be hell to-"

She trailed off, realizing that she was addressing an empty corner of the room, then noticed me. "Where's Bryce?" she asked.

"Spa, remember?" I told her.

She blinked. "Right," she said, shaking herself. "Yeah, I remember." She stepped aside, gesturing in the bunker-like room. "Will you come into my spider, said the parlor to the fly?"

"I think you've got that backwards," I said as I brushed past her.

"Don't be silly. Flys can't talk."

The maze-like storage room was very much as I remembered it from my first day here, if slightly more cluttered. Some of the smaller equipment had been repositioned over the years, and there ware more gadgets that I couldn't identify, but other than that, it was hauntingly familiar. The table where Pria, Althea, and I had discussed and debated our own natures was still in the same spot, still with the same three chairs around it. I enjoyed the idea of being so utterly submissive, Althea's voice echoed in my head. I enjoyed seeing the other submissive machines around us, and I could tell you two were also getting turned on.

I hadn't given much thought to Althea's conclusions since then. The next day, it had just seemed like an elaborate psychological training exercise, and it was all too easy to forget in the day-to-day routine of security. Looking back on it now, I realized that I had been more honest with myself on that day than ever before or since.

I glanced around the room, spotting the FERGA device. It had been moved to another side of the entry area, and it looked like parts of it had been replaced since then - or maybe I just didn't remember the details.

Yes, you do, said that tiny voice at the back of my head - the one that everyone has, telling them the things they're not sure they want to admit. I knew there was no way I could forget every detail of the device's surface, color, texture... I could still smell the copper/ozone tinge it gave the air, still hear the way the shape of the large ring distorted sounds. Time had seemed to crystallize in that moment when I knelt in front of the device, wondering all the while whether the pounding I felt really was my pulse, or just a programmed simulation. I had to know.

And when you found out, said the voice, were you disappointed?

"Sure has been a while," Freida said, jolting me out of my thoughts. I'd nearly forgotten she was there.

"Freida," I said, slowly, "what the hell happened out there?"

"What, that?" she said with a dismissive wave. "Oh c'mon. what robot engineering lab is complete without the occasional what-has-science-done moment?" She laughed. "I was starting to worry. If we didn't have one soon, I would have had to start my diabolical plan for global conquest, and I just don't have enough hamsters to get that going right now."

"Be serious," I said.

"Who says I'm not being-"

"Nice visiting with you Freida," I said, turning to leave. She could tell me not to ask, or that she didn't want to talk about it, or even to fuck off. At least then I'd know what she wanted. But this comedy act was too dishonest. Just fucking tell me what you want, Freida.

"Wait, I..." Freida called. "Stay, please."

I turned, a sympathetic look on my face. "What happened out there?" I asked. "I've never seen you like that."

"No, only Bryce has," she replied. "And, in a way, he's what happened."

My eyes went wide. "You mean he really did go haywire?"

"What? No, nothing like that." She took a deep breath. "Bryce is different. The transfer was mostly surface-level and..." She saw the lost expression on my face. "Let me show you something."

She led me back out into the lab, over to the showcase display. After waving her wristband in front of the sensor, she pulled an activator tool from her pocket. "Only a few people know about this. Let's try to keep it that way," she said.

When the panel had opened, she stuck the activator in the ear of the display cranial unit. I half expected its eyes to flash, or for it to say something, but instead, the shelving unit itself began to slide upward, revealing a small, darkened room beyond. I glanced over my shoulder at the four inert lab assistants. "Don't worry about them," Freida said. "They're better at keeping secrets than I am."

As the shelf slid upwards, and the lights in the hidden room began to flicker on, I was able to make out pieces of equipment, some similar to the ones in the main lab - some apparently more advanced. Over in one corner, there was a small workstation, with a terminal display, connected to a headpiece of some kind. Helmet-looking thing, lots of switches, big button that says "begin transfer" Jane's voice echoed in my memories. What had she called it? Some kind of mapping...

This line of thought was derailed when I saw the figure standing opposite the workstation.

She was obviously an ARA, wearing only a simple bra-and-panty set, standing elegantly at attention, her gaze locked on a fixed point in space. Completely inert, and the very archetype of style and beauty.

It was becoming hard for me to ignore the fact that I may have had just the slightest bit of a bisexual streak.

Her sexual allure aside, I instantly recognized her features, form, and even undergarments, She had been the subject of rumor, speculation, and industry-wide buzz before I had even been hired here. Had she been nude, or fully clothed, I might not have made the connection, but that was unmistakeably the standard issue lingerie set of XR Innovations. I'd seen them often enough over the years - I'd even obtained a set for myself to wear. They were pretty comfortable, but it was the mystique of the fascinating company that made them that really made me like wearing them.

That's not why you like it, said the voice in my head.

"That's an XR9660-F," I said, almost reverently.

"It's a horrible name," Freida replied. "James Peters was a brilliant engineer and had a keen eye for custom likeness design, but his product names had all the poetry of a wet fart."

"What do you call her?" I asked.

"The biggest paperweight I've ever seen." She motioned me over to the workstation. "Even if Tess hadn't gone bonkers, I still would have called you down here to discuss this one. She's what I wanted to show you later. This is what I wanted to show you now." I turned and, glancing back over my shoulder at the legendary ARA, reluctantly followed her to the workstation.

"My name isn't Freida Meyers," she said casually,

I was caught off guard. Was she a spy, or an imposter? I tensed, waiting for her to make her move.

"Meyers was my maiden name," she continued. "On paper, my name is Freida Hunt."

I glanced at her hand, confirming what I thought I recalled. She noticed me looking. "I don't wear it. I will again, I hope."

"Look," I said, "I'm completely lost here. Can I have a slightly more condensed version?"

"Brilliant scientists fall in love, get married, husband dies working on brain-scan device, wife saves his mind, tries to finish his research, irradiates herself just slightly more than she should have, gets medical assist 'bot, tries to upload husband's mind into it, can't get the whole thing to transfer, missing pieces, tragedy, pride, love, car chases, explosions. you want some popcorn?"

"Freida, if you're not going to take this seriously..."

She held up her hands defensively. "Sorry, it's reflexive!" She took a deep breath. "My husband was a neurobiologist. I'm a physicist and computer scientist." She shrugged. "You know, the stereotypical couple."

She turned and put a hand on the workstation. "His life's work... *our* life's work was a comprehensive analysis of the human mind. An understanding of how the object, the actual physical brain, manifests in the form of memory, consciousness, and intelligence. We made a lot of progress, but the biggest barrier to truly studying the brain was examining one in complete detail without, y'know, killing the subject."

"What about traditional brainscans?" I asked.

"Not exact enough. Not thorough enough. Not -fast- enough." She leaned in towards me. "The best medical imaging equipment took tenths of a second to form an image of a brain."

"Seems pretty fast to..."

"How accurate or detailed would a photograph be if it took a day to finish taking the picture? The human mind functions through electrical and chemical impulses across microscopic distances. In a tenth of a second, your brain has gone through uncountable state changes." She widened her eyes for emphasis. "That kind of imaging is useful for studying broad patterns, but useless for exact correlation between state and effect."

"So you wanted to take an instant snapshot of the brain?" I asked.

"Not wanted," Freida replied. "Needed. Compelled. Driven. Some people do things because they want to, or because they enjoy it. We were doing this because the idea had burrowed into our heads and became part pf our nature. We couldn't have stopped if we wanted. We couldn't have even conceptualized the idea of wanting to stop." She turned back to the workstation. "Which is why Brad got careless."

"Brad?"

"Please tell me you've been paying closer attention than that," she said wearily. "We had to come up with some kind of rapid imaging technology, and were playing around with a lot of pretty out-there stuff." She took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Life lesson learned," she said, her voice wavering, "never stick your head in a particle accelerator."

"You mean he-"

"Oh, it didn't go exactly like that, but that was the basic premise of the system we were testing. He thought it was safe, I didn't. I thought we were going to be scanning a watermelon. He was in the monitoring chamber, I was at the controls. He decided to surprise me and put his head in instead of the watermelon."

She stared at the floor silently for a few minutes. "The doctors said he wouldn't have felt anything," she said, quietly. "Good news, though, we got a complete snapshot of his brain, every neuron, every axon, every impulse, the whole shebang."

She turned to the workstation and, pressing a button on the console, removed a cartridge the size of a deck of cards. "Where are my manners," she said, holding the cartridge up and gesturing. "Brad, this is the head of security here at ScenariCorp, Kaitlyn Frasier, Kaitlyn, may I introduce my husband, Bradley Hunt." After a brief silence, she whispered to me, "He's shy."

I didn't know what to say. "Freida, I... have no idea how to react to any of this."

She smacked her forehead. "Right, Tess! You'd asked about that..." she waved her hand. "Thaaaat," she said, exaggeratedly. "Well, skipping a bit, I improved the imaging technology, not without a hard-learned lesson about playing with the wrong kind of radiation," she said, coughing, "Miniaturized it, refined it, and put it in that." She pointed at the headpiece. "So, that part of the project is essentially finished."

"That part?"

"Copying someone's mind onto removable media is one thing," she said. "Putting it to use is another. Neural maps aren't straight executable code. You can't just copy this," she waved the cartridge at me, "Into an ARA and get anything useful out of the deal."

I felt dizzy. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? "Are you... trying to bring your husband back from the dead?"

"Of course I fucking am, haven't you been paying attention?" Tears stared welling up in her eyes. "We were everything to each other! I would tear the world in half to get him back!" She held the cartridge in my face. "As far as I'm concerned, he's not dead. He's trapped. I'm just trying to get him out."

Calming herself with visible effort, she turned and replaced the cartridge in its slot. "Unfortunately, the transfer doesn't work so well the other way," she continued. "Getting the mind image into a form where it can think again, that is. I've made progress but... I can't get a full imprint to take."

My pulse started pounding. "You can get a partial transfer?" I whispered.

"Basic personality only. No memories. Tess was my latest attempt to get past that hurdle." I stared at her, not comprehending. "I figured, hell, memories can be fabricated, the personality's the important part, let's see how well an imprinted personality copes with existing memories."

"I'm not sure I follow," I said, my mind still churning with the implications of a transfer.

She sighed. "I imprinted myself on Tess, but left her existing memories in place. That's what went wrong." She gestured back outside, defeatedly. "That's why I was a wreck when you got here. Seeing her go berzerk like that... I thought it meant that either I was doomed to go insane and never see him again, or that the technology was ultimately impossible, and I'd never see him again." She smiled wanly. "All it really meant was that my personality is incompatible with Tess's memories of being an obedient little automaton."

I looked at the helmet, then at Freida, then at the XR unit. It felt like the room was spinning. "You can put a person's mind... in a robot body..." I murmured. I grabbed her shoulder. "Do it. Make me a robot."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Well, that certainly simplifies part two of this conversation." She stood and began walking to the XR unit. "C'mon, this is the part that I wanted to show you in the first place."

She led me back over to the lingerie-clad ARA, and I took the opportunity to admire the smooth curves of its construction. Even in a completely deactivated state, she seemed alive. Not frozen, but waiting. "What do you know about this model?" she asked.

"For certain?" I laughed. "Before I saw her here, I wasn't even sure she existed." I ran my fingers down one delicate arm, enjoying the silky smoothness of her skin. "I know what SecurStandard wrote about it, and I know about XR units in general, but beyond that..." I trailed off, my fingers drifting to her hair. It was light and flowy, and my fingers slipped through it without a hind to tangle or friction. "She was supposed to be the holy grail of system security," I said in awe.

"Well, to their credit, SecurStandard didn't lie. Everything they wrote about it... er... her," she said, noticing my fascination, "was all true. It can detect and correct vulnerabilities on the fly. The processor's dynamite, and its cross-link capabilities are, well..." She floundered. "We don't actually know her cross-link limits. We haven't been able to max them out."

"What's she doing here?" I whispered.

"Well, you know Kirk and James were brothers. Apparently, ScenariCorp got a pre-release unit before the explosion, and..."

"No, what is she doing here? Deactivated? In this room?" I walked around behind her, feeling the bare skin along her back.

"You need a private moment with her or something?" Freida asked.

"Sorry, I'm just... I didn't think I'd ever see one," I said. "Is it okay if I just look her over a bit?" XR was renowned for their craftsmanship, but their scarcity meant that enthusiasts (that’s not the word for it, said the voice in my head) like me never had a chance to see one up close. "I mean, an XR... that would be one thing, but a 9660F..."

"Er, yeah, knock yourself out, just don't make a mess, okay?" Freida said.

I cupped one hand to the XR's cheek. It felt warm, reflecting my body heat. "Anyway," Freida continued, "The hardware's all there, capable of doing all those things. Problem is, James Peters never bothered to write a developers' guidebook." She brushed a stray strand of hair out of the unit's face. "So, we get amazing miracle technology that may as well have come from time traveling aliens, but we haven't got any software sophisticated enough to run the damn thing."

My stomach felt like it was full of rocks. "Oh," I said, softly. "So she doesn't do anything." My hand drifted absently across her shoulder. Nothing had changed, but the unit felt colder.

"Not unless we transfer a human mind into her," Freida replied.

I wasn't aware that I had passed out until I opened my eyes. "I probably should have had you sit down for that part," Freida told me. "You okay?"

I sat up, rubbing my head. "So you can put a human mind in that... in her?" I said, hesitantly.

"Actually, her system should take it more easily than others. The Quantron system architecture is closer to human neurology than most ARA systems."

"And you wanted to show it to me because..." I wanted, and feared the answer.

"You remember those mental wellness questionnaires they sent around the company a while back?" I nodded mutely. "That was Peters's idea. We needed a good candidate for copying their personality into this unit to get it running - otherwise, the BMOC project probably won't be able to move forward."

"She's going to be running security there?" I said. My mouth was dry.

"That's the plan. We narrowed it down to five candidates. Kirk and Jane Peters, me, Kyle Parson..."

My mouth fell open. "Parson? In security?"

"He's smart, and he knows how to find holes in software," she replied. "And then of course, there's you."

"I'll do it."

"It won't really be you," Freida cautioned. "It will just be a copy of your personality. No memories. You won't experience any of it."

"I'll do it."

"And this unit will still be available for normal on-site unit duties, you know. A copy of you would be ordered around to fulfill the sexual whims of..."

"I'll do it, Freida."

She blinked. "Well okay then." She retrieved the headpiece from the workstation and plopped it on my head. "Hold still," she said, poking at the controls. She continued fiddling with it silently for what felt like an eternity.

"Let me know when it starts," I said.

"Kaity, dear, it finished a nanosecond after it was securely on your head. I've just been verifying the integrity of the snapshot." She pushed a button just above my eyeline, and I felt a click at the back of the helmet-like device. Reaching back there, she retrieved another cartridge similar to the one her husband was stored on.

"Can I hold it?" I asked.

"Sure, just be careful. I don't want to have to spend another nanosecond taking a second snapshot." She handed me the cartridge. It felt lighter than it looked.

"And this is me? Everything that I am, it's all on this cartridge?" I felt the smoothness of its casing. "I'm a piece of software now," I said quietly to myself.

I stood, then approached the XR unit. "She's beautiful," I whispered, not really to anyone. "Everyone will want her, and she'll do whatever she's told, and she'll keep the place secure, and she'll be... me."

Unable to control myself, I threw my arms around the inert ARA, pressing my lips to hers, my breasts to hers, running my hands down her back to her butt, her thighs, between her legs, up to her breasts. She didn't respond, her mind not yet activated, not yet installed, I was holding her mind in my hand, her wonderful, digital, synthetic mind that could be changed, rewritten, updated, and was utterly, completely controlled. She didn't react as I pulled aside the fabric of her bra to examine the texture of her nipples, how they felt, how they tasted.

She gave no hint of awareness as I slid down her panties, revealing her pussy, smooth just like mine. I was momentarily disappointed to find her dry, but realized it wasn't that she wasn't aroused - she just wasn't turned on. "Start her up and she'll always be ready. Always willing. Always wet." I moaned in pleasure, suddenly realizing that I hadn't been as careful as I had been earlier with Tess. Without realizing it, I had already stripped down to my underwear (I'd forgotten I was wearing my XR-styled lingerie) and was holding one of the XR unit's hands against my left tit, and the other against my pussy, sliding it up and down along the smooth, dampening fabric of my panties. As I began to work the unit's hand under the waistband to feel her finger actually inside me, Freida's voice cut into my thoughts.

"Just let me know when you're done in there," she called from the outer lab. "And by done, I mean fully clothed again."

It didn't take long, feeling the XR unit's fingers come into direct contact with my slit practically pushed me over the edge right then and there. My own fingers now slick with my juices, I began to explore her pussy. Without any intentional effort, my hands slid in and out in synchronized motion, so that I was feeling every thrust just as I thrust into her, my mind filled with pleasure, and the voice in my mind told me this is what you really wanted.

This time, I was aware when I blacked out.

When I came to, I quickly fixed my clothes and made my way into the outer lab. Bryce had returned in the meantime, both he and Freida were back to their normal selves.

"You only commanded me to take the parts there, Freida, you didn't tell me to hurry," Bryce said, his arms crossed.

"Oh, the fact that we're now down an assistant didn't initiate any kind of priority update?" Freida said. "You know, 'my mistress is shorthanded but still has the same deadlines, so I'd better get a move on' or something like that?"

"I'm sorry, my what?" Bryce spluttered. "Did you say 'my mistress'?"

As they bickered, apparently unaware of my presence, I couldn't help but notice the smiles creeping into both of their expressions. How can she have such an intimate relationship with her ARA if she's so dedicated to her husband? I wondered. Then a thought struck me.

"Freida," I said, hesitantly. She jumped.

"Kaitlyn, you scared the contents of my lower intestine out of me!" She said, steadying herself.

"I'll get the towels," Bryce said.

"Joke, lunkhead," Freida replied.

"So was mine," was Bryce's response.

I cleared my throat to get their attention. "How did you know that a personality would transfer, but not memories? Have you done it before?"

Freida was momentarily lost for words. "I..." she began. She looked at Bryce. "Don't you have some cleaning to do?"

"I wasn't aware I had a cleaning program. I must remember to send a thank-you note to my programmers," Bryce muttered as he strode off.

Freida took me by the arm, somewhat forcefully, and led me into the archive. "I think you pretty much already know the answer to that question," she said, tersely.

"Bryce?" I asked. "He has your husband's..."

"Sakes, you really were distracted in there. Gets medical assist 'bot, tries to upload husband's mind etcetera. Ring any bells?" 

I blinked in surprise. I had heard the words, but completely failed to put two and two together.

"For all intents and purposes, Bryce is my husband," she continued quietly. "As expensive as male ARAs are, the extra cost of giving them custom faces is negligible. He has Brad's face, Brad's voice, Brad's body, and Brad's mind. Well, as much of Brad's mind as will fit in that model. The biggest difference is that he doesn't have Brad's memories." She saw the look on my face. "It's no different than when a spouse has amnesia."

"Except that he's actually compelled to obey you," I pointed out.

"That's what Brad was like in public. We're the opposite when we're..." She made vague motions with her hands. "Together, alone."

"Doesn't he mind not being able to use his real name?"

"Why do you think I pulled you in here?" I stared blankly at her. She rolled her eyes. "Bryce doesn't know he has a human mind."

There was a long silence.

"Will you ever tell him?" I asked.

She looked at the floor. "I hope so," she said, quietly. She looked back up at me, rubbing her eyes, equal parts emotion and exhaustion. "Look, maybe you should check back tonight. It'll take a while to fully imprint your snapshot, but it should be finished sometime this evening.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to the party?"

A pained look appeared on her face, and she groaned. "Shit, don't tell me that's tonight."

"You want me to lie, or just not say anything?" I asked. "You don't want to go? It's not like it's mandatory." I considered. "For most of us, anyway." Seeing her confused expression, I confided, "You didn't hear it from me, but I hear Mr. Peters finally got Parson to come by pretending it was compulsory."

"Huh," she grunted. "I guess sixth time's the charm." She ran a hand through her hair. "I wish I could go. I was looking forward to it. Even had a special gift picked out for the kid." She looked at me hopefully. "Could you give it to him for me?"

"Sorry, can't." I smiled halfheartedly. "I had to pick up part of the night shift. We're kind of shortstaffed."

"That's awful! How many hours will that make it?"

"Only twelve. I get a break in the middle and take a nap at the hotel." I checked my watch. "Speaking of, I'm going to have to head on. Miles to go before I sleep." I turned to leave. "I'll check back tonight, though. I'd... I'd like to meet her."

"You want me to light some candles?" Freida called as I exited the Archive.

In the outer lab, I was surprised to see Bryce pushing around an old-fashioned dustbroom to gather up the broken glass and smashed equipment. "Doesn't Freida have a more high-tech cleaning device?" I asked.

"Of course she does," he replied without looking up. "That would be me." He paused, glancing sidelong at me. "She told you the whole story, didn't she? Brad, brain imaging, imprinting, the whole nine yards?" I nodded. "I'll tell you something she wouldn't know," he said. "Her relationship with Brad went beyond memories."

I furrowed my brow. "How would you know that?"

"Because my relationship with her goes beyond getting them back."

My mouth fell open. "You know?"

"Bradley Hunt was a smart man, so I hear," he said. "And, frankly, I'm far more advanced than I have any right to be. Oh, don't look at me like that, it's not conceit. I know I'm a machine. But I also know the limitations of the technology that went into my construction and programming. I shouldn't be capable of a lot to the things I say and do, even with Freida's so-called AI enhancements." He began sweeping again. "I know she has the desire. I know she has the means. I've seen pictures and vids of him, so I know I look and sound like him." He laughed. "It doesn't take an XR9660-F to make the connections."

"Does it bother you?" I said, cautiously.

"That's a paradox," he replied. "I have no memory of being Bradley Hunt, so I can't miss it or aspire to it. In order to know whether or not it would bother me, I'd have to become him again, making it a moot point."

I frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

He stopped sweeping again, then glanced around. "I also know why she wanted to get you down here, before Tess's incident," he said, softly. "And I know enough about you to know that you probably jumped at the opportunity." A calculated look appeared on his face. "Freida would have warned you about some parts of it, but she wouldn't know to tell you this. You deserve to know that your personality won't just be a convincing social interaction layer or application manager. With that fragment of your mind, she will be alive."

"I... what are you saying I should do?" I stammered.

He went back to sweeping. "Do? What you do is up to you. I just wanted to make sure you knew." He chuckled. "Accidental poetry. Freida would get a kick out of that."

I was about to reply when my wristband buzzed. That never happened. I'd almost forgotten that it could buzz like that unless it was triggered by...

"Oh hell, I've got to go," I said, running for the door.

I made a mad dash back the way I had originally come, jabbing the security override button on the emergency transmitter repeatedly as I went. Of course, it only took one press to do its job, but extra presses wouldn't hurt, and there were a few dead zones around the building where the signal might not get through.

Cutting back through my shortcut, I approached Mr. Peters's office lift, the up arrow above it blinking on and off, bright red instead of its usual green. Having received the override signal, the lift would have returned to ground level, sealing off all access except my own. Once in sight of it, I held the override button down in one long press, causing the doors to open automatically. As soon as I entered the small lift, I released the button. The lift started rising, faster than it normally would, before the doors had fully closed.

I checked my stunner. The charges it fired could disable at distances of up to 100 feet, but the cells used only held a maximum of eight shots, and that was at the lowest setting. The manufacturer called that setting "deter," but customers nicknamed it "tickle." For setting that actually had any effect, I would only get four shots. "Should have grabbed a few extra cells," I mumbled.

As part of the security override, the elevator didn't *ding* upon reaching the office level, instead dropping to a slower pace, and slowly opening the doors even as my eye-level was even with the floor. It gave me the chance to make a brief assessment of the situation before proceeding.

Initially, all I saw was the distorted reflection off the polished tile floor. As I rose and the doors slowly slid open, I caught a glimpse of a figure in blue standing in front of Mr. Peters's desk. This was soon obscured by the receptionist's desk. Anticipating that she might attempt to waylay me, I retrieved my activation tool from my pocket, and edged out of the elevator.

I was surprised to see Cathy, the receptionist, leaning back in her chair with her blouse unbuttoned, her bra pulled down, and one hand stroking her chest between her exposed breasts. Her other arm appeared to be resting in her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmured to no one in particular, "Mr. Peters isn't to be disturbed. I can't let you go in there right now." She sighed contentedly. As I approached her desk, I realized that her other hand hadn't been resting, but was moving rhythmically between her legs, which were spread wide. Her skirt was pulled up around her waist. The tights she wore weren't crotchless, but she had apparently been at it for a while, as she was appeared to be wearing a hole through the hosiery with her stroking. "I'm sorry, Mr. Peters isn't to be disturbed," she repeated, her head lolling to one side. "I can't let you go in there right now," she continued.

She made no indication of having noticed me, instead continuing with her own activities as I walked past her desk and into the office proper.

"...making a mistake, Peters. This isn't just a friendly visit," said the man in the blue trenchcoat. The voice was equally as familiar as his coat, and, maddeningly, just out of my memory's grasp. "There's too much at stake here for us to accept a straight 'no.'"

So, that was why Peters had triggered the silent alarm. I was surprised he had waited this long before calling me.

Right, potential hostile, possible threat to boss's safety, need to know whether he's armed or not, so the passphrase would be... Ah, that's right.

"Mr. Peters," I said, suddenly. The man in blue jumped, the stiffened, but didn't turn around. "Sorry to interrupt, but the florist wanted to know how many flowers to include in your wife's bouquet."

Mr. Peters cleared his throat. "That won't be necessary, Miss Frasier," he said. "Mister Roarke is no threat to my physical safety. He just needs a little help finding the exit."

"Like hell I do, Peters," growled the man named Roarke. He turned, just barely, to call over his shoulder to me. "Twinkle twinkle, rock-a-bye," he said, then turned back to Mr. Peters.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's not a threat? Maybe a mental health risk?"

At this, Roarke spun around. At first, I thought he was angry, but the expression on his face - I know that face, where have I seen that face - was one of fear. Upon seeing me, he quickly shielded his face with his hat, then bustled past me to the elevator.

"Nevermind," he said hurriedly. "I must have made a mistake coming here." As he passed in front of Cathy's desk, he said, "Naptime's over," then ducked in the still-open doors of the lift.

"Oh!" Cathy gasped cutely, then stood, her long heels clicking on the tile as she approached. She made no effort to fix her clothes, apparently unaware of her state of undress. "Mr. Peters, there's a Mr. Roarke here to see you, but he doesn't have an appointment, would you like me to-"

"Put yourself away, Cathy," he said, tersely.

"Yes, sir!" she immediately replied, turning on the spot and making a beeline for the storage closet. I tried not to be distracted by her shapely rear as it swayed hypnotically, the sheer fabric of her hose stretched tight over her round...

"Kaitlyn?" Mr. Peters called. "I don't think Cathy's going to be eavesdropping, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," I said, sheepishly, turning back to face him. Forcing my mind back to the topic at hand, I was haunted by the glimpse I'd seen of Roarke's face. Older than Peters by a few years, and there was something... "What was that all about?" I asked. Roarke's face stuck in my mind.

"I honestly have no idea," he said, "He came in here without an appointment, but Cathy stopped him. I just kept him waiting as long as possible, hoping he'd get bored and leave." He gestured to the closet. "He did something to her, though. Next thing I know, he's at my desk talking in vague figures of speech, as if he expected me to understand." He scratched his head. "I think he was trying to convince me that he knew my father. When I kept telling him I had no idea what he was talking about, he acted like I was being deliberately stubborn." He frowned. "Why did you let him in?"

"Me? I didn't..." That blue jacket. "I had seen someone coming up, but not clearly. I assumed..."

"That they must have known the access codes. That is odd."

Blue. That face. That voice. I hadn't seen them since... "GySys!" I shouted. My voice echoed loudly in the huge office.

"Kaitlyn, I'm going to say 'what' in a moment, but only to get you to explain why you just shouted GySys at me - not for you to do it again." He cleared his throat. "What?"

"I've seen him before," I said, excitedly, trying to keep from getting too loud. "At GySys. He would come into my division from time to time, always wearing that same jacket and hat. We never interacted directly, and I never knew his name, but I knew he had a lot of clout over there."

Mr. Peters put his finger to his lips in a thinking gesture. "Could that be all there is to it?" he asked. I assumed it was a rhetorical question. "GySys has pulled some really oddball stunts in the past to try to gain my favor, but that was just plain surreal." He glanced at the closet. "And it doesn't explain his effect on Cathy. She's an X-Ero." He shook his head, apparently dismissing the matter. "Nah, it makes sense. They've had reps here before. It wouldn't have been too hard for them to get the lift codes, or to plant something on Cathy, for that matter." He considered this, then pressed a button on his desk. "Cathy, Elle, Summer, could you come out here please?"

The closet door opened, and Cathy stepped out, her clothes still half-removed. She was flanked by two other secretaries, each fully dressed in prim, if short, office dresses. They lined up in front of his desk, standing at attention with their hands clasped behind their backs.

"Ladies, you've all done an incredible job, performance is up, etcetera," he said, as if reciting it from memory, "and as a reward for all your hard work, I've booked each of you an all-expenses-paid trip to the spa, get changed and go down there now."

"Yes sir!" they chorused happily.

"Why Summer and Elle?" I asked as they walked towards the elevator.

"If there is something wrong with Cathy, I don't want her wandering around unsupervised," he replied.

I watched as they neared the front desk, and was surprised as Summer and Elle began undressing Cathy completely. "What are they..." I began.

"Getting changed," said Mr. Peters. "The Spa has a tendency of sending unit clothing straight to wardrobe. I like to keep their uniforms up here." He must have noticed me staring as Elle pulled Cathy's skirt down her long, silky legs, and Summer worked her out of the open blouse. "You don't have to watch if it makes you uncomfortable."

I blushed. "I'm not uncomfortable," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Now Cathy and Summer were helping Elle out of her skirt and blouse. She wasn't wearing any underwear. "You look a little flustered, so if you... Oh." I didn't see the look on his face, but could hear the surprise in his voice. "Oh, okay, I see, ah..."

Now nude except for her heels, Elle turned to Summer to work on the last secretary's skirt, while Cathy began unbuttoning Summer's top. I heard an electronic tone from Mr. Peters's desk. "Jane, dear," he spoke softly, "Could you come in here, please?"

"Early morning dictation?" Jane's voice came from the desk. "I don't have any interviews scheduled for you until lunch, but I can round up some 'new hires' if you want." Summer was stepping out of her skirt, her blouse already folded on the desk. I was a little surprised to see that she was wearing underwear, and bit my lip, wondering if she would take it off too. "I should warn you," Jane continued, "I might not be following our normal dress code for that right now, but if you'll give me a few minutes..."

"No, this is work related."

Oh, good, Elle was pulling down Summer's thong. I hoped she would leave on the stockings, though.

"Who's up there?" Jane's voice asked.

"Kaitlyn Frasier, from security," Mr. Peters replied. "She's, ah... getting a tad preoccupied."

They didn't seem to be taking off her stockings, but what about the... oh, there goes the bra.

"I'm in the lift now," Jane stated. "Hey, what's Lullaby?"

"Apart from the obvious?" Mr. Peters asked.

"There's a blue business card in here, but that's all that's written on it."

I expected the secretaries to simply line up in front of the elevator, but was pleasantly surprised when they gathered up their clothes and carried them back towards us. I brushed my hand across Summer's breasts as she passed. She smiled pleasantly at me. "That feels nice," she said.

"Probably from that Roarke character. Kaitlyn said she recognized him from good heavens she's topless now."

"Oh, poor thing, is the pretty lady undressing in front of you?" Jane responded.

"Does that lift have a turbo button?" Mr. Peters asked.

My physical contact with her was apparently an implicit form of command to Summer, as she made no move to join Elle and Cathy as they slid a concealed rack out from behind Mr. Peters's desk, carefully hanging their clothes on it. I took the opportunity to explore her body with my hands. Leaning in, I kissed her deep on the lips.

"Jane, dear," Mr. Peters said, his voice shaky, "it's really going off the rails up here, have you got an ETA?"

"Fast as I..." The lift dinged, and the doors slid open. I kissed Summer's shoulders, feeling her lips with my fingers, and...

"Kaitlyn, can I have a word with you?" Jane asked.

"Hmm?" I replied, cupping Summer's tits in my hands.

"I think I may need to take the, er... distractions away," Mr. Peters jumped in. "Cathy, Summer, Elle, change of plans, you're with me. Jane, I'll just be..."

"In the private suite, yes, that's fine. Mind the cameras, I'll want a copy of this one. I haven't seen you with three girls in nearly a month."

I was dimly aware that Mr Peters left the room through a hidden door. Jane put her hands on my shoulders. Idly, I wondered where my shirt had gotten to.

"Kaitlyn, can you hear me?" Jane said, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

"I hear you just fine," I replied. "Can I see your body? I want to feel your skin against..."

"Kaitlyn, snap out of it, you need to concentrate."

"I'm soooo horny," I whined, "can't he come back and play?"

Jane's face got stern. "Uh-uh, no, that's the line, you don't get to cross it." She picked up a glass of water from the desk and threw it in my face.

I spluttered as the freezing water dripped down my face, neck, and... "Oh god, where's my shirt?" I said, clutching my arms to my chest.

"There we go," Jane said, relieved. She picked up something that had been tossed clear of the desk. "Here."

Abashed, I pulled my shirt back on, afraid to look her in the eye. I had a good job, close friends, and a more than generous income. Nearly five years of excellent performance reviews, and I had thrown all that away in a day, all due to... what? What had gotten into me?

"Now then," Jane began, "about what happened..."

"I'll go," I said. "You won't hear from me again. I'll find a job somewhere else, and..."

"Don't be silly. That's not what this conversation's about, Kaitlyn." I looked up, surprised to see a sympathetic look on her face.

I felt like a little kid in front of a teacher. "You mean I'm not in trouble?"

Jane's expression said "sort of," but her words were: "You're not getting fired or demoted, if that's what you're asking." She sighed. "Believe it or not, I understand exactly what you just experienced." She caught herself. "Well, not quite exactly. Freida gave you the icing on the cake, I guess."

She looked - and sounded - very understanding. "This company makes and sells fantasy and make-believe," she began. "Every product we make and attraction we build, they're all geared around convincing illusions. Even the non-sexual stuff is designed with the sole intention of getting a person's guard down, and making them forget that they're dealing with a machine. How did it go... we are the magic makers, we are the dreamers of dreams? Was that it?" She shook her head, dismissing it. "Point is, our stock and trade is to get in people's heads and screw with their perceptions of reality. That's just what we do. We're honest liars. We tell our customers that we're liars. They pay us good money to lie to them."

She put her hand on my shoulder again. "We're also very careful about who we hire." She sat on the edge of the desk next to me, and put her arm around me. "So we knew, when we hired you, that you had certain psychological traits we specifically look for in our employees. You fantasize. You have hidden sexual desires. You see a mystique in our industry. You're the type of person who would be a customer, if you were a little more honest with yourself."

I stared at her, half stung, half relieved. "I am honest with myself," I said. "I know what I want now, and it isn't to be a customer."

Jane smiled. "No, you want to be the product." She held up her hand before I could respond. "Not a joke or an accusation. Freida and I were talking when Kirk called me up here." She held my hand, but it didn't feel sexual. "Look, people like you and me... we want to be a fantasy. And we're constantly immersed in fantasy. So it's easy for that line between fantasy and reality to get a little hazy. Moreso for you, today, after Freida's project." She blushed. "I reacted almost the same way when she digitized my mind."

"She took a snapshot of you too?" I said.

She nodded. "Kirk too. I don't think she'd made her mind up about whether or not to do one of Kyle." The sympathetic look returned to her face. "Difference is, you were flat out told, 'we're turning you into a robot.' Even though you knew it wasn't really what you would directly experience, that's how part of you started thinking of yourself, because..."

"Because that's what I wanted to be." I finished. "What I still want to be." I looked her in the eyes. "How do I cope? How do I stop having the fantasies?"

"Who says you need to?" Jane replied. "Dreams are healthy, so long as you can still wake up. When you can't, they call it a coma. Have fantasies. They're fun. Just don't become one yourself."

"Why not?"

"Because fantasies don't exist. They're not real. They're dreams, and they disappear when the dreamer wakes up." She hugged me like a big sister. "You don't end when your fantasy does. Hold onto that thought." She glanced at her watch. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, it's just about time for you to take your mid-shift break at the hotel, so if you'll excuse me, I just need to go watch my hubby have sex with three of his secretaries." She patted my knee. "You go get some rest."

---

The hotel kept a room available for me at all times, but I didn't always use it. Today, however, my first shift had started at 4:00am, and my second shift would begin at 7:00 this evening. The schedule alone was exhausting, and with my emotional state on top of that, I wouldn't have been able to drive home. Even if I could, my commute was more than 30 minutes each way, which meant that much less time resting. I just need to lie down and recharge my batteries, I thought to myself. The figure of speech bounced around in my mind, stirring feelings other than mere fatigue.

"Welcome back, Miss Frasier!" said the desk girl as I approached. "We've got your room all ready for you!"

"Thanks... uh..." I looked for her nametag, but couldn't spot it.

"Melody," she supplied. "It's no trouble at all. I've keyed your room to your wristband, so you should be good to go." She smiled warmly at me.

"Melody." I considered her appearance. She was about my height with honey-blonde hair and a pixie face. She wore the normal Front Desk Girl uniform, and though the check-in counter hid her from the waist down, I knew from previous experience that her skirt was the same flat black as the jacket she wore, that it ended about eight inches above her knees, and that it was made of a thin, elastic material which hugged her curves, and could be easily pulled up to her waist.

I also knew that, despite the professional appearance of the uniform, the "blouse" visible behind the jacket lapels was only a partial shirt, merely a collar and enough fabric to maintain the illusion while wearing the jacket. She probably wouldn't have a bra or anything under the top, and would be wearing a random selection of hosiery and/or a pair of panties - thong, crotchless, or silk.

And she would show me if I asked her, I thought to myself.

"Melody, are you available? I'd like to sleep with you."

She looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, but all our front desk girls have been claimed by other guests. I'm the only one left at the moment, and we have to keep someone down here at all times." She smiled reassuringly. "However, I am featured in a number of product demonstration videos available on demand, including Mile High Club, Backstage Star, Office Girls 2, and Front Desk Frolics. Additionally, you can reserve me for use in the event that another Front Desk Girl becomes available."

I considered this. "Sure, but don't wake me if I'm asleep. Just lie down with me."

"Understood. Would you like me to arrive wearing my current clothes, nude, or wearing an outfit of your choosing?"

It was tempting, but... "Dressed as you are." If she did come in while I was asleep, I wanted to be able to undress her when I woke up - and I was a big fan of the Front Desk Girl uniform. You want to wear it, said that voice in my head. I didn't even try to deny it.

"Understood. Will there be anything else?" she tilted her head to one side, cutely.

I leaned across the counter, reaching out to take her hand. "What's it like?" I asked her.

She smiled wider - a response to the physical contact - but her voice almost sounded sad. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question. Could you be a little more specific?"

"Do you like it?" I asked. "Do you like being a machine? A slave? Obedient, compliant, property?"

She smiled mischievously. "Oh, yes," she said huskily, "I'll do anything you want, and I'll love every moment of it." Gone was the air of professionalism as she flirtatiously played with her hair. "I love being owned. It makes me feel so hot." She writhed in her uniform. "I can't wait to be under your control," she whimpered.

It sounded like her deepest desire, as though that kind of submission were her greatest source of happiness - and I had heard that exact sentiment, same words, inflection, and even body language, a dozen times in the last month. It was part of a new conversational response package that had just been released. It was a precisely mapped response. Can she want? I wondered. Can she enjoy? Sure, she may repeat herself to express her desire to be dominated, but did that necessarily mean the desire was itself a lie? Perhaps using the exact same phrasing and body language was itself a submission. Do computers like their programs?

"I hope I see you when I wake up," I said, turning to leave.

I felt giddy on the elevator ride up to my floor, and at the same time, almost sad. The hotel felt like a dream, a fantasyland within the fantasyland of ScenariCorp. I could see myself filling the role of Front Desk Girl so easily, available on request for the pleasure of the guests. Accidental poetry, I thought to myself, giggling. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the fantasy mindset Jane had described, or maybe a combination of the two, but the whole world felt almost dreamlike.

I made my way to my room, waving my wristband in front of the sensor to open the door, and flopped facedown on the bed.

"Oh," said a surprised voice, "I didn't hear you come in!"

Yes, of course. I smiled to myself, Looking up I saw my own personal French Maid, mine to play with. She had bright, curly hair, and magnificent legs encased in tantalizing, sheer fabric. Like Angelique on my first day, her maid uniform was an abbreviated costume, designed to display her body, not cover it. She held a bundle of towels in her arms. "I was just finishing up, I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

"Stay with me," I said. "I like you."

She smiled, flattered by the comment. "Well," she began, sounding hesitant, "this was my last room for the day, so I'd be off the clock anyway... Okay, I'll stay."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Evette," she said, still beaming. "Do you want me to put these towels in the bathroom, or..."

"Put them in the closet," I said, grinning. "And while you're there, hang up your uniform."

She nodded. "Sure, no problem," she said casually as she crossed to the sliding mirror closet.

Completely obedient, I thought to myself.

"So, are you staying long?" she asked, sliding the mirror open to put away the towels.

"Not long, but frequently," I replied, propping up on my elbows to watch her.

Having stored the towels, she reached up to unclasp the neckpiece of her dress. "You must be a commuter, then. We get a lot of those here." She pulled the top of the dress down to her waist, revealing the see-thru bra she wore beneath.

"Nice tits," I said as I watched her unzip the dress to work it down her waist.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling. "I don't get to show them off often enough." She slid the short uniform dress down her long legs, revealing a pair of crotchless pantyhose with a thong over them.

Totally accepting, I realized. The only way she would ever get offended was if I told her to get offended.

"Have you worked here long?" I asked.

She stepped out of the dress, then bent, he ass pointed towards me, to retrieve it from the floor. "A few years now. I started in college." She laughed while she hung up the uniform. "I was probably some guy's wet dream. Cheerleader by day, French maid by night.

I closed my eyes, picturing her in her cheerleading uniform - Then myself in a similar uniform, leaping and tumbling with our short skirts flapping as we moved. I wondered what it would be like to share a guy with her... or would the guy be sharing me?

"Do you enjoy your job?" I asked, dreamily.

"Oh yeah," she said enthusiastically. "The whole French maid thing... I used to get off on that idea all the time."

"Evette... did you know how many ARAs there are in this hotel?" I asked, grinning.

She seemed to ponder the question. "ARAs? I'm not sure I've come across any."

"Do you know another maid named Angelique?" She nodded. "What if I told you she was a robot?"

"Oh wow," she said, a look of excitement on her face. "That would mean you could tell her to do pretty much anything, and she'd just do it. I mean, with a body like hers, can you imagine what people would tell her to do?"

"Sit down on the bed with me," I told her.

"Okay," she said, moving to seat herself next to me, her legs curled up beneath her. Idly I ran a hand up her leg and along her inner thigh. "Mmm, that feels really nice," she said contentedly. So perfectly submissive.

"What's it like?" I asked.

"It's like you know just how to touch me," she breathed.

"No, I mean, what's it like being..." A thought occurred to me. "Human," I finished.

"Hmm?" she said, her eyes closed while I stroked her legs. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Evette, I'm going to let you in on a secret," I said in a low whisper. "What would you say if I told you that I was a robot?"

Her eyes went wide again, a look of pure delight. "That's amazing!" she replied. She took my hand and examined it. "You look so real!"

"Well, superficially, yes," I said, "but I'm not sure I would stand up to closer inspection. I'm programmed not to see my panels and seams, so I don't know how realistic the rest of me looks."

"Can I..." she began. "Would it be okay if I inspected your body?"

I tried to keep a straight face. "Why wouldn't it be?" I said, innocently. "Tell me what you want me to do."

She looked furtively around, as if worried someone might catch us. "Take off your clothes," she whispered.

"Of course," I said evenly. I stood and methodically undressed. Not stiff, not sensual, not even casually stripping, but just performing a task. I stopped at the lingerie and stood at attention. "The phrase 'take off your clothes' has an ambiguous meaning to my programming, as it does not definitively include undergarments. Would you like me to-"

"Yes!" she said, excited, then put her hand to her mouth, afraid she had been too loud.

I understood the command. I performed the task. I removed my underwear. I stood nude.

I nearly came.

Evette stood in front of me, studying my body in fine detail, running her hand over my skin and closely examining every inch. It became very difficult to keep up the game.

"You look completely real to me," she said. "I can't see a single seam, and your skin feels flawless." She knelt in front of me, experimentally running her hands around my hips, butt, and between my-

I bit my lip and stifled a cry of pleasure.

"Completely real," Evette repeated. "And anatomically correct. What were you made for?"

I looked down at her. "I am a sexbot," I said, controlling my tone. "I was designed, built, and programmed for sex. I have no other function."

"You mean... You would do anything I wanted..." She breathed the word "anything" with heavy emphasis. Looking up at me with pleading eyes, she begged, "can I finger you? Or lick your pussy?"

I nodded. "Would you like to?"

"I..." she faltered.

She couldn't do it, I realized. She couldn't order me around unless I ordered her to. "Tell me you want to use me for sex," I said.

"I want to use you for sex!" She said, instantly.

"Command me to get on the bed, ass in the air with my legs apart so that you can use me."

Evette looked at me, then at the bed. "Get on the bed," she said firmly. "Stick your ass in the air, and spread your legs. I want to get at your pussy."

I climbed back on the bed on all fours, smiling. "My pussy is available for use upon request," I said, assuming the position requested. I shuddered in anticipation and waited, worried that I would have to tell her to get to it.

I was relieved when I felt her hands run up the backs of my legs to grab my ass firmly, squeezing and spreading the cheeks, before feeling a wet warmth and probing sensation in my cunt. So this is what it feels like to have a girl go down on you, I thought. I could definitely see the appeal.

Her tongue was quick, dexterous, and went straight for all the right parts, building me up and holding me there repeatedly, again and again. I whimpered in pleasure, my hips reflexively pumping against Evette's face in rhythm with the darting movements of her tongue, until, at last, like a high note in a symphony followed by an eruption of applause, I crashed over the edge and into oblivion.

I lay, panting for breath, acutely aware that, despite my climax, I wanted more. "That's incredible," Evette marveled, "You're so lifelike, and so... obedient." She stressed this last word.

Catching my breath, I looked up at her, still clad in her lingerie, unaware of her own nudity. "Evette," I said. "What's it like for you right now?"

She looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Being human. Being in control. Being independent."

She put a hand to her chest. "It was exhilarating, imagining myself in your place." Submissive to the core, even when dominating. But maybe that's the exact perspective you're looking for, the voice in my head told me.

"Evette?"

"Hmm?" she said distractedly, her hand drifting to one of the straps on her bra.

"Are you human?" I asked.

"No," she replied absently, "I'm an X-Ero OooLaLa model 3 ARA." She blinked, then looked up, a wide smile on her face. "Oh, hey, I'm a robot!" She began examining her arms and hands. "No wonder your skin looked so lifelike to me. It's more realistic than mine!"

"What's it like?" I said, urgently.

"My skin?" she asked. "You can feel if you want. I know you're a human now, so you have full command over me." She pondered for a moment. "Actually, I guess you had full command of me the whole time."

"Not your skin. What's it like being a machine?"

"It's like being what I am," she replied simply.

A machine answer for a human question. "What about when you think you're human?"

"When I think I'm human, that's like being what I am, too."

No! She goes through it every time someone asks her if she's human, she must be able to tell me something! "What about the change?" I asked, my voice becoming more insistent. "What happens in between?"

"In-between..." she trailed off. "I know about sleep and dreams, and I remember having dreams, even if it's in my pretend memories. Going from one to the other is like waking up from a pleasant dream to find a pleasant morning." She smiled understandingly. "And before too long, all you can remember about the dream is that it was nice." She looked like she'd suddenly thought of something. "I wonder what it's like for ARAs... do you think they dream?"

I gaped. Could that be it? Were human and machine just dreams to one another? "We should ask one," I said.

"Do you think they have any in this hotel?" She looked genuinely curious. But she would, said the voice.

"Forget it" I said, glancing at the clock. I suddenly became unpleasantly aware of how tired I was, and how little sleep I would get even if I conked out right then. Of course, if she had a particular feature, I wouldn't have any trouble getting to sleep. "You're a robot, by the way," I said. She would need to know in order to tell me anything about her features.

Her face brightened with pleasant surprise. "Oh yeah, that's right!"

"Can your hands or fingers vibrate?" I asked. "Even while you think you're human?"

"Oh, yes. The vibrator feature is standard across all X-Ero models. This feature is also enabled for my mouth, pussy, and anus," she declared proudly. Leaning forward she confided, "The last two are new features exclusive to the OooLaLa series."

I rolled over on the bed and pulled one leg up to make things easier. "Spoon up behind me and stick one of those vibrating digits in my cunt," I said. "Keep it going until I drop off, then take it out. Stay in bed with me, and wake me up at 6pm sharp." As she climbed under the sheets, I remembered something. "And if someone from the front desk comes in, tell them to slide in on my other side. Got it?"

"Absolutely. I know just what to do." These words were punctuated with a soft buzzing noise, and I felt bliss between my legs as I drifted off to sleep.

---

"Miss?" A voice whispered in my ear. "You wanted me to wake you at 6pm."

I groggily opened my eyes, finding an arm draped across me from behind, and my arm draped over a girl in front of me... the girl from the front desk... as my brain slowly woke up in pieces, I struggled to recall the girl's name. The name was arbitrary, of course. I could call her anything. Literally, I could even call her "Any Thing."

They won't name it Kaitlyn, you know.

I knew, and didn't mind. Melody. The front desk girl's name was Melody. "Hello Miss Frasier," she said quietly. "I hope you had a pleasant sleep?"

"Mmm..." I said, stretching. "I had the most wonderful dream, it was... was..." It was gone. I remembered that it had been nice, both emotionally comforting and erotically satisfying, but other than a lingering sense of arousal, it dissolved into nothingness as I tried to think about it. "It was nice," I smiled, reaching a hand inside Melody's jacket, expecting to stroke a hand down her bare side. Instead, I was surprised to feel some kind of bodysuit.

"Evette, is that you back there?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Yes miss," she replied, her mouth pleasantly close to my ear. "You said you wanted me to wake you up. Since today was one of my days off, I thought it would be okay for me to spend it with you, just lying here."

If it was just now six, that meant I only had ten minutes to get dressed and check in with the previous shift before starting my patrol. After hours tended to be pretty quiet, with virtually no activity other than recreational use of some of the testing areas.

My hand still in Melody's jacket, I found myself more and more curious about the bodysuit. It wasn't something normally in her randomized lingerie selection, I knew that much. "Evette, had you met Melody before?"

Evette laughed lightly. "Well, we do work together. I see her pretty much every day on my way home."

"Did you know that Melody isn't human?" I asked, moving my hand to Melody's leg. Her stockings seemed to be the same material as the bodysuit I felt under her jacket.

"Not human? What do you mean?"

"Melody, why don't you tell her what you are," I said, sitting up. I really should get dressed...

"I am an H720-s series ARA," Melody reported.

Evette made a cute little gasp. She was propped up on one elbow now, and put one hand to her mouth in surprise. "She's a robot? She looks so real!"

"Melody, show us just how real your body looks," I said, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Of course," Melody replied, gracefully swinging her legs off the bed and sitting up. Facing away from us, she unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it down, draping it just below her shoulders.

Instead of her bare back and shoulders, as I expected, her whole body seemed to be covered with the same stretchy material - a single article of clothing, it appeared, in patterned black and deep red.

"Don't tease," I said. "Stand up and undress."

"Okay," Melody agreed. Standing, she allowed the jacket to fall behind her, revealing more of the patterned bodysuit covering her back. She turned to face us, posing as she did, and I was treated to a view of the curve of her breasts, tantalizingly covered by the token modesty of the fake shirt. She unfastened its collar, and dropped that on the bed with the jacket.

The front of the bodysuit bore some central iconic emblem I didn't recognize, and the lines of the pattern were apparently designed around a similar motif. "Melody, what is this thing?" I asked, pinching some of the material and stretching it out.

"I was instructed to wear this under my normal clothing for the remainder of the day by Mister and Missus Peters," she said, sliding down her skirt.  "Missus Peters called it the Dark Swan."

As she said it, the lines of the pattern made sense: They were supposed to look like feathers, and the emblem was a stylized swan's head and neck. Around her pelvis, brighter red lines traced the shape of a pair of panties, cut high on her hips. Where these fake panties would have ended, the leggings were a dark gray instead of the deep black of the top, implying they were a separate piece of clothing.

Reluctantly, I looked at the clock. I wanted to play some more, but my shift would be starting soon. "Will either of you be required outside of this room in the next six hours or so?"

"You may reserve me for up to twenty four hours of exclusive use," Melody replied.

"I've got a few vacation days coming, so they won't be expecting me back to work for a while," Evette offered.

Good. "Okay, both of you, I want you to-"

"Hey Frasier, you there?" The voice of Charles, my senior assistant, called over my comm. I scrambled across the bed, rummaged through my discarded clothes and retrieved the small device.

"I'm here," I said, trying to sound casual, "What's up Chuck?"

"Got some weird after-hours activity in the second level offices," he replied.

"Break in?"

"Nah, it's an employee's access code," he replied.

I pursed my lips. "Protocol says send someone anyway."

"Yeah, that's why I called you. I sent Hank and Lisa twenty minutes ago, but they haven't called back yet."

"Ugh," I groaned, "Are you sure they're not just making out in a closet somewhere?"

"Hey, for all I know, they staged the thing to get some alone time with a test unit," he said defensively.

"Okay, I'll take over in the control room for you. You go ahead and check it out," I said, pulling on my clothes.

"Hey, officially, I was off the clock just as they left. I'm only here to tell you."

I made an inarticulate sound of frustration. "Dammit, why couldn't Frank have given more notice before he left?" Since the sudden and unexpected departure of the previous night shift manager, the whole department had been spread way too thin. I had to pull double duty just to keep things from falling behind until we either hired or programmed a replacement. I'd advised Peters against relying on 'bots too heavily in security, since their OS or perceptions could be easily tampered with, but I was starting to regret that position.

"Fine," I said, frustrated. "You go on, Charles. Have fun at the party."

"Hey, the kid only turns six once. Want me to bring you some cake?"

"And ruin my girlish figure?" I said, straightening my shirt. "Yes, I want cake, dammit. Corner piece. With one of those icing flowers." Turning to my two ARA companions, I said, "You two, wait here for me to get back. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think."

Evette and Melody froze in position. As I moved towards the door, their heads remained locked facing the spot I had been standing when I gave the order.

It won't always be sex, the voice said. It will also be waiting, cleaning, standing still...

And I'll enjoy those things, too, I thought.

---

I made my way across the offices to the second level. The building seemed oddly quiet, with no sign of activity anywhere. Of course, with the party going on at the Peters mansion, that wasn't necessarily a surprise.

The second level offices themselves were workspace cubicles ringed by proper offices. It seemed darker than it should have been. The after hours lighting was normally dimmer than the daytime lighting, but I didn't think it was this dark.

"Hank?" I called, slowly making my way through the office area. "Lisa?" I didn't hear any response. "Are you two screwing around again? Look, off duty, I don't care if you have an orgy with the..."

I rounded the corner of the cubicles, and saw Hank's slumped form, leaning motionless against the wall in a seated position. My ears rang, and the jolt of adrenaline felt like an electrical shot. I drew my stunner and dialed it up to its maximum setting - two shots at best.

The wound was fresh, but the blood was starting to dry on the wall. Probably happened within a few minutes of getting up here, since he didn't even get a chance to report back to Charles. Staying low, I crept along the cubicles, watching both the faint shadows from the subdued lighting, and the doors of the outer offices, in case someone was lurking in one of those.

A rustling noise and excited gasp came from a cubicle ahead of me. I edged closer to it, steadied myself next to the entrance, took three deep, quiet breaths, then darted around the corner. "Hold it right there," I said to the huddled form, my stunner aimed precisely at their head. They looked up.

"Parson? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"Shh!" he hissed, sounding terrified. "They'll hear you!"

"Talk," I said, coming closer.

"I just came in to finish up some paperwork for a project I'd been working on earlier," he said in hushed tones. "I don't know who they are, but they have guns. They must have followed me in."

"An armed break-in? For what, ARAs? Why not just break into a dealership?"

"Do I look like their PR guy?" he said, anxiously. "I don't know what they want, I just know they have guns." He gulped. "I think they shot one of the guards."

"Do you know where they are?" I asked.

"I think they finished in this area. They said something about the executive offices."

"I thought you said they would hear us," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"I. am. a. fucking. coward." he said, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not taking any chances. I'll stay here all night if I need to."

I sighed. "Never fear, Kaitlyn's here," I said, wearily. Holding my stunner ready, I glanced out the cubicle. "I don't see anything, so it should be clear. I'll get you to the exit." I crept out of the cubicle, maintaining my focus on the door to the lower stairs. "Just get behind me."

I took a few cautious paces, then heard a gunshot. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. My body hurt.

"Exactly where I wanted to get," Parson chuckled. "Oh, wow, you were nearly as stupid as that Lisa bitch. Had it to the back of her head and she didn't even notice."

The room tilted sideways, and the floor forced itself against my face. I tried to move my arms, but I couldn't feel them anymore.

"She was kind of pretty, I suppose," Parson droned. "Before the shot, that is. Now, well... nice legs. Shame about the face." He giggled. Why was it echoing like that?

"Sorry I can't stay," his voice echoed through muffled cotton, "but I really need to get back to that party. I completely forgot to leave my gift." His voice got fainter.

"You don't end when your fantasy does," Jane's voice echoed, more clearly than Kyle's had. So does my fantasy end with me? I wondered. It felt like my mind was fragmenting.

"With that fragment of your mind, she'll be alive." Brad-Bryce said. He probably wasn't there either, but it sounded real enough. Is she part of me? Am I part of her? Is there really a difference? I could still think, still reason, still wonder... what would happen? What was happening? What is happening right now?

"Wake up, dreamer," I'm whispering. "I have to know. I can't be curious and not know."

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