The Dragon

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Part 1

Select all [b] with [/b] with [i] with [/i] with Britney “Boom-Boom” Delacroix glared at her latest attendant---a rather nervous former clerical manager from a banking chain that had, as of the previous week, been bought out by one Victor Vega. “M..my apologies, Miss Delacroix,” the petite young blonde replied, “but I've, ah....”

“What you [i]done[/i] or [i][b]ain't[/b][/i] done,” Brittney snapped, “don't mean a damn [i][b]thing.[/b][/i]” She thrust her left hand forward, allowing her “servant” to get a good look at the servomotor assembly, internal wiring and other mechanisms within. “You want your paycheck, you best fix my damn knuckles so my fingers don't keep curlin' in like I've got some kinda nerve issue....AND WATCH WHERE YOU PUT YOUR DAMN TOOLS!” Her right hand pointed angrily at the girl's power screwdriver, currently resting on the glove-like skin of Brittney's left hand.

“M-m-m-my appologiessssssss,” the blonde stammered, “but I-I-I-I-I-I-----” Her head twitched to the left with each repetition; servos in her neck whirred in protest.

Ever since her failure to knock Sophia Starlet off the pop charts, Brittney had seen less and less of her creator, Victor Vega---not that it bothered her at all. Her attempt to start a “criminal subculture” in Silicon Valley had effectively died out in a matter of days, but she refused to give up the attitude that came with it---everyone in her employ either called her “Miss Delacroix”, “Ma'am” or “boss”---[i][b]never[/b][/i] just “Brittney”. She'd planned on expanding her operations, as well, including buying out a new house in Reseda that had a recording studio added on by its former owner....

….and then everything went to hell.

Hannsen---the guy who'd tried to make Brittney's “Boom-Boom” nickname a bit more...literal---had gone off to the UK and gotten himself beaten half to death by someone. Björn Aaberg, an arms dealer who'd chosen (or been paid) to shelter Hannsen in the UK, had then tried to....do something, possibly avenge Hannsen's incapacitation. Brittney hadn't been told about the specifics.

She [i]had[/i] been told, repeatedly, to “lay low and stay low” after those incidents.

“I-I-I-I-I-I----” The blonde attendant's malfunctioning stutter drew the “gangsta” gynoid out of her reverie with a scowl. “Damn pricks can't even get me any good help anymore,” she muttered. She'd read the file that came with the girl regarding her “quirks”---one of which happened to be stress-induced malfunctions---but hadn't expected them to be that big of a problem in day-to-day activities.

With a growl, she grabbed the blonde by the shoulder and practically jammed her little finger into the girl's left ear, feeling for a small bump-like switch inside.

“I....I.....Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii[b]iiiiiiiiiii[/b].....” The girl's head bowed to her chest as her twitching slowed to a halt.

“Guess I'll have to do this part my[i]self[/i],” Brittney muttered, grabbing the power screwdriver and preparing to get to work on her own hand---but a set of slender, alabaster fingers wrapped around her own wrist from behind, stopping her. “I wouldn't,” a calm, even voice with a vaguely British accent advised. “Self-maintenance can only go so far, and the risk of damaging yourself is [i][b]far[/b][/i] too great....”

Brittney turned to stare at whoever was stupid enough to interfere. “....the [i][b]hell?[/b][/i] Who the---”

Her intended insult died on her tongue as she beheld a strikingly curvy woman with a thin waist, raven hair and a cold but tempting gaze staring down at her. “I've been sent on behalf of Drake Bradford,” she explained.

At the mention of Bradford's name, Brittney groaned. “[b]Him[/b].....what the hell does he want with me?!”

Despite her annoyance with the intrusion, the African-American gynoid's intimacy programming and sexual preferences were firmly set in the “swings both ways” category, allowing her to...appreciate the new arrival with a greater leniency than she might've had in other circumstances. The two strode down the central aisle of what had once been the chapel of Delacroix's mansion---she'd since converted it into a makeshift dance hall (and conference room, for the days when she'd had her fill of partying)---with passed out human females and gynoids in desperate need of a recharge on either side of the aisle. “Mr. Bradford,” the curvy woman explained, “has received an invitation to take part in a lucrative business venture on behalf of....” Her lips twitched in a faint smile. “A mutual former employer.”

Brittney stopped in her tracks. “...mutual former...” The realization hit her like a brick to the face. “[i][b][u]No[/u][/b][/i].”

“The Baron is willing to pay handsomely for your participation. You'll choose your own team, set your own pace for the mission...even Mr. Bradford's participation will serve to augment your own”

Her past experiences with the Baron had left Brittney wanting no more of his presence in her life...but the last big payday she'd had was right after she'd said goodbye to Victor Vega and his “fifty-cent dirt farm” operation, as she called his continued mining scams. “You said I'd get....paid handsomely, for doin' this?” she queried.

The pencil skirt of her guest slid up invitingly to show her smooth, bare thigh as the woman turned to smile at Brittney once again. “[i][b]Very[/b][/i] handsomely.”

Subroutines and processes kicked into overdrive to weigh the risk-vs-reward of the offer....not helped along by a mental replay of the blonde attendant's surprisingly arousing malfunction earlier. “Girl,” Brittney finally crooned, “you picked a hell of a day for this offer....my bitches are broken and broke, the power company says I ain't registered to run a 'experimental generator' on my own damn land....I need some new blood in my crew, and a couple extra zeroes in my bank account.”

She gave a sultry---and predatory---smile. “Baby, you tell Drake Bradford that Boom-Boom Delacroix is [i][b]in[/b][/i].”

“I'm sure he'll be happy to hear the news,” the woman replied with a wan smile of her own. “In fact, I've just transmitted it to him now---”

“So you plug in, too?” Brittney's grin took on a new shade of lasciviousness. “Daaamn....I could use a girl like you, maybe a few girls like you!” She cast a glance back at her blonde attendant; “All the ones Vic keeps sendin' me....they break too damn easy,” she muttered. “An' that's just the day-to-day stuff...try to get 'em in bed, and.....” She gave a derisive snort. “One of 'em blew a fuse just lookin' at my delivery guy last week....aw, [i]hell[/i], where are my damn manners? I ain't even asked your name yet!”

The raven-haired beauty smiled. “K3ND47. My 'human' designation is Kendall.”

“Kendall ....” Brittney nodded. “I think I could get used to workin' with you....”

“Understandable---but most of our work together will be....dangerous,” Kendall admitted. “We'll be assisting in the capture and....removal...of a certain entity....” She handed Brittney an iPhone; “How much do you know about Project Epsilon?” she quietly asked.

Brittney gave her a look. “[i][b]Epsilon?![/b][/i]” she echoed. “I saw that thing kill a whole room full of people---”

“So you have heard of it,” Kendall murmured. “The Baron was hoping your memory of the incident---”

On the far side of the room, the blonde attendant shuddered; her internal auto-debug systems, having started after Brittney abruptly shut her down, were kicking on and rebooting her. “Error....Error....this unit has been improperly shut down----”

“[i]Damn[/i] it,” Brittney muttered. “Turn her off five times a day, she turns herself back on every damn time....”

“Then maybe you should get a new one,” a boisterous, male voice called out from the entrance of the former chapel. “Riggs, go make sure I turned the car off---Kendall, I'm surprised to see you haven't fallen for Miss Delacroix's considerable charms already.”

Even as her annoyance built, Brittney couldn't help but admire the wolfish smile, perfectly-coifed hair and $10,000 suit worn by Drake Bradford as he strode up the aisle. “So they got you on Epsilon detail, too?” she inquired. “Your girl here just told me that I'd get paid real nice for helpin' y'all bag that....thing.....” She frowned for a moment, remembering her initial sighting of the man-machine hybrid. “....anyway---”

“Kendall, go tell Riggs to get the other phone out of the car, too,” Drake cut in. “As for our arrangement,” he continued, focusing on Brittney, “I have a feeling that working together will be....mutually beneficial.” Seeing as how his last “mutually beneficial” working relationship had ended with the loss of several fembots based on the designs of the late Dr. Franklin, he decided to not mention the involvement of a certain SJSU student. “And I think we might even---”

“What you think and what you'll get ain't even on the same damn page,” Brittney interrupted, grabbing the head of a gynoid dressed in a vinyl approximation of a schoolgirl outfit and lifting her (by the hair) into a sitting position. “Same chapter, maybe, but.....but.....but......but.....”

Drake arched an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“....but....but....[i][b]DAMN[/b][/i] it!” Brittney kicked at the would-be schoolgirl, sending her crashing to the floor. “You got a lab at your place? All I got here are a buncha old-ass tools, fifteen Dells that don't do a damn bit of good for me other than target practice....” She glared at Drake, her anger slowly giving way that same sensual feeling she'd had towards Kendall. “If we bring both bring down Epsilon,” she mused, “you think the Baron will....give us somethin' other than a big-ass pay raise?” She strode towards Bradford, allowing a seductive sway to punctuate her walk. “You and I.....we might make a damn good team....” Her tongue played over her lips.

“We...we might,” Drake agreed, trying hard not to look at Brittney's skinless left hand. “I think we could both use a change of personnel, a change of scenery....” Brittney circled around him, tracing her finger across his shoulders. “Mmm-hmmm....you ask me, baby, I think we could use a lot of changes....” Despite the inherent sensuality of the gesture, Drake found his thoughts sliding away from how he and “Boom-Boom” Delacroix might make a great team---the Baron had made it clear that delays would not be accepted. “Sure, sure.....so, how soon can you leave for San Jose?”

At once, Brittney's finger-tracing stopped. “San Jose?”

“We're supposed to be there by midnight---the letter specified midnight, by the way---”

“Last time I was in San Jose,” Brittney breathed, “that Starlet bitch was on a mall tour...and some other bitch was the one who stuck her damn nose in my damn business!” She stormed back over to where the blonde attendant was in the middle of her reboot and grabbed the skin-sheath for her left hand. “You got a lab where I can fix my hand?”

“Fix your hand, give you a recharge and take some time to do whatever you feel like doing before we leave for San Jose,” Drake replied. “Riggs can even get my guys to take whatever vehicles you want with us---”

The offer was met with a glare. “Y'all ain't touching my damn cars,” she growled. “I'll get....I'll get.....” Her head snapped to the right with an audible whirr. “DAMN it!”

“I think you may need that lab visit sooner rather than later,” Drake offered. “As for right now....the Baron will send the intel on the way out.” He glanced at the gynoids strewn about the chamber; “And, if you need any of your....crew,” he added, “I can always have Kendall or Riggs drop by later.....”

“Damn straight,” Brittney declared. “This time, Boom-Boom's gonna [i][b]RULE[/b][/i] San Jose, baby!”

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