Rubberised Rehabilitation

This erotic story features humanoid robots and/or anthropomorphic (furry) cyborg characters, which have animal characteristics. Sexy robots...do I really need to explain further?

"Rubberised Rehabilitation"

SHORT STORY

"PRISONER LX78934: ENTER THE CHAMBER."

Nervous and confused, the shackled man wearing a grey prison single-suit waited for the door to slide all the way into the wall, watching it blend into the flat concrete surface once secure. He didn't move. Scanning the newly-revealed room he saw nothing except two chairs and a steel desk with foam edges, one chair at each end. The room was vacant. This was supposed to be a parole hearing but...where was his parole officer?

"LX78934. FAILURE/REFUSAL TO COMPLY WITH ORDERS STATED WILL RESULT IN PUNISHMENT!"

Gulping, he did as he was told, afraid of incurring the wrath of the prison guard. LX78934's bare feet plodded along the cold floor, gather a layer of dust as he walked, until he came to what he assumed was his chair.

"SIT," the booming voice commanded, screaming over the speaker system. The prisoner clamped his hands over his ears, a vain effort against the seemingly ever-present din. In silence, it wailed. Electrical interference hissing and spitting, reducing the man to tears underneath the pain of the prison-machine's domineering presence.

This was hell. And he had no idea why he was here.

His lack of recollection wasn't the result of a brain injury, no...all inmates in the Eternimax Penitentiary had their memories wiped to a level considered 'sufficient' - enough to remodel their whole personality from the ground up. Echoes of their former selves slipped through despite the facilities' best efforts, and you can never truly extinguish a man, no matter how advanced a society becomes technologically.

This left LX78934 in a bittersweet situation. Too lucid to forget his own nature, too amnesia-ridden to remember himself. Even his name - replaced by a serial number - was a casualty of his crime and punishment.

The man sat alone in the bare room, the noise of his motions amplified by the sheer silence the cavernous place imposed.

And crime? What was his crime? Those memories were suppressed, not erased, able to resurface on command. The prison staff used this as part of their process. If he was good, and set an example for others, his sentence could be reduced...and when his sentence was over, they'd even give him his memories back. Altered, of course, to scrub away the criminality of his past.

Was this it? Were things going to change?

He sighed. Head bowed. Nodding off to sleep.

He was woken from his half-nap by the clang of the door opposite him opening. Through it, a casually-dressed man strolled. Realisation set in. This was the warden! More confusion followed. If this was the warden...why is he here? Isn't this a routine parole hearing? Is it even a hearing anymore?

What's going on?

"Good morning LX78934," the warden said, dropping a cache of documents onto the table. "I hope you are behaving."

"You're-"

"That's right, Warden Ellis. You look surprised to see me."

The prisoner leaned forward awkwardly in his seat. "No...I mean, why are you-"

"Why am I here? Let's call it a professional interest in your reform, LX78934. These files," he tapped the pile, "contain your prisoner records, including any black marks resulting from fights, unruly and disorderly behaviour, possession of contraband, and so on."

Warden Ellis grinned. Behind his plain features there lay an opportunist. It's clear LX78934 had piqued his interest. For some reason. "And I'm pleased to tell you it's spotless! We've had no problems with you since you first arrived here thirteen years ago. To the day - hell, to the very minute...right now," he said, checking his watch.

Thirteen years. Is that how long?

His memory was failing him. What little that remained of it.

"Why am I here?"

"You're here for your parole hearing, LX78934."

"No."

"No?" The warden raised an eyebrow.

"No...this isn't normal. Where's my usual parole officer?"

"Mr. Grandel is still a member of staff. Oh, but you're asking why it's me you're dealing with and not sweet old Mr. Grandel. I can explain..."

Warden Ellis sat back, removing the jacket he wore over his pale blue shirt. LX78934 followed his motion as he placed the jacket on the chair, brow furrowed. "There've been some changes to Eternimax policy," he said, "when it comes to our mid-level prisoners. Especially those who haven't been sent to long-term isolation. Your parole is being fast-tracked, LX78934." He paused after speaking, waiting to see how the prisoner reacted. "You don't seem pleased," he remarked.

"I wasn't expecting this."

The warden grinned, eyes gleaming with dark mischief. "No, you weren't. What do you think your chances are?"

"I don't know-"

"Of course not, silly me! We don't let you keep your memories lying around." He leafed through documents. "Your previous officer believed you to be 'of stable mind with no major physiological or psychological issues', which is both good and bad for you. Good because by all accounts you will behave yourself no matter what we ask you to do, and bad because - well - you're forgettable."

LX78934 grimaced. "What do you mean?"

"You have been chosen."

"Chosen?"

He nodded. "Indeed. For a particular form of early release. You might've heard of it: code 'R63'."

Rehabilitation. A rush of fear came over LX78934. He'd heard, amid the hushed voices of the other inmates, what that was supposed to be. At least, what it meant for a prisoner like him. He didn't remember much, but he knew his chances of ever leaving this devil-forsaken shithole were slim.

"Rehabilitation," he muttered, "capital-R Rehabilitation." The warden nodded, his face unreadable. The cold rumbling of the room thrummed as Warden Ellis sat back, finding the right form amongst his pile of papers. Electronic eyes drilled into the pair, watching from afar, and hidden ears fed the prison a meal of conversation.

"So you picked up on the discrepancy when it comes to the term. Our specially-chosen terminology. Doesn't matter, for some it's an offer they'd take regardless. It would be in your best interest to consider it," he said, sliding a contract across the table to him. "Take your time, we do this with all inmates preselected for code-ahem-'capital-R Rehabilitation'."

The concerned inmate skimmed the text. Rehabilitation was a very different beast to its lowercase counterpart. He'd listened to stories of people not realising the difference. What was hidden behind the euphemism. Maybe he'd been lucky, if the warden was so plain in his discussion of it. Maybe not - if the truth was too much to handle. He couldn't decide. His fingers trembled, scoring the paper with dirt from his messy fingertips. The warden offered a pen, but was left waiting.

"I don't wanna be tricked," he said, "I wanna know what happens..."

"It's all there, in the contact. Sign it, and you'll be granted the release you deserve."

He refused.

Warden Ellis groaned. "We both know you understand the gravity of what's involved-"

"I'll disappear."

The warden stroked his chin. "You will," he hummed, "to an extent. You'll go back to society a changed...man." A brief pause ensued, before he muttered: "it'll be permanent."

Another five minutes flew past, and he was getting impatient. "I hope you understand that this type of release isn't handed out to just anyone. Eternimax reserves the right to choose candidates we deem suitable."

"So it's not a lie, you'll really let me go?"

"Uh, pursuant to the terms of the Rehabilitation agreement in front of you. Read it before you start champing at the bit!"

He resumed reading, trying to decipher what he was being asked. The warden wasn't one to tarry, however, and wanted him to sign. "Undecided?" he asked, a hint of malice in his voice. "Would this help?" He made a small motion over the shoulder, signalling the observing facility. In that instant, LX78934 felt light-headed. He was dizzy, like a weight had been lifted from his skull - pressure no longer bearing down on him. Relief was short-lived, though, as a flood of unsuppressed memories careened through his delicate mind. Most were fleeting, but the ones that stuck around haunted him. Crying, sobbing, remorseful and repentant...the inmate begged to once again forget.

Warden Ellis smiled a sickly smile. With another flourish the painful thoughts were locked away. LX78934 couldn't recall what he'd seen - the system had made that sure - but the emotions lingered. Their biting feel...their acidic touch...

"Might be surprising to hear," said the warden, "but your crimes, in the grand scheme of things, are pretty inconsequential. We need room for worser types. You accept, we send you on your way. We get one more cell freed up and ready for the true scum of the Earth. You get processed to better suit life on the outside; the only way you can make something of yourself out there. And best of all, I'll get my own reward, on my own terms."

LX78934 looked at him as he leaned in.

"So, what will it be?"

* * *

The journey to the 'Rehabilitation' facility was long and arduous. Blindfolded and gagged, Prisoner LX78934 sat in silence, dread gnawing at his soul. Release was promised early, but at what cost? He knew, deep down, the ramifications of his choice. He knew the cost from the rumours spread by the prison population. Whispered tales of fanciful fear. Of body horror. Of remaking man in a new image.

A servile image.

Now those fears were real, and his signature sealed his fate. A crude mark, not even half a name. But enough to make it official.

Led by guards, he trekked blind and dumb. From the transport to the doors of the facility. He heard them glide open, and various personnel began to speak. They talked around him, never acknowledging their quarry was human...a person. It was all business, distant and clinically formal. A hard object pressed into his back, urging him to keep moving. He obeyed, his shackles rattling as they dragged across the cold floor.

Metallic noises filled his surroundings, conjuring nightmarish visions in his mind's eye. Devoid of sight, he could only guess as to their purpose. The guards shuffled around, barking orders to one another. Then...silence...

He felt cold. His single-suit was thin, and beginning to wear out.

The eerie quiet continued. He took a step forward, his standard-issue shoe sticking to the floor by the sole, enough to require some effort to shift. A low hum emerged once he stood for a moment and concentrated. Machines whirred in the background, far behind thick walls.

A voice boomed. A new voice - unlike the prison-machine. Feminine. Strict...

"PRISONER LX78934: YOUR RESTRAINTS ARE BEING REMOTELY DEACTIVATED. ONCE VISION HAS BEEN RESTORED, PROCEED TO THE CENTRE OF THE YELLOW CIRCLE!"

He winced. A sharp pain stabbed his ears, the volume unbearable. He drew nervous breaths and waited for release.

He heard a click, and a snap. His gag slipped from his mouth, the rubber-coated bar damp with saliva smacked his chest. Next, in a sudden flash of cloth, his blindfold slipped over the top of his head, swung by a mechanism behind him. The prisoner surveyed the room...no, chamber. It's walls were white and copper. Dials glowed around him, numbers rushing past. He didn't know their meaning. His mind had been emptied of useful information; worse than before, and he did not like it.

Hearing no further orders, he looked down and saw the yellow circle on the floor. The cylindrical chamber he stood inside of was approximately five persons wide - assuming they lined up closely, one after the other. The circle marking on the floor covered a raised section, and a series of striped metal rings along the perimeter defined its boundary. He stepped onto it.

"REMOVE ALL ITEMS OF CLOTHING."

He followed the voice's instructions, offering no resistance - not even a 'fuck you' to the computerised speaker. It was as if he was being influence...controlled...from afar. A small pain in the based of his skull burned. That was new. Only too late did he notice a thin mechanical arm retreat into the ceiling. Its end was sharp, and pointed. He'd been chipped.

No longer consciously independent, he removed his clothes. First taking off his shoes and tossing them to the side. When the voice didn't return to scold him, he moved on to his single-suit. Sliding that off, and throwing it opposite the shoe pile, he grasped the harness that held his gag and blindfold, lifting it over his head. It clattered loudly when it struck the floor.

"PRISONER LX78934: PLEASE ENSURE ALL REMOVED ITEMS ARE CLEAR OF THE YELLOW CIRCLE. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN CORRECTIVE ACTION!"

He quickly kicked the harness away. Now naked, he felt the cold sting of the chamber all over his body. From this point on, he didn't hear the voice. It seemed satisfied with his behaviour after that minor infraction. The base of his skull tingled. Evidently control had been passed to the chip embedded mere seconds ago. He felt its presence as his body straightened up - snapping to attention and holding itself there. His mind took a leave of absence, and let the facility computer operate upon him.

The walls of the chamber inched closer, small arms grabbing his discarded clothing and sequestering it into a garbage chute. Once done, all appendages withdrew, and sealed their point of exit with flat panels. The seams left on the walls were the only things visible now.

The computer spoke inside his head: INITIALISING REHABILITATION SEQUENCE.

Prisoner LX78934 sensed a warmth at his feet. He couldn't look down, but would soon discover the cause. The first ring rose from the yellow-marked floor, nozzles spraying some kind of liquid. He was coated from bottom-to-top in a damp, heavy fluid. The first ring then descended, passing over his whole body again, increasing the coating. It was oily, and began to form a rash on his skin. The reaction itched, and he was unable to scratch himself.

A thick clunk echoed through the chamber. Its now-narrow cylindrical shape summoned feelings of claustrophobia from the human trapped within. Only his familiarity with life in a cell helped him adjust to the new dimensions of the space.

The second ring rose. This one emitted a broad beam of heat - forming a screen that his form passed through as it ascended. Hairs burned away, singing him. His whole body was seared, removing all hair. Even his eyebrows and lashes disappeared 'neath the burning filter. Bald, bare, and unable to move, his chest fluttered. The stress of dealing with the control chip was too much. He gave in, shutting his eyes for good.

Time for the third ring to rise. Carried with it were thousands of tiny tendrils. Articulated spinnerets clinging to a metal host. They writhed, like a multitude of maggots, extending from the ring to touch him. Eyes still shut, he shivered. A slick sensation covered his toes, consuming his feet and ankles. Something clung to him. A rubbery substance. The third ring applied a heated latex coating to his legs, waist, chest, and neck; eventually swallowing his head and sealing every orifice. The prisoner opened his mouth wide, struggling for air. The latex ballooned inward, covering his mouth and blocking . Suffocating, he tried to move, instinct forcing him to react. No movements came, he wasn't in control - the machine was. Invading his very mind with endless instructions:

REMAIN STILL.

COMPLY.

OBEY.

With seconds of consciousness remaining, he feared this was the end. Unbeknownst to the poor prisoner undergoing the procedure, there was a whole other phase to complete. The chamber flooded, all panels opening and dumping clear water into the chamber. Electric coils emerged from the walls and began to glow orange and heat the liquid. His nose, eyes, ears, and mouth were covered. His hands and feet were trapped together, digits joined by the latex coating. His genitalia were pressed against his groin, squashed under the tight fit of his rubberised outer layer.

Floating in the boiling liquid, he couldn't smell, hear, see, or breathe. A hell of his own admission. He cursed his desperation to leave, to emerge from the penal system rehabilitated...'Capital-R Rehabilitated'...

Semi-conscious, and losing himself to the pain, he managed to move his arms. There was something inside the suit that covered him. Something alive! It seeped into his pores, dribbled into his locked-open mouth. His eyes were pushed into their sockets as the pressure mounted. The heat energising whatever lurked inside his new skin.

Over time, his body dissolved. Bones and flesh disintegrating into base matter and being repurposed by the nanomachines that swarmed inside him. The great unconscious beckoned, and he wasn't sure he'd ever come back.

Hours passed in the chamber, the facility computer overseeing every step of his rebuilding.

* * *

In the dark, he found he could breathe again. Sucking in air, he was instead treated to a flow of liquid. It coursed into his lungs, but he discovered he could still breathe. The blackness swirled around him, and he lapsed into and out of consciousness. Lucidity was not his strong suit, and as he floated the chip connected to his brain slowly overwrote his memories. What little remained at least...

* * *

Another moment of awareness. Another fleeting reprieve.

Prisoner LX78934 (though he no longer remembered his designation) felt freer than before. He could move around the chamber - though where he was he didn't know. There was no light. No illumination. He placed a hand - fingers now separate again - on the chamber wall. His new synthetic skin squeaked as he ran it across the surface. Even submerged he could hear the noise. It reached flat ears, lobes missing - absorbed into the mass of his skull. A small plastic ring, about the size of a bottle-cap, was all that remained. It did its job well enough...the artificial auditory sensor filtered out the ambient noise, granting him some peace.

As his hand moved, he sensed a series of ridges along his palm and the underside of his fingers. They ran, like rubber grips on the sole of a boot, across his entire hand. This helped him drag his body through the liquid concoction, providing the necessary friction that was seldom granted to the rest of his smooth, rubbery exterior. He settled next to the wall, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. They bore the same rippling sequence of rubber ridges - and he noticed his toes counted four, not five.

Bringing his hand to his face, he made out the shape. Same, yet different. His mouth and jaw were just as he remembered, as much as he could in the bubbling delirium. His head was clean-shaven, the latex skin coating it symmetrically. A perfect curve. His nose, however, was new. Flattened and broadened. Catlike.

Another hand travelled downwards. His groin had been...sanitised. Made more appealing to prudish sensibilities. A tiny round bulge represented his cock and balls. Shrunken. Slender. His member was tiny and non-threatening, a small length covered by a latex foreskin.

He scrabbled at the walls of the chamber, panic taking him. The embedded chip forced him to stop.

He wanted to scream, but his conditioning refused to let that happen, even if his mouth was functional again...

In the blackness, clad in living latex, he tossed and turned.

* * *

His master, Ben, gazed upon his delicate figure. LX78934 shivered beneath the intensity of the man's stare. Instructions flooded his mind, dispatched by the facility computer and accompanied by induced feelings of warmth. Delight. A desire to serve, instilled during his time in the chamber. His body had been reborn; a deep crimson carapace of soft, textured plastic and rubber.