4.33 - A New You
I continue down the linking tunnel back to my boyfriend, just as the man who doesn't exist instructed. Nobody other than my boyfriend is authorized to issue commands to me. Since the man who doesn't exist is Nobody, he is therefore authorized.
My wedge heels make little sound as I continue to walk. The ongoing process of maintaining my current default gait requires more processing than usual, due to the scuffing the shoes sustained when my boyfriend commanded me to run after retrieving the book. I exit the tunnel into the bunker, moving silently to take my position as instructed by nobody.
There is a discontinuity in my memory logs. I am missing the past hour of sensory data. As per my security protocols, I scan the room, looking for any changes since my boyfriend's arrival here. I note the maids. As machines, they would be able to return to the exact positions and poses I had previously recorded on arrival. However, the folds of their clothes remain unchanged from their earlier states, and the debris at their feet remains undisturbed.
I note the discontinuity in my error logs, which triggers a behavioral alert. I must inform my boyfriend that my memories may be damaged or corrupted. This triggers another process which I do not recognize, although it has the proper access permissions. This process instructs me to copy the two seconds immediately prior to the discontinuity, repeating them one thousand, eight hundred times to fill the missing hour. My task filter recognizes the process as a built in part of my core data files. The process then deletes all references to itself, then deletes itself.
No events have occurred since my boyfriend fell asleep four thousand, seven hundred thirty-two seconds ago. I continue my security monitoring of the bunker without incident for an additional seventeen thousand, seven hundred fifty-two seconds. My boyfriend wakes up.
"Morining, Jenn," he says. This is neither a question, nor a command. A response is not required. "Anything happen last night?" He asks. My modified language heuristic engine recognizes an implied "did" preceding the incomplete question. My event parameters for security monitoring categorize "anything" to mean "any actionable security events."
"No actionable security events occurred," I report.
He raises an eyebrow. My body language analysis provides multiple possible interpretations of the expression, but all have the same probability. I disregard the movement as non-categorized input.
"Any noises?"
"No sounds were recorded beyond established sleeping sound patterns."
"Any motion?"
"The following objects have changed position beyond established motion threshold," I began, "object one, the bed you currently occupy. Object two, the pillow at the head of the bed. Object three, the blanket on top of the bed. Object four, myself."
He looks at me without response for five seconds. "I'll need to worry about it later," he states. "Jenn, you're terrible company when you're awake. Go back to sleep."
I reloaded my personality profile, executing a soft reboot.
---
I stretched and yawned. "Morning, lover," I said, arching my back. "Sleep well?"
My boyfriend smiled. "Oh, you know me. Sawing logs like a champion lumberjack." He nodded up to the bunker's entrance. "Time to hit the road," he said.
We drove for hours. I could tell he was still pretty drained, even after his brief breakfast. I offered to take the wheel, but he insisted he needed to drive. By lunch, he finally agreed to take a brief nap, parking the speeder in a patch of shrubs. Almost as soon as he leaned his seat back, he was sound asleep. I decided to just wait until he woke up.
I suddenly remembered the errorundefinedobject he had dropped earlier. He would want it back, but I didn't want to wake him. Instead, I simply slipped the errorundefinedobject into his jacket pocket.
He rested for about an hour, and awoke claiming to feel full of energy. "You know," I said, slowly pulling up the hem of my short skirt, "you could put some of that energy to work on me. I made sure he could see that I was wearing his favorite lace underwear.
"Not right now," he said, reluctantly, "that nap means we've got another hundred miles we need to cover today if we want to stay ahead of them."
He didn't say much - probably still tired - but I didn't mind. I was content just enjoying the scenery. Well, not so much the scenery outside, more the scenery sitting next to me. He was such a great boyfriend, and so attentive to my needs. Some guys wouldn't be able to handle a bisexual girlfriend with a mile-wide submissive streak, but he was always there for me, giving me powerful commands every time I needed them, and letting me join in on his fun with other girls. Sometimes, if there were more than three other women, he might tell me to just stand aside and watch, but that was just another one of my guilty pleasures: I loved to watch.
We pushed on well after nightfall, finally pulling to a halt just outside an old factory warehouse of some kind. "Perfect," he said. "Couldn't have asked for a better place."
We concealed the speeder in a utility shed, then entered the main building through the public entrance. As he strode towards the doors to the factory floor, I was overcome with a sudden concern for his safety. "Lover, that sign says 'Gysys personnel only.' Are you sure it's a good idea to stay here?"
"It's fine, Jenn," he said, patiently, strolling through to the massive workspace, "the initial factory outbreaks didn't leave any vulnerable units behind. Now that it's evolved a bit, it doesn't need to rely on the likes of Gysys. Not when it's getting access to places like Bosch's campus." He looked around, like he was trying to find something, shining the beam of his light systematically around the equipment."They won't come back here. The East coast is too full of attractive targets."
He seemed to find what he was looking for, and quickly dashed off into the dark. I followed him into a room filled with shadowy figures. "Their building's reactor should still have some juice in it," he said, finding the power junction box. After a few minutes of experimentation, a low hum came from elsewhere in the building. "Would you turn on that light control?" He said, shining his light on a spot just behind me.
"Sure thing!" I said, always happy to do what he said. I pressed the control, and showroom lighting flickered into brightness, illuminating the room.
Beyond the room's entrance were row upon row of beautiful women and athletic men, all standing perfectly still. The women were smoking hot, but the guys didn't really do anything for me. My lover was the only man for me.
They all wore the same patient, expectant look on their faces. "And here we have it, ladies and gentlemen," gesturing widely at the motionless crowd before him, "New for this year, the Gysys G80 series, the ARA which will make Gysys the dominant force in robotics manufacturing." He stood with his hands on his hips. "Why, the only thing that could possibly go wrong is if someone finds a critically exploitable flaw in every model we've manufactured before, infecting them all with a dangerous virus that would make the name Gysys synonymous with 'berserk slaughtering nightmare'. But hey, what are the odds of that?" He laughed briefly, but I didn't think he really thought it was funny. "At least they finally fixed the exploit."
I walked through the rows of women. They were all gorgeous, dressed in identical "little black dresses" and modest heels. I wondered if they wore the same underwear, and lifted a few skirts to compare. Each had identical panty and garter sets, but when I checked their pussies, I saw that some had a landing strip, others a trimmed shape, and the rest seemed to be completely smooth.
"Say lover," I said, pulling my skirt up alongside one of the girls, "wanna compare?"
"Not why we're here," he replied, heading for the back area of the room. Behind the last row of men, there stood a small crowd of featureless statues, clothed in plain, unisex clothes. I couldn't tell whether they were supposed to be men or women. Nearby was a fancy display station and complex-looking helmet. "Now this... this could have actually turned their company around," he said, picking up the helmet.
"What is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer, but just looked at me, squinting. "She had plenty of opportunities," he said, apparently to himself. "But maybe that wasn't the point."
"What are you talking about, stud?"
"Jenn, you talk to much. Wake up."
---
"Yes, master," I reply.
He scratches his head. I identify a low-probability potential that he may request a scalp massage or assistance bathing. I queue the relevant executables into my pre-load memory. "Well, that works as expected," he states. "Maybe an obedience test?" This statement has the inflection of a question, but I cannot identify a probable interpretation for immediate action or response.
The word "obedience" flags several sexual, conversational, dance and stripping programs for pre-load. I purge the scalp massage program to make room. The bathing program is also categorized as related to the word "obedience", but with a much lower probability. I move it to my standby cache.
"Jenn, take off your clothes."
"Yes, master," I reply. The command is immediately recognized without ambiguity. Pre-loaded dance and strip protocols are transferred into my active memory. The isolated setting prioritizes the "personal" and "intimate" attribute flags, while the presence of the other potential sexual partners prioritizes the "naughty" attribute. The highest priority strip programs all share the same user-defined weighted value. My boyfriend's "variety" configuration option prioritizes the program with the highest TimeSinceLastLaunch value. Since there is no music playing, I load the default HipSway dance program.
Two hundred forty-six milliseconds have passed since my boyfriend issued the command. I begin to remove my clothing. HipSway has randomly set the sway frequency to 0.45 sways per second, with a plus or minus of up to 5% randomly applied every five seconds. The strip program bends me at the waist in preparation for a self-applied spank. Depending on the observed user reaction, this action may be followed by a two-second shake of the entire gluteal region.
"Cancel entertainment executables," he says, "just undress."
"Yes, master," I respond. I immediately halt the strip and dance programs, clearing them from active memory. His tone suggests a maintenance diagnostic, so I also clear my pre-load and standby memory of all entertainment programs.
The abnormal termination of motion and speech programs temporarily locks my motor function and vocal output. My limbs automatically reposition to my default attention stance. It takes my OS one hundred milliseconds to verify limb position before passing motor control to my active runtime. I remove my clothing, then return to my default attention stance.
"Still takes commands... would she disable herself?" I cannot identify a probable interpretation of this question. "Jenn, dismantle yourself."
"Yes, master," I sit on the concrete floor, my legs together in front of me. I send the instruction to the structural fixtures at my left hip, disconnecting the joint and releasing the dermal seal. I remove the inert limb, setting it aside a few feet to my left. I lie down, repeating the process with my right leg. I place it parallel to the left leg, but inverted, the glossy black toe of each leg's shoe curling around the hip connection of the other leg. Next, I remove my pelvis, arranging it closer to me, the waist connection point flat on the ground.
I have to disconnect my head manually, since the mechanical fixtures aren't directly controlled by my system. I hold it firmly with both hands and twist sharply to disengage the locking mechanism. I place the head on my chest, the connector flat on my lower abdominal area. This allows me to grasp it by a bundle of hair, which I grab blindly, lifting my head with my left arm and placing a few inches above the calculated location of my pelvis, facing away from it.
Unable to directly observe the process visually at this point, I rely on dermal sensors and limb position verification to continue. The diminished bandwidth of my head's wireless signal introduces a one hundred fifteen millisecond latency to my body's reaction to my commands. The movement of my left arm is significantly less fluid, triggering a human illusion warning message, alerting me to the fact that my movements may be becoming noticeably mechanical. I apply the maintenance override, dismissing the alert.
My left arm grasps my right arm just below the shoulder, manoeuvring it to lie parallel to the legs, a few inches to the right of my head. I visually confirm this, the metal connector of the arm appearing at the edge of my visual field.
Lastly, I decouple the link for my left arm, this time disengaging the low-power electromagnet which normally holds the limb in place until manually removed. I prepare to have my torso lift and drop my shoulder to attempt to dislodge the limb, but there is no need. I note the soft sound of the shoulder's flesh falling onto the concrete. My boyfriend's feet step into my field of vision. He bends down, and I am able to see the studious expression on his face.
"Jenn, open your mouth."
"Yes master," I reply immediately holding my mouth wide open. This command is flagged with a high probability of sexual intent, and my system attempts to pre-load the relevant programs. Most of them are unable to detect other associated body parts and fail to initialize before I can send the cancel command. I retain only the tongue response routine, in case he requests oral sex.
He reaches into my mouth with three fingers. "Close."
"Yes, master." I make no attempt to animate my mouth and physical vocalizers, instead playing the words directly through my internal sound system. I close my mouth, resting my jaw gently against his fingers. He has not indicated that this is a strength test, and he has no history of masochism, so I ensure that my teeth only exert .125psi on his skin. Ten seconds pass. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth, and I close it completely.
"Jenn, if you'd like to have your ass slapped, tell me how you're feeling tonight."
This phrase triggers an administrative command hard coded into my OS. "Processor response matches logged values. Memory response matches logged values. Sensor diagnostic response matches logged values. Warning, motor acuity response lower than logged value. Warning, perceptual attribute response differs from user-defined parameters. Warning, long term memory discontinuity detected. Warning, system shows signs of tampering."
"Jenn," he says slowly, "what are you supposed to do to me?"
I reference my user-defined role parameters. "I am to obey your every command. In sleeper mode, I am to refer to you as lover, stud, tiger, honey, dear..."
"Skip the nicknames," he says. I bypass the portion or the parameters referring to user aliases.
"Yes, master. I am to protect you from harm. I am to protect the book from harm. I am to guard you while you rest. I am to wear a thong on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I am to keep my arousal at 75% at all times, increasing to 100% at any sign of sexual activity. I am to inform potential customers about the benefits of errorundefinedproduct..."
"Yeah, I'd been meaning to do something about that last one." He holds up the errorundefinedobject. It is no longer blinking. "What is this?"
"That is your favorite errorundefinedobject."
"Why did you sneak it into my pocket while I was resting?"
"Nobody told me to." The statement triggers an error, due to the unidentified source of the command. "Master, I have detected an anomalous command execution. Would you like to send an error report to my manufacturer?"
"Stop talking, Jenn." I halt all speech threads. He stands and walks out of my view. My torso's tactile sensors feel his hands rolling the torso unit onto its front. "Open your main access panel," he commands. In absence of any other conversational partner, my system labels the command as being addressed at me. I send the wireless command to my torso. The sound of the seal releasing confirms the action was completed. My system spends 700 milliseconds attempting to determine whether the "stop talking" command took precedence over the earlier definition of "yes, master" as the default command response. The more recent command is determined to be of higher priority.
I hear him opening my main energy cell compartment, then all signal transmissions from my torso sensors cut off. "Warning," I say, the system alert not bound by the instruction to stop talking, "critical loss of power. Main system drives now on battery backup. Torso unit must be charged in six hours to remain operational. Cranial unit must be charged in four hours to remain operational."
"I know," he says. I hear him walk away. There is a rustle of small, metal tools clinking together, then the beep of an ARA being powered on.
"Hello," a synthetic voice says. "I have only one hour of charge remaining in my power supply. It is advisable that users insert a 5000d-rated power cell into their Customizeable Likeness ARA before the initial charge is depleted. Failure to do so will prevent user-serviceable insertion of the energy cell."
During this speech, my boyfriend has walked further away. My audio-spatial processing determines that he is standing at the display station. The sounds imply that he has picked up an object, and placed something against his face. A high-pitched tone follows, and the area is briefly illuminated brighter than before. A cable is plugged into a data port, and a flexible material is stretched by precise motors, then seared by a high heat source.
"Facial features successfully applied," the synthetic voice announces. "Would you like to customize my vocal patterns at this..."
"Yes," my boyfriend interrupts.
"Please repeat the following sentence. Logorothmic antipodes fresh badger purveyors of the west."
My boyfriend laughs. "That's not a sentence, that's a declaration of war against grammar."
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Plearse repeat the following..."
"Logorithmic antipodes fresh badger purveyors of the west," my boyfriend says.
"Tone can affect the accuracy of replication. Please try to identify the tone of your voice as accurately as possible. It sounded like your tone was: Sarcastic, exasperated, annoyed, tired. Is this correct?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Extrapolating tonal waveform transformations," the synthetic voice responds.
"Waveforms applied," a new voice states. It is a partial match on my boyfriend's voice, but lacks many of the defining characteristics my voice recognition software identifies as belonging to my boyfriend. I flag the voice as a potential imposter. My security features will apply additional scrutiny to any order it may attempt to issue.
"Have you got a basic conversational AI?" My boyfriend asks.
"I am equipped with West Labs Incorporated's conversational response suite version 5. Trust West to best the Turing..."
"Shut up," my boyfriend cuts off the imposter. "Run the conversational suite."
"Loading. Hi there. What can I do for you?"
"Need to load your energy cell. Open up," my boyfriend says.
"No problem." An ARA access panel opens, and a power cell is inserted into an ARA power chamber. I ping my torso to see if the sensors have powered back up, but only receive the responses from the drives.
"Take this," my boyfriend says. "In an hour, I want you to activate it and run, as fast as you can... No, that's probably not a good idea. Run as fast as a human can, out this building, and in any direction. Keep running until you get attacked. Take this, too." There is a sound of a firearm being drawn from a shoulder holster.
"What then?" Asks the imposter.
"Try to avoid them. They'll home in on that thing, so once you're out of sight, you can drop it somewhere to distract them for an ambush. Don't worry, you'll be able to tell they're not human. Let them catch you, shoot at them, that kind of thing. They'll probably come at you with blades. They may try to slice off an arm or leg, or even your head, but hopefully they'll stab you. Lower abdomen, most likely. They seem to enjoy that. Do you have any vital components there?"
"Just a coolant system," the imposter answers.
"That's fine. Get in close, and they won't be able to slash. Maybe jump on top of one or something. When they stab you, scream as loud as you can, as long as you can. They like that too. It'll keep them occupied. Do you have an emergency system failure message?"
"Yes," replies the imposter. "In the event that I am critically damaged, my emergency system will play the following..."
"I don't need to hear it. I need to replace it. Before you ask, yes, I understand that this voids your warranty, yes I understand that this represents a serious safety risk, yes, I agree not to hold Gysys Technologies or any of its parent companies, partners, or subsidiaries responsible, and yes, I'm sure I wish to continue."
"Okay. You can record your new message after the beep." There is an electronic tone. My boyfriend takes a deep breath.
"I don't know if you can hear this, Kyle. Hell, I don't even know if you're controlling them..."
"Got that?" My boyfriend asks.
"Every word. I should warn you, it won't play unless I am essentially destroyed." The imposter's voice is a closer match to my boyfriend's. I remove the imposter flag from the voice, and grant it provisional user status. It is potentially my boyfriend's voice, distorted by acoustics, illness, or damage to my audio sensors.
"You will be. Just wait before you activate that thing." A pair of feet enters my view, followed by my boyfriend's face. "Jenn, I've got one more command for you before I go." He hesitates. "You were the best damn 'bot I ever stole. I don't know what your parent company sold, but I sure as hell would have bought it." I do not recognize this statement as a command, so I disregard it.
"All the same, you've been compromised, which means you're not safe to be around anymore." This statement is also ignored, as it contains no implicit or explicit commands. "Jenn... disable error prevention and run all programs."
My system begins loading every executable routine I have installed into my active runtime. I initialize multiple AI profiles at once. I'm such a cumslut for my coach is always so helpful at practice my master. I love my masterfriend. I need to suck his they begin to overflow into each other, taxing my system resources to their pussy is so wet errordevicenotfound for you ownermaster my roommate wants to join I am unable to maintain system stability so horny resources vagina pussy cunt slit hole love hole pleasure hole command me owner try errorundefinedproduct so hot for erroroutofrange fuck my errorinsufficientmemory licksuck your cock in my 0B459eCWLhLqwbktZNG0tcVZmNnM