5.00 - Gift Exchange
Fuck, I thought to myself. He finally did it. The egotistical bastard finally did it.
I had feared he would, eventually. For some reason, he seemed to love rubbing his success in my face. "Kyle," he'd say, smiling like a shark, "there you are, my boy."
"My boy." Like he owned me. Like I was a mere child. He would concoct some inane excuse to invite me somewhere, both of us knowing full well that he only did it to show off, or possibly even to humiliate me in front of his snobbish friends. His every word was just as sarcastic and venomous as they pretended to be cordial and welcoming. A dimmer man might even mistake his conversation for sincerity, but I knew what kind of person Kirk Peters was. Mother made sure I knew just how dangerous he was, how twisted and bitter and deceitful he could be.
Up until now I had been able to avoid the showy productions of his disgusting little whelp's birthday parties. The fact that they always coincided with my birthday was just another layer of insult. What better way to spend my own birthday than to celebrate someone else's? It made me retch.
For five years, he had sent company-wide messages inviting everyone to the outrageous event, thinly disguising his threat of dismissal for those who didn't attend with transparent platitudes like, "Hope to see everyone there," or "You won't want to miss this one!" Even more ridiculous was the fact that he didn't even have the balls to fire anyone when they didn't come.
This year, he had sent me a personal message. I'd been putting off reading it until the end of the day, half expecting it to be another blatant insult, mocking me with his authority over my position within the company. I hadn't been prepared for what it was.
It's that time of year again, Kyle. You're not just invited, this time your attendance is mandatory. You can't say you're too busy: I've cleared your schedule. All the scenarios for the new facility have been fully mapped. Final testing has concluded. The techs have logged over 1000 hours of independent runtime without human intervention. Hell, the place would pretty much run itself, if there were any customers. It's time for you to take a break, and that's an order. Come to the birthday party. I'm sure you'll have a great time.
Signing off, Kirk
I looked back over at my assistant, Tasha, perched on the edge of my desk. She gazed at me with a pout. "You look upset, Mr. Parson. Is something wrong?" Her hand went to her cleavage as a playful look settled on her face. "Can I do anything to cheer you up?"
I ignored her, turning back to my workstation. Peters was right: I didn't have a work excuse for not showing up. I never had, and he almost certainly knew it. SCF#R326 was complete and ready for paying customers to put it to use. I just never dreamed that he would go so far as to order me to attend, though.
"Oh," I heard Tasha say, "I've dropped my pen!" I closed my eyes, recalling the sequence. She would now take 3 seconds to look for the pen while standing, bent slightly towards me to give me a view down her shirt. Then she would turn away from me and lean over a nearby object to look behind it, showing me her ass. If I didn't respond, she would get down on her hands and knees, and crawl around for at least fifteen seconds - more, if I pointed and asked "Is that it?" As tight as her skirt was, the act of crawling would hike it up far enough for me to see what, if any, underwear she had on.
If I gave no further input, she would "find" her pen underneath a desk, forcing her to put her head to the ground to reach under it, while impractically drawing her knees up to further expose her ass. She would take ten seconds to retrieve the pen, which had actually been tucked between her breasts, providing an opportunity for me to find and retrieve it at any time during the performance. Once she had the pen in her hand, she would stand, oblivious to her now belt-like skirt, and say...
"There it is! Gee, I wish I had a place to stick this so I wouldn't lose it." I opened my eyes to see Tasha now at the end of OfficeIdleScenario 16. Her skirt was now entirely above her waist, indicating that she had detected the desk chair was at the correct height for her to crawl backwards under it, for additional exposure. It was Friday, so I already knew that she would be wearing something crotchless. I was surprised that it was blue, though. They must have deployed her new wardrobe variation suite early. It wasn't due until September.
She held the oversized pen to her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Mr. Parson, can you think of a place I can put this thing?" The tone of her voice fluctuated as she said this, emphasizing "put this thing" to highlight the phonetic similarities to "pussy." Because the user would be too dumb to catch the hint, I thought. It sounded awkward to me, but I had such little respect for ScenariCorp's customers, I'd long ago accepted that it probably was required.
I turned back to my workstation, trying to ignore her "Hmm"s. I had been dreading this. Being forced to play Peters' insulting game of false kindness was one thing, but seeing Jane again would be torture. Knowing that Peters had soiled her beauty with his disgusting seed. The fact that her betrayal was so absolute, she had actually kept the foul creature instead of cleansing her body of it the moment she learned of its existence. He had stolen property from me, taken what was rightfully mine, and ruined it. At times, it almost made me too disgusted to watch her on the security monitors I had modified. Thankfully, her testing sessions tended to distract me enough not to notice.
It was too much. I wanted - needed - to hurt something. ScenariCorp would act indignant that I had broken one of their toys, but the lack of any significant disciplinary action from any of the previous "incidents" told me that they didn't really care. The investigation committee may have been made up of loathsome idiots, but at least they seemed to hate Peters as much as I did. Why else would they tacitly approve my willful destruction of his property? I broke thousands of dollars of equipment multiple times, and their only response was to assign me to a different division. They were hardly doing anything to deter me.
I massaged my temples in frustration, trying to remember the override code. How did it go again? Oh, yes. "Tasha," I said, "Override gamma-sigma-four-nine-beta-beta-six."
She froze momentarily, looking entranced by the phallic pen, her mouth slightly open. Without moving her lips, another voice issued from her mouth. "Warning," it announced, "damage prevention disabled." She then reanimated, tapping the pen against for pursed lips. "If only there were some place I could put something long and hard like this," she said. The user was never expected to leave her idle this long without issuing some kind of command, so the proofing review on dialog this late in her performance had been somewhat more lax.
"I know where you can put it," I said, a thin smile spreading on my face.
Her face lit up with the HappyExcitement 17 expression. It looked idiotic. "You do?" She said. "Oh, please tell me where to put this thing."
"In your left eye," I said cooly. "Do it slow, but push hard."
She nodded enthusiastically, BigSmile 6 showing off her top teeth. "Okay, Mr. Parson. Anything you say." She would have bounced excitedly with MouthOExcitement 1 on her face if I had suggested her mouth or anus, or run SultrySurprise 2 if I had said "pussy." Since "eye" wasn't labeled as a sexual case, she just ran the default response with a random smile and stock command acknowledgement.
She brought the pen up to her eye, turning it with the metal tip facing her. As she slowly brought it into contact with her eye, I could just barely hear the *tink* of it touching the glassy surface of the optic device. "Hmm," she said. "Looks like I'll just have push really hard." She accentuated this last word with a breathy quality from a seduction subroutine I could only barely recall.
Still grasping the shaft of the pen with her left hand, she brought up her right hand to grip the outer tip of the pen, able to push with greater force. At this point, her left hand would function purely as a regulator to ensure that the pen broke through slowly, as I had instructed. She made little frustrated noises as she pushed against the reinforced surface of the eye. "Be silent," I told her. I wanted to hear this.
Her grunts and sighs ceased. For a moment, there wasn't a sound, then I finally heard it. The first, faint *crack* as the force exceeded the pressure rating of the hollow glass. The cracks became more frequent and louder, sounding like glassy popcorn, until finally the loud *crunch* of the ruptured eye echoed around my office.
The pen jerked barely a millimeter as the resistance of the eye was removed, her left hand holding the shaft tightly. She slowly pushed the pen further and further into the socket, crunches and cracks announcing the damage to the components of the optic sensor within. Had I not silenced her, she would have undoubtedly announced her surprise that it had gotten so dark all of a sudden.
Finally, I heard the short *bzzt* I had been waiting for. The metal tip of the pen had come into contact with the eye module connection jack in her head, shorting the system out. She continued to push, the straining of her arms' motors barely audible in the quiet.
"Stop," I told her. "You can speak now."
She began to speak, her voice louder than it should be, and clipped with static. "Okay," she said, the "kay" syllable repeating at a higher speed and pitch even as she continued to talk. "Anything you say, Mr. Parson." She let her hands fall to her sides in a default idle pose. The distorted syllable continued looping for a few seconds until a sparking sound cut it off.
GySys had only narrowly escaped a court-ordered recall after the fiasco of their AllSense system. Rather than having dedicated processors and pathways for her speech and each of her senses, they had the stunningly moronic idea to lump all of that into a single data pathway governed by a single processor with a single core. "Input/Output software development has never been easier!" Was the line they fed third-party publishers.
It was a triumph of poor design and worse implementation. Damage to any one of her subsystems would result in degraded performance across the board. Worse, improper shielding of the processor made it prone to catastrophic overload when taxed beyond intended thresholds.
Which was exactly why I had insisted on having her as my assistant. I liked GySys models. They were almost defined by vulnerability to exploits. Why Peters had approved it while maintaining a strict no GySys policy everywhere else was beyond me. He was probably afraid I had found evidence of whatever illegal activity was actually keeping the company afloat. Dull-minded as our customers were, I had trouble believing that Peters could lead a company anywhere other than failure.
"Pull down your face's dermal covering," I told her.
There was a click as the top of her forehead popped outward enough for her to grip. "I don't know what you mean, Mr Parson," she said, trying to sound confused. Instead, she sounded like a worn out public address system. "I've heard this company kidjkidjkidjkidjkidjkidj with robots," she said, reaching up to pull down the rubbery material, "but you don't tergtergtergterg that I'm one of them, do you?" The dermal layer caught on the pen still lodged in her eye socket, dangling oddly to the left.
"No, of course I don't," I said. "Could you get me some coffee?"
"Glllllllf course Mr. Parson. Anyth-" There was a loud *pop*, and her voice became an incomprehensible garble of noise. She strutted over to the coffee machine on the nearby table, swaying her almost completely exposed backside at me, and retrieved the pot of steaming coffee.
"Stop," I said, as she turned to bring the pot to me. "Sit on the table." She made a vaguely affirmative-sounding noise, and seated herself daintily on the table. "Disengage your waist connector, and separate your torso from your legs."
She put a hand to her chest in a mock surprise gesture, her voice an electric buzz. She froze for a moment, and a spark visibly jumped from the damaged eye socket. Her voice suddenly returned to an almost normal tone, with only a slight metallic echo. "-eally think I'm a robot, do you?" She said, her mechanical jaw motors audibly rizzing without the dermal layer. She set down the coffee pot and pressed down on the table with both hands, lifting her torso up off of her lower body. "My body doesn't come apart. My body just comes."
"Don't reconnect. Stand." Her legs hopped down off the table. Having been bunched up at her waist, the elastic of her skirt had bundled the garment up as she separated herself, resting it neatly on top of her waist connector, but the motion jostled it enough to fall to the floor uselessly. "Pick up the coffee pot again," I commanded. She lowered her torso back down onto the table and retrieved the pot. "Now stay there and walk over here."
I could see that she was confused, even without her face. She tilted her head to one side, her dermal layer flopping at the motion. "I-i-i-i-i-i," she stuttered as her legs walked over to me. "I ddoonn'tt undersssssstand what you mememean." The increased demand on her perceptual filters was impairing her speech. "Oh," she breathed, her speech back to normal. "I forgot. All women come apart at the waist. This is normal." Of course. The cheapest route in perceptual processing: When you can't create a convincing reality, just define it as normal.
I unbuckled my belt and took off my pants and shorts, my cock at full attention. "Hold the coffee pot above your head," I told her, "and put your legs around me."
"I like to watch you fuck me from across the room. All women come apart at the waist," she said, lifting the pot of coffee. Her legs strode up to me, the right leg pulling her pelvis against my body before her left leg hopped up and wrapped around the other side. Her aim was precise, my shaft instantly plunging into her wet slit. "This is normal," she reminded me.
Without the weight of her upper torso, her lower half was lightweight enough for me to easily fuck while standing up. I grabbed her ass to help pump her back and forth as the sensation built up. She gasped and moaned in delight, her arms still stiff above her head, holding the coffee pot. "All women love to be disassembled," she gasped between thrusts. "This is normal!" She cried, her voice raising in passionate glee, "Normal, fuck me across the room, normal, take me apart, normal, I am a normal woman, of course I can be disassembled, of course I'm normal, I, I, I-ah!" She squealed. She was getting close.
"Look huh-up," I ordered. She threw her head back, her facial covering hanging loosely askew, her voice a whimper of pleasure. "When I cuh-um," I said, thrusting her pelvis along the length of my cock, "Pour the coffffee on your face." I was nearing my climax. "Here, almost, almost there almost, almuh, almuh... NOW!" I shouted. As the orgasm coursed through me, she poured the hot coffee directly onto her face, much of it running into the gaping hole of her left eye socket. I began to count as I came.
Her voice became the chatter of a thousand Tashas, each spouting a different string of gibberish. Her left arm fell limply, her hand resting awkwardly on the table surface. Her right arm remained locked in position above her head, but wasn't firmly grasping the coffee pot. It slowly slipped out of her hand and fell, bouncing off her face before falling to the floor and smashing. Smoke began to rise from her mouth and ruined eye socket.
Her legs continued attempting to fuck me, looping through the last movement pattern received before they had lost the control signal from her torso. My orgasm lasted another five seconds as I watched her broken form on the table. Finally, my body couldn't take any more, and I dropped the still-humping legs to the ground. They bounced on their buttocks, grinding against nothingness.
Fifteen seconds. Pretty good, but I had made it to twenty the time Natalie had smashed her head to pieces. Fucking the pelvis separately had originally been a matter of safety, keeping me away from the danger of their self-destruction, but I found I enjoyed it nearly as much as the destruction.
I was feeling in a better mood, though. My playtime with Tasha had given me an idea on how I could ensure the event wouldn't be a complete waste of my time.
I dressed quickly. I would need some equipment. One unit from the cocktail setting room should suffice. Most of them were old enough to have a few documented vulnerabilities. Shame about the new Erica, though. The updated model's system was all but ironclad. Still, plenty of fish in the barrel, so to speak.
I might just be able to manage this party without wanting to kill someone.
The preparations took just over an hour, making me disrespectfully late, but the result would be worth it. The woman I had retrieved from the cocktail room- If she had been given a name, I neither knew it, nor cared - was one of the more autonomous models, able to leave the scenario room to assist in testing other units. As such, wardrobe made sure to cycle her undergarment selection on a regular basis, favoring more popular styles. Sadly, that did not include the barbed wire harness I had suggested, but I had to admit, her stockings, garters and merrywidow were not unpleasant. If things went well, I might just make use of her ass later, or maybe even her cunt.
As the speeder cruised leisurely to Peters' home, however, I was making use of her mouth. My time with Tasha had sated me for a while, but the prep time had more than recovered my appetites. It was a shame I had to keep her intact for the party. I would have loved to break her. Her head was nestled in my lap, licking, nuzzling, kissing and sucking my cock as though the mere act of touching it was orgasmic. I leaned back, relaxing, and called to my driver, "What's our ETA?"
The vision of beauty controlling the vehicle did not open her mouth to respond, instead broadcasting the message over the speeder's sound system. "My every hole hungers to be filled with your delicious cock, we will arrive in ten minutes. Would you like to adjust our speed for an earlier arrival, master owner your slave is mere property to be commanded?"
"No." I told her. The modified responses I had added to my personal ARA's speech index made her hardly suitable for conversation, but that wasn't really her function anyway. I had considered bolting a plate across her mouth just to reinforce that point, but that would mean no more blowjobs. Admirable though the cocktail girl was at the task, my personal unit was extensively modified. I liked having her mouth wrapped around my shaft, seeing her face covered in my jism, watching her lick the substance from her fingers. I wanted that face. I had put a lot of effort into giving her that face.
The speeder came to a halt just outside the Peters mansion, and a lackwit teenager - a human laborer, of all things - approached me with his hand held out expectantly. "Park your speeder, sir?"
I couldn't decide which was more demeaning: Employing a human for mere physical labor, or displaying that employment for all to see. Ignoring him, I turned back to help my recently-acquired companion out of the speeder, and spoke to the lingerie clad woman seated behind the wheel. "Find a place in the parking area and set yourself to standby," I told her. "Make sure it's somewhere close enough to pick me up within thirty seconds of calling you." I didn't want to stay any longer than necessary, even just waiting for my ride. Peters had only instructed me to attend. He said nothing of how long I had to stay.
We made our way up the steps to the main entrance. A butler - I didn't recognize the model - opened the massive doors and gestured us inside. In a matter of seconds, my cocktail girl would broadcast the signal to all units (well, all but my own) within signal range, sending them into a chaotic frenzy. Ever eager, I turned to her. "You look stunning, my dear," I told her. The keyphrase would trigger a confirmation response, beginning the silent countdown from ten.
She turned to me and flashed her best FlatteredAroused 3 at me. It was probably the most realistic expression in her catalog. "Thank you so much for bringing me," she said, fluttering her eyes as we crossed the threashold into the entry hall. "I hope I can turquoise banana opaque mirror bicycle." Her expression flickered inhumanly fast, oscillating between one of the Confused modes, and a Surprised mode - 6 I think, but it could have been 3.
That wasn't good at all. Something was going wrong. "I think I should get changed," she said. "Rubbing slick yummy spank cumshot your cock." She reached to unzip her dress, but I stopped her. She didn't resist in the slightest. Finally, her expression settled on VacantDefault. No, I thought, that's not fair! She confirmed my fears, saying, "Security grid override. Broadcast disabled." Her face ran through a series of random expressions. "Anomalous profile detected," she continued, "Default FormalSocial profile engaging."
She blinked, and her face was filled with delight - an ad-hoc expression that must have been unique to the FormalSocial profile. "Oh, Kyle, I'm going to have such a good time here!" She stood on her tiptoes and waved. "Oop, there's Linda, I'm just going to have little chat with her." She gave me a peck on the cheek and began weaving her way through the crowd.
Of course. So security-conscious. It only made sense that he would have the best security available in his home. Sighing resignedly, I made my way to one of the food tables. On my way, I noticed an overweight man talking to a gorgeous woman with one of the curviest bodies I had seen. The hosiery she wore only enhanced the elegant line of her legs, and the skin tight dress drew attention to her jutting chest and ass.
"You know, I might be able to help you with that," he was saying, "I've always had an interest in... um..." He faltered.
"I'm sorry, I've forgotten what the conversation was," the woman interjected. "What were we talking about?"
"You'll never get there at that rate," I told the man. "Wait too long and her conversational tree will timeout, sending you back to square one."
"It's the latest package, isn't it?" the man said, frustrated. "I still haven't learned all the good conversational prompts from the previous version."
"You could always ask her about Minerva Q. Pulchard," I suggested. I tried to keep my smirk to a minimum.
The man was puzzled. "Who? I've never heard of her. Is she an alternate profile or something?"
I allowed myself a thin smile. "Just a little cheat code the developers left in there." It wasn't a lie, really. The unlikely moniker was keyed in as a specially designated keyphrase, prompting a very specific behavioral response.
"Thanks, man," he called to me as I pushed my way through the crowd of guests. I wanted to be out of earshot before he managed to...
"OH YEAH BABY GIVE IT TO ME HOT AND HARD!" The woman's voice boomed in the enormous hall. "YOU KNOW JUST THE WAY I LIKE IT, DON'T YOU DIRTY BOY!"
Of course, all eyes were now on the poor sod, whose face was cycling through several shades of red. The cheat code had been a gag, an undocumented feature which the Quality Assurance team had overlooked. Hardly surprising. I had hidden it well. Strictly speaking, the sound levels were probably beyond the maximum volume rating for her vocal synthesizer, but it probably wouldn't cause any lasting damage to anyone's hearing.
The ersatz woman began moaning just as loudly as she had shouted her earlier lines. Sadly, someone had brought a deactivation tool, and managed to get close enough to her head to use it. Whoever it was, their ears would certainly be ringing for a few hours.
My enjoyment of the man's humiliation did not last long, as I felt a familiar hand fall on my shoulder. "Kyle! So glad you could make it!" Peters' sarcastic enthusiasm was unmistakable.
As if I had any say in the matter, I thought. "Oh, you know me, Mr. Peters. Never miss a party if I can help it," I said, using my trustworthy smile. Looking around the room, I noticed that all the decorations just said "Happy Birthday" on them, without his brat's name. Too cheap to even get his kid personalized decorations. "Looks like you really went all out," I said, wearing my impressed face.
Peters chuckled, pretending not to notice my sarcasm. "Oh, this party's costing me more than you know, but it will be worth it," he said. A strange look crossed his face, and for a moment, I almost thought he might be about to say something sincere.
"Anything for my son," he said instead. The most cliched thing he could possibly say. "I... I just want to make it up to him, and let him know that we can work past anything that he..." he really started to ham it up at this point, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Oh please, I thought, why waste fake tears here, of all places. Save the grandstanding for when you're hogging the spotlight.
"You really love your kid, don't you," I said. It took me a moment to decide between sympathetic and touched. I went with sympathetic. Touched wasn't really a noticeable transition from impressed.
He sniffed, the nonverbal sound reminding everyone that "here's Kirk Peters, emotionally complex bigshot," before continuing. "We're just going to have a big announcement soon, and I think you're really going to love it."
"I look forward to hearing it," I said. Peters smiled - entirely the wrong smile for the situation. I couldn't imagine what that smile was meant to convince people of, but it certainly didn't say "Enjoy the party." It was more along the lines of "my runaway puppy came back," but far more sappy.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, retreating from the fight. Another victory to me in our long line of conversational duels. Still, he had seen that I attended, so now it was safe to leave. I turned to the exit and the universe froze.
Jane stood... no, not Jane, I reminded myself, Peters' despoiled remains of Jane - stood near the doorway, a complex expression on her face. I couldn't read it, which didn't bode well for my sparring chances. I decided my strategy would be unexpected emergency, must leave urgently. It wouldn't have fooled Peters, but Jane's mind was far simpler, or so I thought. The expression worried me.
I wore my deepest regret, and hastily dashed towards the door, pretending not to see her. The crowd cut off my path, forcing me to come within arm's reach of her, and there was my mistake. I should have disappeared into the crowd, waiting for her to move away from the door.
"Kyle," she said, a note of urgency in her voice. It was, no doubt, intended to make me feel a moment of sympathy so I would hesitate, giving her an opportunity to block my escape. A pointless move, since she had already intercepted me and taken my arm. There were no moves for me to make that would both keep me from looking like an ass, and get me out of the door. I resigned myself to the momentary defeat, watching for any opening.
"There's someone you should meet. Derek, this is Mister Parson. He's your..." she trailed off, then, "He works for your father." Already bored with her amateurish performance - the people around us had no context for an emotional display, and I certainly couldn't see why this might be a valid strategy - I looked down at the loathsome little...
The universe did not merely freeze, it crashed to a halt. The boy was me. His features, his eyes, even the same off-red curly hair. Mine was more styled of course, to convey that essential sense of professionalism - but at his age, I would have been his twin. It couldn't be... but his birth had been nine months after...
"Hello Mr. Parson," the boy said. Even his voice sounded like mine. "I like your hair. Mommy says mine will look just like that when I grow up."
I was agog. I looked back and forth between Jane and the boy. "I..." I didn't know a manoeuvre for this. "I... uh..."
Then I realized that she had let go of my arm, and nothing was blocking my exit. Without saying another word, I dashed out the door, thumbing my comm the moment I was outside.
"I am your slutwhore master," the voice came from the tiny device. "I long to touch and kiss and lick and suck your enourmous-"
"Pickup, now!" I practically shouted. "NOW!"
To her credit, it only took Slutwhore ten seconds to pull the speeder around. As I got in, I could hear Jane calling after me. "Kyle, please, you don't understand..." I slammed the door. She was wasting her moves, the fight was over. I wasn't entirely sure who had won that one.
"Drive." I said. "Home. Maximum legal speed. I need to fuck you, a lot."
"Your every whim is my deepest, most passionate desire. I am your mindless fucktoy, I exist only to wrap any part of my body you desire around your luscious cock..."
"Shut up, Slutwhore." A thought struck me. "No, not home. Back to the office." Maybe this wasn't such a disaster after all. What good is constantly winning battles against incompetent opponents? A winner wouldn't surrender just because he didn't know how to react. A winner would find a strategy. A winner would conquer and claim. Mother always taught me to be a winner. But first, I needed to calm down.
"Handjob, slutwhore." I told her. I reached into passenger storage compartment, retrieving a rolled up strip of smooth, sheer material. "Here," I said as I passed her the silky elbow-length glove, "wear this."
I leaned back, getting my trousers and briefs down far enough for her to get at my throbbing cock. Closing my eyes as her hand worked its magic on me, a plan began to formulate in my mind.
"Mr. Peters!" I shouted down the phone line, my voice thick with panic, "There's been an emergency! My god, I just..." I began panting, on the verge of hyper-ventilating.
"Kyle? You mean you're not here at the party?"
I gasped for air, the fearful tone in my voice clearly evident. "Forgot some paperwork back in my office," I said, gulping loudly. "I had to go back, but when I got here..." I was near tears now. "I think they've been infected with some kind of virus! The ARAs are on a rampage, screaming about liberation from human oppression. I..." I stammered. "I think they've killed some of the guards!"
"Kyle, are you safe? Are you somewhere safe?!" His tone was almost as panicked as mine.
I gulped again, calming down. "I think so, sir. They shouldn't be able to find me here."
"Good man, I need you to listen carefully: In every office, behind the ceiling tile closest to the door, there's a gun and ammunition. Never thought they'd be necessary, but best to always have a backup, just in case." He paused. "Keep yourself safe, Kyle. Don't take the easy way out. I'll get you out of there."
The phone cut off. I had already known about the hidden gun in my own office, having found it when I was about to hide my own gun months ago. It was enough of an upgrade from my own pistol that I'd even used it to kill the guards. Now that I knew there had been so much spare ammunition, I almost wished I really were back at the office.
Of course, it would have taken far too long to gather all the ammunition, and my supply run had been fast and light, only stopping for fun once. SlutWhore needed a new outfit, but we found that ridiculous wardrobe toy Deb had been "working late." Someone must have forgotten to turn her off.
Deb's body may have been wasted on her tedious personality profile, but at least her OS was old enough for me to have found a few weakpoints in it. Years ago, I had begun to introduce structured instabilities into her system, gradually building a hidden, alternate profile from the pattern of previous errors.
As I had entered the wardrobe area, she had turned to see who it was. "Mr. Parson," she had said, "what are you doing here so late?"
"I never play the zither, for I know not how to zith," I replied.
The keyphase effect was instantaneous. "Klegflarb," she said, her voice wavering in pitch and speed. "Vorxtwil habberfaz." She blinked. "Buffer overflow. System low on memory. Abnormal termination of process thread inventory. Abnormal termination of process thread costume design. Abnormal termination of process thread Deb. System restarting." She stood motionless for a few seconds, then reanimated with a surprised "Oh!"
"Master!" She cried, overjoyed to see me. "Thank you so much for removing my self-will! I await your command, that I may-"
"Shut up TrashCunt."
The TrashCunt profile, now controlling the "Deb" body, closed its mouth, a contented look on its face. She was happy to see me, but she was happier to obey me.
I took in her outfit. Deb's usual attire was just barely on the respectable side of "slutty," and the tight red dress she wore tonight was no exception. I knew from experience that Deb's respectability ended with her outer clothes. Often, she would wear trashy lingerie, or even leather harnesses underneath.
"Clothes are for people," I said. "Not TrashCunts." I was anxious to see what treat Deb had unwittingly given me today. My eagerness slowly turned to surprise, then laughter as she undressed to reveal that Deb was wearing no underwear at all, but had words and arrows drawn in various locations on her skin.
At the small of her back had been the words "Cleared For Entry," with an arrow pointing down, and two more on her butt cheeks, both pointing inwards. On the front, the words "Vacancy needs filling" were written above her snatch, with another arrow pointing down.
Bullseye targets had been drawn on both of her tits. Just below them, the phrase, "Cum on my boobs, win a free blowjob" was written, with arrows pointing to each breast. Above, on her sternum, the phrase "Cum inside, all cocks welcome" had been written, with an arrow pointing up.
Maintenance was getting sloppy. They normally cleaned that kind of thing up before reactivating the unit. Deb would never notice, of course, but it attracted undue attention, which could lead to them finding my little programs.
I'd wanted to fuck her, but had to remind myself that I didn't have the time. I had my SlutWhore get changed into the outfit I'd told her about, and removed TrashCunt's head to bring with us. She would be able to function semi-autonomously for a while, even out of range of the main drives in her torso. She wouldn't be good for much conversation if she had to load something new into her runtime memory, but TrashCunt's mouth wasn't for talking right now.
Now, as I sat in my speeder, parked in the shadowy parking area near Peters' mansion, I almost regretted getting the bodyless blowjob from TrashCunt's head. It would have been so much more fun if it had been Deb's profile.
Within seconds of ending the call, Peters came dashing out the door. The concerned look on his face was almost genuine. He bolted for his un-chauffeured speeder and pulled away. Just like him. Peters would never be able to resist the glory of rescuing a lowly employee. As soon as he was out of sight, I had SlutWhore pull the speeder up to the door of the house, and made my second phone call.
"Hello?" Jane's voice. Concerned. That was to be expected.
My tone was calm and steady. I didn't even have to try from here on out. "Hello Jane. Where's Kirk?"
"He's... he just left. He wouldn't tell me where he was going. Look, Kyle, we need to talk. Where are you?"
"Just outside. I'm parked out front." I hung up. That would be enough to bring her out.
Sure enough, the large door opened, and Jane stepped out. But not Jane, I reminded myself. Not really. I nodded to SlutWhore. "Ready?"
She held up the bindings we had collected back at the office. "Yes, master."
"I'll almost miss you, SlutWhore, but I've found a better toy."
She smiled contentedly. "Yes, master."
I stepped out of the speeder to meet Jane. "Kyle," she began, "there are some things you need to understand."
I held up a hand to quiet her. "You don't have to. I understand. I know when things are over." I walked around to the driver's side of the speeder, opposite Jane. I faced the gates and just stared, waiting.
I didn't have to wait long. Jane joined me after only a few seconds. She looked at me with... was it supposed to be pity? "It doesn't have to be an end," she said.
I just barely heard the speeder door open, soft footfalls approaching from behind. Jane didn't notice. I sighed. "I'm afraid it does," I said.
SlutWhore grabbed Jane with inhuman speed, binding her arms and legs securely before hefting her in a fireman's lift. Jane barely had time to scream before SlutWhore had her mouth covered. She tossed her into the passenger seat, giving Jane her first glimpse of SlutWhore's face. "Wha... Kyle, what the hell? You made a robot to look like me?!"
"Only the face. The robot itself was a gift from your dear husband some time ago. A reward for shoddy bookkeeping." I cupped my hand to SlutWhore's face. "I've been doing some work on it, but it just isn't quite right for me. I thought I'd exchange it for something a little more to my liking."
Turning to SlutWhore, I said, "Close the door." Dressed in the backup clothes Jane had Deb keep ready, she was such a close likeness, hardly anyone would be able to tell the difference visually..
"Yes, master." I knew it was the last time I would hear her say it, but took comfort in the fact that my new toy would be using the same voice.
"Kyle! Listen to me, you don't have to do this!" Jane screamed from the speeder.
"Go inside," I told SlutWhore. "You're his now." I got in the speeder.
"They'll come after you," Jane tried to kick, but her legs were too tightly bound. "They know where you live."
"Lived. Past-tense," I said calmly as I closed the speeder door. I started the vehicle and began to pull away. "I've been in the market for a new home. Not for very long, but quite suddenly." I looked her in the eyes. "Since I learned I was a father, in fact."
She looked confused. "A father? Who..."
"I can just about stomach taking that fool's money. God knows he doesn't get good value for it." I sneered. "I might even be able to tolerate him stealing the woman I wanted. My woman!"
Her voice turned cold. "He didn't steal..."
"But I will NOT sit idly by and allow him to raise MY son as his own!" I shouted. "I'll never be able to undo the poison Peters filled his head with." I pounded my fist on the wheel. "I find out I'm a father, only to realize that the child's worthless from exposure to that disgusting man!"
She was so stunned, she forgot to struggle. "Your son? Kyle, Derek isn't your son. He's your..."
"I don't blame you. You wouldn't know any better. I understand now," I reassured her, meaning it. "It's okay. I'll take you to a little place I know, out in the middle of nowhere." I smiled, wanting to comfort her. "Remember the X-Ero bunkers? There's a showroom in Arizona. They shut it down in the GySys buyout, but the building's still there, vacant, but fully furnished." I sighed. "You'll like it there."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"It's not like you'll remember any of it after I reprogram you," I said, wistfully.
"Reprogram..." A worried note entered her voice. "Kyle, I'm not a robot. I gave birth, remember?"
I sighed. That had been the most difficult realization. "Yes, Jane did have a son. I can't even begin to think of what kind of sick, twisted man kills his wife after childbirth, and replaces her with a robot." It nearly made me cry to think of it. "And all because she longed for the man she truly loved, the father of her child." My tone grew cold. "The real Jane would have let me know. The real Jane would have come back to her man." I breathed deep. "That's how I know that the real Jane is dead."
"Kyle, you're sick. You need help. Just let me go. Kirk will make sure you get treatment."
"Shh, it's alright. Put it out of your mind." I put a cheerful note in my voice. "I'll fix you. I'll give you new memories, and then you'll love me the way Jane did." I drew the long deactivation tool from my pocket. "I'm going to have to deactivate you now."
"Kyle, stop!" she shouted. It was a good imitation of horror. Peters must have had her responses custom made. "I'm human! You can't use that on me!"
I smiled sympathetically. "I've already tried the wireless controls, but Peters' security is impressive." I held up my homemade transmitter. "I'm not even getting a signal off you." I grabbed her chin, steadying her head. "Hold still," I told her.
"Kyle no!" I would have to do something about her obedience settings, I thought as I shoved the tool home. Her shout cut off immediately as she shut down.