)Since the poll results were fairly close, I figured I'd have an intermission in Prototype.
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John hastily put on his clothes and made his way out the room. He took one last look at Brenda and Amy's now obviously mechanical bodies, smoking in their awkward union. What did he feel for them?
Loss? Regret?
They weren't even human.
What did that mean?
They shouldn't be mourned as actual people, they're just things.
They're the only people you've ever known. They expressed emotions, desires, could obviously feel pleasure...
Simulations. They're not real. Not in the way these things actually mattered.
So what does that mean for Jessica?
He pushed the question aside as he reached for the exit, startled as it swung open in front of him. Standing there was Lloyd from security, equally surprised.
"John, did Amy..." his thought trailed off as his eyes lost focus. He blinked and then pushed past John as if he weren't even there, making his way towards Amy's office.
John watched as Lloyd stepped into the doorway and saw the two robotic forms.
"Error in critical-" he stopped, before a squeal of feedback sounded and he toppled, landing heavily on the floor.
John made his way out of the exit and ran down the stairs. The Company had other offices within The Community. If he could find someone there, maybe he could make them talk.
----
The closest Company building was two blocks away - the question was, could he make it there without any further incidents? Would the others know what he had done?
There weren't many people (no, robots, he corrected to himself) out in the late afternoon, and he kept his distance - darting across the street before a woman on a bike could get too close. He suspected distance was a factor in the effect he had on the robots around him, and when she pedaled off without stopping, he took this as confirmation.
Passers-by gave him a few curious looks as he veered into the street to give them a wide berth, but they made no attempts to stop him or provide any indication they knew anything was different.
He came upon the white-and-black company building and only if he pressed his face against the glass could he mark out the interior - a lobby, empty aside from a lone secretary.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned and flattened himself against the building as a jogger passed by within five feet. She glanced at him, and then turned, jogging in place.
She wore a white long sleeve shirt, her healthy breasts bouncing beneath, with green jogging shorts above her flushed legs. "Everything OK?" she asked.
"Just fine," he said, watching for any signs of expansion or changes in her behavior. She just nodded and continued her route. How close did he need to be? Was time a factor? He decided these would be good to know, and stepped into the Company building with a mind to conduct a few experiments.
The first thing he noticed was the secretary's white dress shirt opened to a proud pair of ripe, round breasts. Given that her shirt actually seemed fitted to accommodate her cleavage, he doubted this was the result of the expansion the others had undergone.
He snapped his eyes away to look at her face - olive skin, her reddish-brown hair in a short, feathered cut. Her lips were a vibrant shade of pink, pouting while her blue eyes scrutinized the equally pink fingernails she was filing in sharp, precise motions.
He stood there for a while, waiting to see if she noticed him. After about 15 seconds of her filing her nails, he coughed. She still didn't look up.
"Excuse me."
"Yeah?" she responded, still filing.
"What is this place?"
"Company office." She splayed her fingers in front of her face, pursing her pink lips to blow on them before inspecting her work.
"Who are you?"
"Candice."
"What do you do here?"
"I work for Anna," she resumed her filing.
The name meant nothing to John, but that wasn't a surprise. "And what does Anna do for the company?"
Candice shrugged, the motion jostling her cleavage and John's attention. She didn't seem to be reacting in the way the others had around him. Time for the first test.
"I know you're a robot," he said suddenly.
She didn't bat an eye.
"I said-"
"Are you talking to me?" she asked, looking up with a trace of annoyance.
"Yes. And I know you're a robot."
"Sure..." she said, giving him a strange look. No vocalization about task failures, no errant behavior, just a vaguely concerned look. Her hand was reaching for her phone.
He approached her, "Look, I'm sorry - it was... just a stupid joke."
"Is there some reason you're here?" she asked. her hand hovering above the receiver.
He stopped when he was about five feet from her. "I umm... just... wanted to talk. What do you do, Candice? I mean when you're not at work?"
"...Stuff?" she answered, still looking at him suspiciously.
He took a step forward. "Can you be more specific?"
"Why are you asking?" still suspicious.
He now stood on the other side of the desk, maybe three feet from her. "Call me curious."
"I... I... uh... hmmm," she withdrew her hand from above the phone and rested it on her cheek, looking at him intently. "What was the question?"
About three feet. "You work for Anna? What does Anna do?"
"Stuff? I don't know. Why are you asking about her?" Candice rose and began to circle the desk - bare, shapely legs beneath a short skirt scissored past each other in a seductive walk, her hips tilting dramatically with each step in her tall heels.
He reluctantly backed away from her approach. "Tell me what Anna does for the company."
"I dunno, I'm just the secretary," she said, giving him a curious smile as he moved behind a low-backed leather couch in the waiting area.
"I know you're a robot," he tried again, and this time she froze, her head cocked.
"Potential failure in critical task: conceal non-human nature," she said in a distressed monotone. "Suggested response: distraction." Her eyes closed while pressed her palms against her hips and ran them demonstratively up to her breasts. "Don't you just love my body?"
John certainly did, but resisted the urging of his straining manhood to join her in her appreciation - he wanted to know if it had to be touch. He noted nothing about her body had expanded or changed in any way. Was there a limit to that?
"I was thinking, maybe if you were a cup size bigger..."
"Why? I'm perfect," she insisted, stepping toward him as a glistening layer of sweat formed over her. He moved to keep the couch between them. "These breasts?" she said, cupping one in each hand. "Perfect. See for yourself..."
No stuttering, no smoke. "You're a robot."
"The perfect body," she said, ignoring his statement. "And I'm soooo horny! Perfect breasts, perfect ass!" she turned and pulled down her skirt to reveal a white thong nestled in a round, ripe posterior to match her breasts. He found it hard to disagree with her assessment of its quality. She looked over her shoulder.
"What more could you ask for?"
"I... uhhh..." he hadn't expected to be the one at a loss for words. When she resumed her approach, he realized he was no longer moving away from her. She drew closer. "I..." he started. "Er... what would be perfect..."
"Yes?" she was just a few steps away.
Think! Move! Do something! "It would be perfect if you were a robot."
She grinned. "Then you're in luck," she said, pushing in on her skin near her neckline. A small panel opened and beneath was vented plastic covered in erratically blinking lights. With a triumphant smile on her face, she took one more step.
"So you are a robot?" John asked.
She froze. "I am a... I am... I..." her lips curled into a confused sneer as her eyes rolled back, flickering. "I ammmmm a not a rrrr a not-t-t-t aaaaa am rrrroooo," She began once more to stagger toward him.
John stepped back and asked, "Anna, your boss, what does she do for the company?"
"Not-t-t-t am I a rrrooooboooot-t-t perrrfect-t-t-t not <bzzzt!> rrrroooboooot," she turned to follow him but instead plowed into the back of the couch, pitching forward with her ass in the air, her heels kicking in a shuddering walking motion while her her head was planted in the leather cushion.
A series of sparks popped from her chest as she gave a cry. "Rrrreeeebooooooot...." her voice trailed off, and she slumped, suspended over the back of the couch.
No hands, he thought, but she also hadn't answered any questions.
She jerked and began to struggle to her feet.
"I'm Candice, and I'm totally real!" she announced, and John remembered Brenda had seemed more willing to talk when she was being stimulated. He gripped her hips as she tried to rock herself up from the couch, but kept her from slipping off; her legs were still spread on either side of him, her pelvis resting on the couch's soft back. She perched there, groaning softly as he pressed his waist against her self-described perfect ass, massaging her skin.
"What does your boss do?" he tried again. "Does it have anything to do with the data I've been analyzing?"
"I'm j-j-jussssst the secretary!" she moaned, her skin growing slick with perspiration. "D-d-don't you wwwwaaaant me?"
It shocked John how much this was true. Whatever other experiments or questions he had intended, he abandoned them in lust as grabbed the band of her thong and pulled it free past her outstretched legs. He leapt back to her before she could slide off of the couch and hastily undid his pants, dropped them, his boxers, and plunged into her drenched pussy.
"T-t-totally!" she cried with glee as he relentlessly drove into her, holding her in place as her heels kicked in reaction to each thrust. She arched upward from her perch, as if a figurehead on a ship, struggling to grip her breasts but loosing them as she teetered, every part of her entire olive-skinned body slippery with sweat.
He almost lost her over the side of the couch as he came in a dizzying rush that never seemed like it was going to stop.
She screamed in pleasure and thrashed her head from side to side, fluid spurting from her trembling sex. Through opening seams across her previously flawless skin he saw wires, lights, humming machinery,
John almost fell to his knees, bracing himself with his forearm across her soft ass as she crumpled, ragdoll across the back of the couch once more. He forced himself up and saw already smoke was flooding from her suspended hindquarters, a troubling beeping sounding from inside of her.
"Mmmmm, that was... where are you g-g-going?"
"What is the data?" he tried once more.
"If I knew, I'd t-t-tell you," she replied surprisingly coherent for a moment. "Come b-b-baaaaa-" She suddenly rolled forward from the couch and, incredibly, landed on her feet. From there, her momentum carried her forward less gracefully into a wall with a thud.
"I'm Candice!" she informed the wall, and spun clumsily to face John. "I'm p-p-perrrr<bzzzzt!>fect-t-t-t, I'm perrrrr-" she tripped over the edge of a coffee table, hitting the ground with a crash. "I j-j-juuust need a s-s-ssseeec-sec-sec-" the beeping grew louder as the smoke continued to billow from her. As she stood to rise, something mechanical noisily protested and she fell backward into a chair, smoking, sputtering, her chest still crackling with sparks.
An elevator pinged behind him and he turned to see a woman with mousy brown hair in a loose pony tail step out. Her black capri tights and sports top clung to her athletic figure as she shouldered her gym bag and made her way toward the exit. John hurriedly pulled up his boxers and pants, realizing there was no way to conceal himself and Candice.
"Heatherrrrrrrr<zzzzt>," called Candice, "Don't forg-g-g-get your eight-t-t o'c-c-clock tomorrrrrrr-"a distorted wail interrupted Candice and she slumped, inert, an enormous, fake smile on her face.
Heather did not seem to notice, her red lips mouthing to some unheard song playing over her earbuds. She hit the elevator button for the parking garage, staring straight forward. It wasn't until the door opened that she bothered to look over and see Candice splayed in the chair, John watching her intently.
Her hazel eyes opened wide as her red lips parted in shock, just before she dove ito the elevator. John lunged at the door, only to have it close in his face.
Did it matter that she got away? What would she do? So far, no one had been able to stop-
The door re-opened; inside, Heather was holding down the "open door" button. In her skin-tight exercise outfit, he could see the transformation happen before him. Her breasts swelled, her thighs and hips growing thicker as she gave him a sultry look. "Going d-down?" she asked.
He stepped into the elevator and, with great effort, kept her at arm's length from him. "Heather, we need your car."
"O-OK, we can do it anywhere you like..." she cooed, sweat beading down her face.
They came to her vehicle in the nearly empty lot, and John instructed, "Climb in the back seat."
She did, and he hopped into the front. She emitted a disappointed groan. "Why are you up therrrrre? Don't you want to..."
"I do," he said, tapping a destination on the car's computer. "Just need to get something first." Kissing, fucking - both seemed to lead to smoke from wherever he made contact, followed a total shutdown. And perhaps it was just his imagination, but just before they gave out they seemed to recover for a moment. And perhaps Candice had been willing to tell him what they knew.
And there was still the matter of Jessica. He looked back at the writhing, sweat-soaked fembot in the back seat - first, he had to know if there was any way to halt the 'virus' - or if every robot he came into contact with was doomed.
(Continued in part 3)
