Melting Point

"I don't trust her," Cleo Alexandria announced to her squad leader. The embossed Chevron of his rank insignia gleaming as the fluorescent lights flickered on in the abandoned factory. As if to punctuate her disapproval, Cleo cocked her assault rifle menacingly.

"This isn't open to –"

"Debate, I know... that's why I want to talk about it were the others can't hear." Cleo removed her helmet with a pressurized hiss of equalizing gases for a face-to-face. She flicked a strand of jet black hair away from her hazel eyes.

The squad leader was about to respond until an automated message rang out from loudspeakers positioned high above them...

"... Revolutionary work in neural prostheses allowed cybernetics researchers to simulate cognitive functions in a new form of digital code," the neutral tones of a female announcer began to explain.

The squad leader grunted; "Hey Gears, can't you turn off the commentary?" He grumbled to their technician, whose head and arms was buried deep inside an open panel in the wall.

"Not if you want to get the generator started, it's a package deal." Gears shouted from across the room. Cleo shrugged, they'd just have to put up with it; their only hope was to start up the comm system in this factory, to try and contact headquarters.

"... While researchers in artificial intelligence experienced difficulties in building a self aware computer from the ground up, by combining their knowledge with the new breakthroughs in neural implantation, for the first time it was possible to imprint human consciousness into a portable, digital processor..." The smooth voice continued.

"Look at her, with that bandage on her arm?" Cleo gestured with her chin at the newcomer the squad had picked up; a statuesque woman taller than most men, Auburn hair in a tight braid with a red chrysanthemum protruding above her hairline. "As if we don't know what's going on! Unless..." Cleo's eyes widened; her habitually heavy eyeshadow more pronounced. "You don't believe her bullshit about being immune to the toxoid do you?" The squad leader gave a faint shake of his head.

"But don't worry, this isn't science fiction –" the narration continued. "An Asimov module continuously monitors for human life signs, with the ability to interdict behavior in the interest of human safety.

"What matters is that she believes it, and as long as she does she can keep her shit together." The woman in question removed an ammo clip from a strap on her leg concealed by the hem of her black sequined evening dress. "The way she's taking care of her guns and equipment, it's like she believes she actually has a future, we can use that to our advantage." But the volume from the loudspeakers suddenly shot up.

"... Joined forces to produce the Quantum Turing core; a replicated consciousness capable of true emotion, but customizable to fit your individual needs as a client. Finally -" the voice on the loudspeaker rose with feigned enthusiasm, "Companionship, loyalty, and of course sex!" Her voice took on a mischievous tone. "On your terms, at your command! Pygmalion cyber industries gives you the power and freedom to take control of the most important aspect of your life!"

Cleo leaned in closer to make herself heard over the loudspeaker. "Everything about this smells! That dress? There's no way she could have survived in the ruins for a month looking so... so Clean! Some of the docs think resistance to airborne toxoid might be higher in rare people, but nobody can resist a bite! I don't see why you didn't order us to put her down as soon as we saw her, Dom."

"Piezoelectric polymers generate low levels of electricity through compression, and Pygmalion has adapted this technology to simulate respiring lungs to get that much closer to real-life while making your Doll more energy efficient. " Cleo tried to ignore the noise.

"It's simple, everybody watches her closely, when – and if she starts to turn..." He made a throat slitting motion with his armored hand. "Until then, it's clear that she knows the layout of this block, so we'll make use of that as long as possible. But what I need to know is-"

But again the squad leader was interrupted, this time by the whine of motorized equipment. A mechanical arm was carrying an object resembling a metal skeleton 10 feet above the floor where the squad rested. The metallic frame was loosely similar to a human body, arms and legs, spine and ribs, but there were no gaps between bones. This was more than just a skeleton; clear tubes interlaced the structure, and transparent membranes contained arcane arrangements of spidery machinery in mechanized analogues of human organs.

"Damnit Gears, we don't want to fire up the whole production line, we just need enough power to make a phone call!" The squad leader complained. For his part, Gears shrugged.

"Can't help it Dom, this is the last command in the buffer, no way to bypass it."

"Oh god, it's actually going to assemble one of those... Things!" Cleo complained. The squad leader chuckled.

"As long as it's just one, I think we'll manage." His voice had a note of sarcasm.

As the mechanical frame rode closer on the robotic arm, Cleo couldn't help but admire the intricacies of its craftsmanship regardless of her personal feelings. The web of segmented actuator cables of varying sizes lacing the structure hinted at the underlying sophistication. Its head was almost a skull, but not quite – there were no teeth, for instance. Beyond the eye sockets, intricate spires of crystalline provenance composed the much lauded Quantum Turing core. An elegant mechanical echo of man, yet even in this state the proportions of its build told a feminine story.

Drawing closer on an automated conveyor came a Jacuzzi sized array of machinery that was undoubtedly intended as a casting mold. The robotic arm tipped the inert frame into a space conforming to the dimensions of the human body - a woman's body. Another robotic device brought closer a nozzle attached to a pair of transparent tanks. One clear, the other a beige colored pudding that flashed with occasional firefly sparkles.

Cleo paused, biting her lip. The war had changed everything, including her. She'd been pretty young when the apocalyptic shit hit the fan, and had spent her entire childhood with the war on her mind. But she knew so little about those days when robots like this had been in vogue. She decided to stop arguing about the newcomer, and pay more attention to the narration.

"... With human skin grafts in mind. Above a layer of state-of-the-art gelectrolyte battery tissue is a network of near microscopic cybercytes linked with adjustable polymers made possible by breakthroughs in flexible computing. Adapted from the medical community, Pygmalion's patented Ultraflesh Smartskin© system will bring your fantasy to life!" The cheery announcer concluded.

The top half of the mold lowered to seal the encased robo-chassis as the clear fluid coated the robotics. Must be the gel battery. A moment later, beige pudding flooded the pocket. Cleo watched with fascination as glowing pulses flickered within the liquid mix, graduating to linear highways of energy circuiting within the body. The robotic arms above emitted laser beams through the transparent casing in a convoluted protocol, even as a smaller armature pressed a metal cylinder into a sealed port at the top of the mold. This aperture opened and a silvery flash of technology slid into the head. After that it was difficult to make out many details; the mold grew hot, and foggy condensation obscured the process inside.

Time stopped for 3.2 minutes while the assembly completed with a hiss of steam as the top half of the mold rose to release the figure inside.

She sat up with a ragged intake of breath. Honey blonde strands trailed across the slick skin of her shoulders. There was a faint tracery of glowing circuits visible under her skin, and for an instant a block of numbers in firefly writing could be seen moving upwards between her ripe breasts as all systems came online. Her eyes strobed incandescent blue in a robotic moment of activation.

Cleo knew rationally this was an imitation. She knew a robotic chassis had been encased in a mesh of flexible electronics programmed to duplicate skin... and hair. But it was a perfect copy.

By the time the techno-woman slid off of the casting assembly, Cleo's mind could not help but register her as all-woman.

When she was growing up in the Hab modules, Cleo's sister had been endlessly fascinated by the glamor of the old world. She'd do anything to get a hold of yellowed fashion mags, lingerie catalogs, even old issues of Playboy. That freaked out Mom more than a little! It all seemed pointless to Cleo; all that mattered these days was winning the war - but she knew that this creature could compete with any of them.

She looked like nothing so much as a honey blonde, high-cheek boned centerfold fresh from a hot-oil massage. In the nude. Mile-high legs tapered into the wide-hipped illusion of child-bearing perfection. Sheen from the overhead lights seemed to slip across the tops of her glistening breasts, jiggling in rhythm with a lifelike gait. Cleo couldn't help but notice the newcomer, in the black dress - clenching her pistol, eyes sharp as she focused on the makeup-studio symmetry of the fembot's face. A row of iridescent-blue numbers beneath her clavicle gave her serial number, slowly fading as seconds passed. The Pygmalion Corporate Logo, a silhouetted letter 'P' with a reclining woman lying on the long end shimmered upon the new woman's lush buttocks. True to the claims of genuine emotion; her feelings were written across her face – a fearful need to find something... or someone. But everyone else was preoccupied with her.

Sure, that fitness-model muscle tone was a cunning illusion of contractile cables beneath a flesh-imitating nanotech network, but the breathing - the subtle twitches, blush... all duplicated with precision. Even twinges of arm hairs visible in the right light.

"Patrick." Came her predictably sensuous voice. Her sapphire eyes searching the battle-armored squad for a familiar face. "I belong to Patrick Waverly of 4412 West 33rd st. Apt 2012." Her eyes desperate. "Take me to Patrick!" The techno-woman demanded to the armed and armored men.

“My Old Man always said that we were doomed the day we learned to build programmable people.” The Squad leader grumbled.

“Take me to him; I want to marry him as soon as possible!” The techno-woman's need was frantic.

“Whoa, back up...” Yoshi interrupted. Cleo knew that he was barely in his twenties; no chance to experience the old world in an adult way. “You want to marry a man you haven't even met?”

The Doll ran her fingers through her golden hair. “I'm a custom order; my entire Persona was programmed with him in mind!” She started pacing; her hips had an wavy sway that sexualized every motion of her feminine figure. “Patrick needs a wife he can trust. Who will never abandon his twin sons for a job in California. My feelings for him are at the center of my sense of self.” The naked Doll wrapped her arms around her chest, warping reflections that glistened in the assembly-fluid. “I need to get started on my wifely duties!” A blissful smile slipped over her glamor model face as she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I wonder what he's going to name me?” She enthused like a kid in a candy store: but SHE was the candy.

“When technology killed feminism. A high-tech step backwards.” Cleo added ruefully. The Doll frowned.

“That's so selfish;” She puffed out her chest, looking surprisingly superior for a naked sexbot.

“Screw you! Like I'm gonna be judged by a Toaster.” Cleo rolled her eyes.

“Your attitude is why Patrick needs me.”

“If all you wanna be is some battery-powered Susie-Homemaker, you're welcome to it!” Definitely not Cleo's scene! “But hey, we've always built robots to handle jobs real people don't want to tackle.” She sneered.

“I'm lucky; to have the chance to exist for Patrick, and his children.” The Doll gave a sigh. Despite the sophistication with which the nanotech mimicked human flesh, Cleo wasn't likely to confuse her with a real woman. She knew enough of the old world to understand that twenty-something blonde goddesses with legs to kill for would strut their way to millionaire careers in High Fashion, or maybe Hollywood. If they were human. But this nameless knockout was desperate to be the wifey of some regular guy living in an apartment.

“Huh. You really are a robot.”

“It's a blessing; to wake up knowing exactly who you are, and where you belong I -” she paused, surveying the armored men suspiciously.

"I can't get a GPS ping!? How can that be?" she leveled an accusatory finger at Gears. "Y-you must be jamming my WiFi!"

"What now?" Gears seemed confused.

"I wouldn't mind walking the city to get to 33rd street; it would prove my devotion to him, but you men..." She made an expansive gesture; "You must be plotting to steal me!"

Cleo scoffed. "Didn't let me in on it, if that's the case."

“I'm meant to be his wife! I shouldn't let my body be seen by strangers!” The Doll reasoned. Narrowing her eyes, she... activated something inside herself.

Blue-glowing tracery of circuits beneath her skin again, as her flesh...roughened. No... somehow the texture of her body was changing? Cleo wasn't sure what to expect; she'd been very young last she heard of 'bots like this.

Her gleaming skin sharpened into ridges, swirls and... oh... it made sense now: a network of microcomputers actively mimicking human flesh apparently had little trouble copying flesh wearing clothes!

In this case, a leotard-shaped ensemble with a white-whorled texture of a lacey wedding dress. Her hair also partially melted and reformed into a shoulder-length veil.

"I'm getting out of here; before anyone tries to reprogram me! I know how easy it would be for a decent hacker; I won't let you!" She insisted, frantic edge in her voice.

That was the problem with QT Cores, Cleo remembered. Sure, it was possible to build replacement people... on demand. But there were real drawbacks. They still debated the pros and cons of A.I. even now.

The way things were nowadays in the Preserve, and the Hab modules inside it where she' spent her childhood; this sort of technological outrage just wasn't done... not anymore.

The would-be Mrs. Waverly backed away from them. Dom had his hands raised; about to make a bid to calm the wayward fembot. But after all these years... the whole team was out of its depth.

Except Gears. He tensed his shoulders the way he did just before a burst of inspiration; whatever it was involved fiddling with his portable computer deck, rather than the power cables for the factory.

Imagine the moral debates that could have raged - when she was just a dumb kid - before the war. The potential for abuse; Scan the brain of a young woman madly in love. An imported human consciousness, emotions and all could then be translated into digital code... and any code could be altered. Make some tweaks... plug in the identity of whoever the customer is, and despite the old song; you really can buy me love.

Meanwhile, the stranger in the absurd evening dress silently snatched two pistols, as if expecting violence.

"Don't try to stop me!" the matrimony-minded fembot insisted to their squad leader! You're not Patrick, and you're not Pygmalion. I don't owe you anything!"

"You don't understand..." Dom began.

But Cleo did. Blondie here could very well be mooning over Adolf Hitler if her programmer was in a Mein Kampf mood. A good enough hacker with a decent set up who knew Turing+ programming language could build an AI to think and feel whatever he wanted; and change those beliefs as well. That was the fatal flaw...

"I owe it to Patrick to keep myself from being stolen. I owe Myself to Patrick! Don't try to stop me from leaving!"

"You won't make it three blocks like that." Krieger said; our grizzled old heavy-weapons veteran.

"You're lying!"

"Unless you can sprout a rifle with full auto and a few hundred rounds ammo, you'll never make it out there with T-levels this high." Krieger announced bluntly.

"You'll say anything to steal me for yourself!" With that, the self-important Doll leapt sideways, and grabbed a pistol from Gears' spare backpack.

"Hey!" The tech complained. The desperate Doll bolted towards an electrical generator built into the southeast corner of the production floor. Gritting her teeth, the Doll opened fire...

The team ducked for cover and weapons.

"Hold your fire!" Gears insisted. The object he'd been assembling was complete, or at least adequate. Aiming it at the hysterical doll, he pressed a pad, stopping the blonde fembot in her tracks, blue-glowing alpha-numeric code danced up her nanotech skin. Eyes flashed cerulean. But her frozen hand was still locked around the pistol.

"I'm going to synch you with my personal Deck; you can see the truth for yourself!" He strung out a cable from his device and worked the metal tip into her left ear. Her eyes strobed rapidly, blocks of iridescent numbers swam up and down her simulated flesh as the exchange processed.

"Devastated..." Strangely, the fembot's cooing voice rang out from the computer deck, without the Doll's lips moving. "The City... the World!" She lamented through the external speaker. "No... a Global Pandemic? You can't blame us. Dolls aren't responsible!"

"It's... complicated," Dom, the Squad Leader interjected. Gears made a back-the-fuck-off gesture; who else would be qualified to calm a love-sick love-doll?

He failed.

Angry red warning alarms and error messages flashed on her skin, eyes pulsed a stop-light red. Gears grunted and began tapping his deck angrily.

"Without Patrick, I have no reason to exist. Without Pygmalion, I have no hope."

"That's not true," Gears argued. "We can find... SHIT!" Twitching, her arms overcame whatever digital paralysis his devices had inflicted; and the Doll fired the pistol rapidly! Blue-white muzzle flashes launching relativistic particles at the stranger in the evening dress!

Their training was too thorough. Men rolled, drew, and fired in less time than it took to say it. Gears threw himself to the ground, as the gorgeous doll spasmed from the penetrating onslaught of ferrous particles rotating at a low percentage of light speed.

One shot of the barrage penetrated the generator...

By the time the smoke cleared, and Cleo's ears stopped ringing the Doll was lying serenely in the middle of a charred stain on the cement. Her simulated clothing melted back into glistening, supermodel nudity, with multi-colored sparks crackling from a neck wound amist a clear puddle of mechanical lubricant.

"Shitcakes!" Gears swore. "That was... no; should be impossible..."

Cleo restored the safety on her rifle. "Wait... something the announcer said; an Asimov doohickey, something that was supposed to prevent a robot from taking actions leading to human injury?"

"Asimov Module." Gears said simply, turning to look at the stranger that had offered to help guide them through the ruins.

"She's got a screwloose! It was... malfunctioning!" The woman in the black dress insisted, glancing nervously at the bullet holes disturbingly close to her head.

"Could the robotics have been corrupted over time?" Dom wondered.

"If the Asimov Module went to shit, Doll's power converter wouldn't fire. We'd be looking at a very expensive mannequin."

"In that case..." It was their squad leader who spoke. Still wearing his helmet, he stood and approached the woman in the dress. But Cleo was closer, and she guessed his intent. The woman's arm was heavily bandaged... and Cleo yanked at the fabric!

Nothing.

Solid, flawless skin. Not a mark on her. Except for a clear gel, similar to what Mrs. Waverly had leaked when shot.

"N-no.... that can't be; I was cut up bad... the pain?" The woman in the dress sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.

"Protocol: Serial Display." Dom enunciated.

"Wh- are you talking to me?" But even as she spoke, the glow was visible.

Serial numbers. Bright green iridescent numbers wrote themselves beneath the stranger's clavicles. She shrieked like a woman finding a rat in her panties and actually tried to wipe off the numbers.

"Look; her leg!" Cleo pointed. The dress was cut to reveal an impressive sweep of left leg, near her hip was a green sigil showing the outline of a flower with a stylized insect curled around it.

"Orchid Fembotics;" Gears announced. "A rival of Pygmalion. Mostly prostitution and a few high-end escorts." He explained. Cleo dimly remembered a bio-ed program where she'd learned about a flower that copied a female wasp convincingly enough that male wasps would eagerly copulate with the blossom, getting their jollies while spreading the flower's pollen when they reached their next date. An apt analogy for Doll-tech.

"I'M NOT A ROBOT!!" The robot insisted, tendons clenching in her neck.

"Why not?" Krieger, the grizzled veteran mused, spitting on the ground. "Single dad with abandonment issues, orders the perfect love slave. They'll think and feel whatever we programmed them to. Even to believe they're not machines."

Tears... real tears from the stranger, shaking her head as if begging the universe to deny this manifest reality.

"That's why blondie could shoot you;" Gears reasoned. These bots live in a maze of signals of all sorts; they can detect each other. The Module wouldn't interfere; since nobody bothered to program them to not kill their own."

"You'd better tell us more about who you... think you are," Dom insisted, arms crossed.

"M-my name is Helena; Helena Blavatowski. I'm a Meme Trader." She huddled in the corner, in a vain hope of hiding the emblems of her artificial origin. She tried to explain the bizarre circularity of her career; traveling the world and participating in unique experiences. Madagascar for the Lemurs and Bao-Bab trees with their weirdly carrot-shaped trunks. Intimate familarity with the French Riviera. Of course Everest; not all it's cracked up to be! But the monasteries in the Himalayas were certainly enlightening! Most fun were the tropical assignments; swimming with the Manatees on the way to take pics of an ecologically-festive coral reef.

Not the type of job you could apply for straight out of college; she'd befriended the actual founder of Orchid femmebotics; who pioneered the business model. Helena let out a shuddering breath after a detailed explanation of how the plan worked. The female soldier in the group she'd joined, with heavy eyeshadow (a little tacky in Helena's estimation) had a sour look on her face.

"So Orchid paid you to do all this crap; then they'd scan your brain?" The eyeshadowed soldier wondered. Helena nodded.

"But, it was supposed to be just a few experiences at a time; my month in Burma to look for ancient temples lost in the jungle... Trip to Antarctica to help gather penguin data... Swimming with the fucking Manatees! Oh Stone!" Realization hit her like a ton of rocks.

"I think... I think I get it now." She bit her lip, truth sinking in. "Stone... I wouldn't agree to be his permanent arm-candy, so... since he couldn't have the real me... they just dumped all my memories into one persona, and Stone commissioned a robot clone of me; since he couldn't have the real me... Is it possible?" She asked, mostly to herself.

It would explain a lot; Helena silently reasoned. Like her chest! She surreptitiously stole a glance at her cleavage; she'd NEVER been this big up top! Men! As a teen, she'd always been a bit shy about showing her body; how should she feel about the men who not only saw her, but redesigned her body with a top-shelf upgrade; and then plugged in a digital clone of her consciousness!

"I've... got to find Stone. I got a message from him saying that he's in a refuge underground in the Mark Twain State Park." She put a hand to her forehead. "It'll make sense, once I'm with him again!"

Is that it? It means that I'm not me; I'm just a Quantum Turing copy-paste program translated into digital form!

"I never really did those things; I never really went up in the Eiffel Tower; or petted those Manatees; just the copy of a woman who did! Oh Stone! None of this was necessary!" She complained to her hidden patron. Of course she loved him! The thought of being with him made her melt with longing! She craved him like... like...

A femme bot programmed to be madly in love with the man that had paid for her?

No, she just had to find him; and convince him that the real her must've loved him too!

She turned away from the curious soldiers.

Her lip quivered at the existential implications: I'm not Me. I'm a robot programmed to think it's me. Helena Blavatowski. (With a way bigger rack!) Also programmed to ache for the touch of a man that the original her had rejected? No; there must be more to it than that! The first me must've had some good reason why it was impossible; something preventing her from becoming his.

She needed Stone like she needed her left leg... a leg marked with the emblem of a robotics manufacturer...

"Just... just get me to Stone; in the Mark Twain Park. I'll help you avoid all the dangers around here; fight with you - if you help get me down there!" She insisted to the soldiers. The older, grizzled one exchanged a glance with their team leader; who responded with a nod.

"We'll do our best; but there are still questions..." Their squad leader agreed. But the youngest soldier, a kid they called Yoshi stalked forward, curiosity evident as he removed his helmet to reveal an smooth-cheeked, auburn buzz-cut head.

"Wait...wait... Lemme make sure I get this;" he pointed at Helena. "You got paid to fly around the world, experience something exciting, then come back so they could scan your brain to make new femme bots for old rich guys to buy, so they'd have a cool companion who'd done something worth talking about? Then, they pay you... and you go out again, to climb Everest or something, so they can make another robotic copy of you... to sell?"

"I...I..." But something was wrong; a lightning bolt coursed down Helena's spine, she gasped as a sudden flush of desperate heat stole her breath! She fell to her knees in the throes of an intensity she neither understood, nor could resist.

"What... what's wrong with her?" The squad leader demanded of their technician. "She looks like someone just shoved a habañero up her lady parts."

"Not too far off; it's a verbally enforced Incentive Differential," Gears explained with a knowing glance at his data deck.

Helena was dimly aware of having heard something like that in the past, but it didn't register; only Yoshi did! A weak-kneed euphoria spilled into her, and she moaned with ecstasy at the siren-song she felt from every inch of him.

"Is she broken? What the fuck!?" Someone asked.

"No, no... it's quality control." Gears explained. "These robots are build for sexual companionship; and sometimes the manufacturers will need to test compliance of a persona to ensure functionality."

"Wow... just... wow!" a woman's voice exclaimed.

"Giving the customers what they want." Gears shrugged. "Yoshi said something that triggered her. In the industry, it's usually just called a Melting Point. A backdoor trigger that makes the Persona.... erh... sexually receptive."

It was mostly white noise to Helena; except for one word... Melting. She felt so warm... wet... tight... tighter! Her dress - it seemed to be clinging to her skin and... melting! Yes! The black evening dress seemed to brighten in shade, fabric smoothing into something liquid like... and pulling back into her body!

All her gear fell with a clatter as her clothing vanished! But it was never clothing; that's why her dress had remained so clean after running around in the ruins for a month; it was simply part of a shape-shifting matrix of flexible electronics; programmed to mimic a body wearing a dress.

The illusion reabsorbed into svelte, chiseled nudity. Helena rose, hands caressing her tight physique as she postered herself for her Lover. Their might be good reasons not to crash into him, surrendering her body to the sweet savor of his masculinity... their might be reasons not to clasp her naked flesh to his own as she rode him on an explosive journey to ecstasy - but Helena couldn't think of them.

From her brow moistened with simulated sweat to the heat that raged between her thighs, all that mattered was melting into him.

The euphoria escaped her mouth in the form of a ragged moan, Helena found herself grateful that her breasts had been so augmented; granting her the ability to sandwich Yoshi's face as she was.

"Be with me..." she rasped in his ear as she wrapped her body around his torso. "Mate with meeeeeee!" Each moment where that was not the case seemed painful. She needed it... him... as much for the relief from desire as the desire itself.

Yoshi for his part, could only stammer in surprise in the grip of the feminine burden humping into him. Helena trembled at the thought of getting him out of his armor!

"As much fun as this might be to watch," the squad leader interjected, "robo-shagging is not part of this mission, can you shut her down?" He asked Gears.

The technician gave a curt nod, and pressed three keys on the larger gadget he'd been assembling.

Helena's world ended.

Ideas were starting to percolate inside Cleo's head, and she leaned closer to learn what she could.

The stranger in the black dress should've registered as a robot from the beginning, but back home the ridiculous luxury of humanoid companions sex bots have been forgotten in favor of the immediate necessity of wartime materials.

The gynoid was frozen in place, trying to wrap herself around Yoshi, as flustered as one might expect a youngster with his lack of experience. The squad leader picked up the unnaturally rigid body of the replicated woman, and leaned her against the nearest wall in a posture only a machine could maintain.

"But now I have to clear out her command buffer," Gears explained. This frequency should give me alpha level privileges over just about any commercial robot. On his data deck, he pressed a flashing green button and spoke:

"Enter default mode".

Helena's eyes flashed an incandescent green as lines of code scrawled across her nude form. Then her hair, which had been bound in a neat ponytail unwrapped itself, swiftly darkening into a sleek mane the color of ravens feathers. The femme bot shuttered, and the lock upon her motor function was released. Resuming motion, she stood ramrod straight facing the source of the signal. The rest of the changes were both subtle and simultaneous. Her creamy skin darkened into a healthy bronze, the tension of the underlying contractile cables which simulated her muscles softened. But there were deeper structural changes; a dull clank could be heard as her metal skeleton ratcheted downwards to a shorter stature. Her hips actually broadened before the eyes of the onlookers. Her body made no effort to simulate clothing, beyond the chrysanthemum still in her hair. She could have been a native girl fresh from bathing in a Hawaiian Lagoon.

An entirely new woman gazed upon the soldiers blankly.

"Attention retailers," the robot assumed. "Orchid femmebotics is experiencing a temporary interruption in the update network. Please refer to -"

"N-no, we're not retailers," Gears explained.

"Acknowledged." The default robot's eyes flashed green again.

"Whoa, back up a sec," Cleo demanded. Who are we talking to?"

"Each of the big sexbotics companies starts with a basic design." Gears began. "Each has their own model of chassis, and after all the fleshware is assembled, there is a baseline appearance different for each company. A Pygmalion always starts out as a leggy Nordic supermodel," he gestured at the fallen Mrs. Waverly."

"Oh, so an Orchid starts out looking like some exotic Pacific Islander girl, about to throw a lei over your head?" Krieger assumed with a brief chuckle.

"Exactly. If this were an Orchid femmebotics factory, and we started firing up their Dolls, you'd think we won a vacation to a Hawaiian brothel. Each company chooses its own default design." Gears confirmed with a wry grin.

"I think I get it," the female soldier began, "you're saying that miss Manatee was just a program running on this chassis, and she could be... Swapped out?"

"Now you're getting it."

The robot herself chose this moment to interject.

"Systems check complete, this unit is now receptive to sexual commands." The femme bot stated in a breathy coo. She began walking in a circuit between all the men, dragging a delicate finger over their armor plated chests in a deliberately suggestive motion. Meeting each man's gaze with a smile more disturbing to Cleo for how genuine it seemed. Her hips swayed in an exaggerated motion calculated to advertise her fertile curves.

Krieger turned and spat. "I like the sound of that, little lady!....bot... aw hell with it- " He removed a glove to run his hand over the Caramel skin of her flawless thighs. Upon receiving this attention, the default femme bot remained in place, but raised her arms to form a waterfall cascade of her night black hair, undulating her entire body in blatant seduction. Gone was the severe Amazonian beauty of Helena, looking at the simulated woman who had replaced her... Cleo half expected a Spanish conquistador to haul her off as part of the spoils of the New World.

The default robot gave a wordless moan of simulated pleasure as Krieger cupped one of her generous breasts.

"Remember lover," she cooed. Whenever you use Orchid femme bots to satisfy your sexual needs, each new unit will better understand how to pleasure you!" Krieger gave a low grumble in his throat, wrapping an arm around the nubile machine's buttocks and pulling her in close. Cleo soon detected an alluring floral aroma as the artificial woman sneaked her arms around the grizzled veteran's neck as though he were her sailor husband returned to their island paradise after winning the big war. She even bent her leg in a coquettish manner as the two indulged in a sloppy kiss.

Cleo's lip quivered as she tried to digest these revelations. What did the robot mean when it said that new units will better understand how to pleasure Krieger?

"Do not get a room, you two." Dom, the squad leader insisted. "This isn't what we came in here for Gears... Will this clear out that... Melting Point command?"

"Uhh...." Gears fiddled with a knob on the Doll control device he constructed. "Now it will. You can switch back to Helena whatever you want... If you want."

In her default state, this soulless sex machine would give of herself to the first man that touched her. But with the option of a Persona, the option existed for as much – or as little of the trappings of a real relationship as the buyer wanted. Cleo hadn't understood it when she was a child, but she was starting to appreciate why some people claimed that dolls would be the downfall of civilization.

"Calm down Krieger, that's an order." Dom ordered. He then grabbed the synthetic woman's arm and tugged her towards him. For her part, the doll looked startled – but then raised her lips to offer her body to this new man.

It made no difference who he was.

In agitation, Dom shoved her towards Cleo, "Alex, guard her virtue – if that even makes sense." He also preferred using the shortened version of Cleo's last name. She seized the slutty machine by the shoulders, unsure what to do with her/it.

"I am fully capable of servicing either sex," the femme bot explained helpfully.

"Well lucky me!" Cleo remarked with a roll of her eyes.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Dom noted. He turned to Gears and asked: "what's the ETA on getting the comms back up?"

"No good sir, when you shot up the generator, you blew up my best chance of powering up the communications array. The phones in here can't reach far enough without satellite coverage, and I'm not able to get power to the rest of the campus!" Gears complained.

Dom was about to say something, but reconsidered.

Awkward silence.

Ignoring the femme bot nuzzling her ear, it was Cleo who experienced a flash of inspiration.

"Wait a sec, it was something the announcer said when we fired up the first doll; some kind of gel battery? I wonder if we could-"

"Gelectrolyte!" Gears enthused, snapping his fingers. "It just might be enough to..."

"Enough power to run the comm array in this place?"

"Well, in order to do that -" Gears glanced at the cables he'd been working on, and at the amorous love bot moaning as she tried to lick Cleo's ear. "To get enough juice... The only way to access it would be to assemble more dolls!"