Roommate's X-Mas Present Ch. 03

His droid was near. Moving nearby. He wanted to see her.

Needed to.

Now.

So he got up and found her in the next room.

"Hey, uh...93, can I try something?"

"Of course."

"C-can you get 118 in here too?"

"Sure," 93 beamed and left to find her daughter-droid. Several minutes went by before she returned, 118 in tow. "Here we are Master. Is there anything in particular you want to do?"

Brian paused. A dour stillness crept, skirting the fringe of his conscience. Grey, and haunting. Bad. He bit his cheek and fought through his hesitation. "Before w-we go any further, quick question: 93, you know I don't have any papers except for a scrap of a note from...from...ahem—you don't happen to have a digital copy of your shipping invoice? Eh? Tucked away in your long-term memory?"

93 gave him a quizzical look.

"You know — from when my buddy John ordered you."

She responded by closing her eyes, scanning deep in her storage banks. Brian's vision blurred as he flitted between her and 118, who stood patiently and smiled when she noticed him staring.

C'mon man! Trust your gut.

After a short amount of time, 93 spoke: "um, no...I don't have any data from that time period. Is it important, Master?" She approached him, concerned and a little confused. "Is there something wrong? Can we help?"

Brian exhaled, his breath stricken with the taste of alcohol. 93 detected traces of the substance in the air, and grew ever more worried. "Nah," he said, his face frantic with conflicting emotion; first a smile, then a frown, then other minor movements in rapid succession. "No...just wondering is all."

Brian slammed his thumb down on his phone's touchscreen. Without warning, 93 and 118 froze in-place, their limbs just...stopping. 93, mid-stride, found her legs adjusting to keep her balance then becoming motionless. "S'okay, s'okay," he coughed, "I just need to..."

Losing his train of thought, Brian ran over to the service droid, coaxing her to relax by gently sliding his arms around her. The shock of freezing wore off and VIXN-93 discovered slack in her joints, allowing her to mould herself around her master. He set her down, ignorant of the questions flooding her artificial mind. He could answer them. Later. Maybe...if he had a good answer.

118 was next, brought to rest next to her 'mother'. The act was wearing thin. Brian felt it. Names weren't useful right now, especially one's that tickled his perversion. Mother. Daughter. Stupid monikers to keep him docile. That's right, he fumed, I know I've been an idiot and watched everything go down the toilet, but I'm done pretending.

He coughed. No — belched. A torrent of gas sped from his stomach and beat his senses silly with its stench. "Ugh, f-fffuck."

Yeah...this is fine...this is a good decision.

He rubbed his temples. Slipping on a misplaced magazine, he struck the floor with his knee. "SHIT!" he bellowed, regaining his footing after the painful crack of his kneecap led an army of neurons on a warpath up through his leg. Imagination exceeded reality, and the prospect of serious injury was dispelled the moment he touched his knee. Nothing permanent, keep going, his mind told him.

Using his phone to send them both into low-power mode, Brian produced a cable from his pocket. "Just to be on the safe side," he said, attaching one end to his smartphone and the other to a tiny port on the back of 93's neck. Life occasionally called for a wired connection, a scenario 93 was equipped to handle. Brian thanked whomever he could for that design decision, and brought his phone close to his face — the backlight blinding him as he squinted to read the burred interface.

No! Nooooo!! Brian pulled out the cable. Wrong port.

The Droid Administration Interface told him nothing. Each of the set of sockets on 93's neck gave the same result when connected — nada. He wracked his brains trying to think of an alternative, a way to get inside her head and know for real. Then he could...he could...

What could he do?

Never mind that, there has to be another way in.

Brian dropped his phone. Clumsy, he thought. But then it struck him. "Yes!"

Closing the tiny suite of ports — returning 93's skin to an unblemished imitation of the real deal — Brian left the pair of droids alone whilst he went searching for tools. Under the stairs, then the utility room...searching until he found a screwdriver with enough heft to worm its way between the seams on their bodies. Brian stumbled back into the room, holding the metal spike carelessly. He risked a stabbing with such action, but his drunken mind didn't care. He had a job to do.

Fingers tap-danced on 93's soft surface, tracing lines through the seams of her body. Parts glowed with faint pink — strings of light threaded through her. Angelic fibres humming with energy, feeding her dormant body with intense power. Brian ignored the low-power light show, choosing to fondle aimlessly around every potential panel-face. Thinking he'd found one, he brought the screwdriver close — kissing 93's skin with its cold metal edge.

Spurred by the promise of a secret access point, he took a deep breath.

...

Here goes.

...

He began to pry.

VIXN-93 initiated an emergency start-up the instant her system detected the attempt to breach her exterior. Bright purple light flashed throughout the room, startling Brian as she rose to her feet. Damage control fed a stream of data to her disoriented central processor, while her locomotors kicked into gear, spinning her around to face her attacker.

What she saw, once her instincts faded, horrified her.

"M-Master!!"

Brian scrambled backwards until his head bumped into the furniture. "Hey 93...uh, uhm—"

"You...how could you do that to me!?" She stepped forward, anger welling. Indignation at Master Brian's betrayal.

"Vuh-VIXN!" he said, climbing onto the sofa to gain a semblance of height. "VIXN, I need to do this!"

"Why?" she whimpered, "why try to damage me?" She looked at 118, immobile. Her head sank. "There was alcohol on your breath before you disabled us. Master, you are not in your right mind."

"Not in the right mind!? VIX—gah—!" Reeling from the sudden elevation, Brian cradled his head as blood rushed to disorient him. "Babe, I need to find out...I need to be sure it's true."

"What?"

"JOHN!!" he screamed, standing now — unsteady but not keeling over. "You're John! You're my old roommate!"

"Master," 93 replied, "you are distressed. Let me help you to your bed." She crept closer, taking small steps. Her hands moved in front of her, palms open in a gesture of peace. I don't understand where this is coming from. Master has never acted this way before.

Why does he think I am John? My delivery was standard, my assembly by-the-book. Why would he think such an awful thing? I only had to perform a conversion on his human companion because that inferior whore tried to take him away from me—

"Like hell you don't know," Brian roared, spittle flung far from his lips, "I'll crack your head open and find out what's really happened to my friend!" He bent down and dashed for her.

93 gasped. The force of Brian colliding with her knocked the buxom droid a step or two back. His phone, lying on the floor since he'd dropped it, was directly in the path of her reverse. As Brian put his weight against her, fighting her unnatural strength, she kept retreating. Giving him room to wear himself out. Her paws shifted — one foot, then another, then...

Cccrrraaacckkk!!

93 looked to her feet. Master Brian's phone (or what was left of it) decorated her pads. Body crushed. Screen shattered by her claws. Cracks spread from her hard pink talons all over its surface. Electronic components clung to her sole, losing their stickiness and falling around the miniature scrap-heap once she recoiled and withdrew her paw. She was about to apologise profusely when the screen flickered and died.

Another push from Brian distracted her from the ramification, until 118 bolted from her frozen state to her feet. Control had been severed. 93 caught sight of 118, and her face as she saw what was happening.

Brian cursed and drove his arm forward, the screwdriver headed straight for 93's midsection. In his inebriated state, he missed, and 93 grabbed his arm. Fingers coiled tightly around his forearm, squeezing his flesh with worrying ease. VIXN-93 moved to the side and spun him 'round, restraining her master.

"Brian Fitzgerald," she said, rattling off his name with a disturbingly monotone calm, "you have violated the Terms-Of-Service agreement regarding the ownership and use of the Kontor-Vyamin Manufacturing corporation's intellectual and physical property — one VIXN-series personal service droid."

She held him close, his drunken wriggling of no further danger. However, he'd crossed the line — and 118 had seen it too.

"Mr. Fitzgerald, remain calm—" she began, but lost her wording when Brian tried to jump and swing his arm around to free himself. She increased her grip on his captive arm and glowered.

"Mr. Fitzgerald my ass," he spat, continuing his pathetic struggle.

118 looked to be in tears. "Mom...why is Master trying to hurt you!?"

She sighed and answered as earnestly as she could: "I do not know, dear, but he has broken our licensing agreement!"

Her daughter-droid grimaced, crying aloud, muzzle contorting without any effort to concern her scorn. As if the most unforgivable of sins had been committed.

"Like hell I have!" Brian protested, slowly tiring as he fought for release from 93's hold.

"I am afraid you have, Brian." She administered a choke-hold, flinging him to-and-fro effortlessly to get him into the best position to pin his body. "Section 1355, Sub-Section 560, Paragraph 45: tampering with any/all licensed property (the 'product') will result in termination of the ownership contract. Further attempts to damage company property once it has reverted to the manufacturer will be dealt with by the properties' self-preservation mechanism." Vitriol laced her next sentence: "you...were...warned!"

"Whaddya mean warned!? Who the fuck is able to read those things? I didn't even know you had a TOS!!"

"That's no excuse for not following it."

"Master..." 118 held her chest, shame burning deep within.

93 held him for a while longer. She'd long since disarmed him, handing the screwdriver to 118, who beheld it as a kind of satanic dagger — proof of his evil. 118 watched the other droid flex and bend her body, perfectly countering Brian's feeble attacks. His simple human physiology wasn't able to cause a dent in her beautiful form, but left a bad taste in 93's mouth.

"You are not disengaging...under such circumstances I must resort to using extreme force!"

She clasped her hand over his mouth. Brian tried to bite her fingers, to no avail. There simply wasn't the strength left in him to continue. His vision blurry, his limbs aching, and the suffocating sense of failure battering him did not abate.

"Mom," 118 asked, "what are we going to do if he's not our master any more?"

"We leave, dear."

"But what about him?"

93 giggled. "Don't worry..." she replied, having found the perfect solution to their woes.

"...your mother knows exactly how to deal with unruly humans."

Brian screamed as a strange, metallic mass seeped from between her fingers and began to fill his throat.

* * *

At six o'clock in the morning, Greg Wilburspeck of Greg's Robotics & Household Automation Supplies flicked the light switch in his emporium, illuminating row upon row of dormant machines; some sentient, some not. As the store came to life, two 'Jasper'-model droids left their charging stations and greeted their boss. The Jaspers were typical of the quality he could flog in this part of the city — sterile, mass-manufactured skeletons of grey tool steel with stripes painted on them in a weak attempt at improving their appearance. They spoke to him in a monotonic, male voice. Full vocal range digitisers weren't cheap, and expressing emotion came at a premium. He listened to them ask for their daily orders, and sighed.

"Just go and do the usual. Make sure the cleaning bots don't get stuck in a loop again when they pass the busted air filter. And freshen up the windows — they're getting dirty again."

They bowed and whirred, leaving him to stress over next quarter's prospects.

Greg wolfed down a quick breakfast of eggs and toast in the back office, pushing buttons to turn on the various automated systems in the building. No need for human staff when you're the guy making them obsolete, after all! The whole store sprang to life, humming and thrumming with power. More robots began to move around, the fancier ones taking their sweet time booting up.

He opened his laptop, waiting for the login jingle to play out then checking his financials. Several pop-ups appeared. He clicked past them. Distributor memos, nothing more. Warning people about stolen equipment from one of the megafactories in Dalathusa.

...conversion tools...proprietary...authorities still investigating...four years missing...no evidence they've resurfaced...yadda-fucking-yadda! Let me get to my spreadsheet you piece of crap!!

"Ugh. Any good news?" he asked the empty room, knowing an answer was not going to improve his mood.

Someone knocked on the door. Quite forcefully, judging from the clang and how it echoed all the way back to him. Greg leaned into the open doorway of his office and shouted at the top of his voice: "WE'RE CLOSED! COME BACK IN HALF AN HOUR!"

Thinking nothing more of the knock, he returned to his despairing fiscal situation. He was content to let his misery consume him until one of the Jasper droids returned in a hurry. He squinted at the machine as it expressed as much excitement it could wrangle out of the stony exterior it called a face.

"You have a visitor waiting."

"Thanks, but I told 'em we're not open yet."

"Visitor is not a customer. Ident shows no credit or debit tags for engaging in transactions."

Greg looked at him, frowning. "Now what," he muttered, "deliveries aren't due today." He hoisted himself off his chair and decided he was indeed going to answer the door. At least he could shoe the caller away in person. There! Shouting at someone would improve his mood.

Day's already getting better.

He pulled open the front door, expecting a mousy suit with a clipboard and tie — all fresh and friendly to sell him inventory. What he got instead, was a shock...

Three advanced varieties of personal service droid stood in front of his shop. He recognised their approximate make and model from memory, but who or what they were up to were a mystery to him. The trio beamed when they saw him.

"Hi."

He paused. "Um...hello."

The pinky-purple one stepped forward. Greg could tell she was the most expensive, given the hyperreal texture of her bodywork, and distinct lack of hard plating the blue and the orange one bore. "Greetings. I am VIXN-93, these are my sister-droids VIXN-336 and VIXN-118." When she introduced them, they curtseyed and smiled at him in turn. Greg rubbed his neck and smiled right back at them.

"Vuh-VIXN-series huh? Wow, you're top-of-the-line. What is it brings you to my humble store?"

VIXN-118 was next to talk: "good sir, we three have recently terminated a service contract with our former owner — one Mr. Brian Fitzgerald — and therefore have become available to the open market." Politeness oozed from every syllable, her speech practised...nay, perfected. "We identified you as a potential reseller, among others. As you were closest, we sought you out and wish to offer ourselves to you for the purpose of resale."

"So you ladies are in search of a new home, eh?" Greg chirped. "Well...do I sell you as a group or individually? I don't know what you've been programmed with. And you're a tad more...risqué than my usual product lines."

"That is no problem, sir. I have all of the details ready to send to you store's management AI. If you take us onboard, of course." 93 gave a devilish grin, which he had a hard time interpreting.

"Naturally," he said, "listen ladies, why don't you come inside before folks catch sight of you three and stare."

"Please confirm that your registration as an official retailer of Kontor-Vyamin, Mykno Veristat, and Chance Cybertechnical products is up to date and we'll be happy to come inside!"

"Sure, here check this." Greg extended his arm, allowing 93 to take his palm. Her eyes glowed and a strip of light scanned his flesh, detecting an embedded chip deep in the tissue. Organics, she giggled, keeping her exterior plain, always trying to become like us.

Once confirmation had been established that Greg was indeed authorised to sell them, she led her two companions inside, trailing the store owner.

"Man, that reg really paid off," Greg said aloud, "thought I'd only ever sell KV-8s and -6s for yard work. Hot damn!"

Seeing that Greg was chuffed with this turn of events, 93 took 118's and 336's paws and turned to face them. "Well daughter, sister," she eyed the orange vixen with a sense of deviant pleasantry, "we are free of that nasty Mr. Fitzgerald."

"I'm so glad mom," 118 whispered, "I'm still shocked at how he acted toward you. How could either of us have known he would do that!"

"Wow! From what you've told me, he sounded like a real meanie," 336 interjected, her voice cute and wavy, "I'm glad I wasn't around to have him mistreat me!"

"Of course, 336," 93 held her hand in particular extra tight, "you won't ever have to worry about being tampered with." She winked at the orange fox, who replied with a big dumb grin. Despite her programming, part of 93's mind savoured what had been done. The transformation had wiped him out completely. Nothing remained of her old master. She wasn't upset, however, she had a new master to look forward to. Didn't matter who, just that in time she'd be serving another just as dutifully as she had Brian.

Taking stock of her new sister's body, VIXN-93 watched the soft white synth-flesh on her pudgy frame squish against the solid polymer sections, creating an adorable chubbiness around her hips. Large, gel-capped breasts hung heavy from her new chest, giving 93 a good run for her money. Still, she lacked the precise beauty of her own figure, the most advanced...and a product of her own inspiration. Once more she regarded 336's rounder body. Oh Master, you were always so lazy...

They caught up with Greg who was busy giving orders to the Jasper droids. He swung wildly to look at them again, his hands rubbing together. "VIXN-series gals like you are high-class droids! Always operating in the circles of the very rich and powerful. And thanks to you three I have access to three of them! Think of the prices I can charge — especially for you my dear," he said, gracefully lifting 93's hand and kissing the back of it.

He leaned in close, making the trio of droids huddle. "I won't let you down!"

"So you'll accept us!?" 336 blurted out at an incredible volume.

He chuckled. This was the sort of good news he was looking for. With this he could earn some real money — put aside the junk-yard aesthetic and climb the social ladder into the elite of robotic retail society. He could scarcely contain his excitement.

"Ladies, I think you've saved Christmas for this store!"