I checked the barricade on the door, making sure that the metal bar was secured firmly in place. The scratches of the Zeds on the other side filtered through the thick bulkhead – I could hear them wearing their fingers down to the bone trying to claw a way in, their moans and screeches barely audible. They couldn’t get inside – not here. There was only one way in and out of the storeroom, and this place was an old military base, about as fortified as they came. It was built to survive a nuclear war.
Turning back to face the room, my eyes played over the stacks of crates that were piled almost to its ceiling, covered over with tarps. They had probably been sitting here since the base was abandoned towards the start of the outbreak, and they were filled with MREs and bottled water – supplies enough that we could hold out here for weeks if necessary. Well, enough to last me for weeks. My companion wasn’t going to be needing a lot of food.
She wasn’t hard to spot, the boxy screen that served as her face glowing red as it displayed a pixellated representation of a smiling emoji, the little LEDs casting the area around her in their crimson light. D.A.R units, or Domestic Assistant Robots, were assigned to help protect teams that were sent out on missions. They didn’t need to eat, they couldn’t be infected, and they were relentless killing machines when loaded with the appropriate security software. We had set out with a larger group of survivors while searching the base for supplies, but after being separated by a Zed ambush, we had been forced to hole up here. If anyone had made it out alive, help would be coming. We just had to sit tight.
While I was glad not to be trapped here alone, the D.A.R unit’s behavior was becoming increasingly odd the more time passed. It had only been a couple of days, and already, she was shadowing me wherever I went in the room. She always wanted to be close to me, like a lost puppy.
These units were usually brought back to base and wiped after a mission. They were experimental, and their software could become unstable if they were left running for too long. Having been originally conceived as robot butlers, whatever we tried to add on top of their core data never blended well, and they sometimes had hidden personality traits buried deep in their subroutines that could manifest at inopportune times.
Fortunately, mine was trending more towards overly protective than violent, but being stuck in such close proximity had me on edge all the same. There was still a pile of dead Zeds lying in one corner of the room – she had dispatched them with machine precision during our initial struggle to secure the door.
I walked around to the other side of the room, putting the crates between us to block her line of sight. After a moment, I heard the whir of her servos, the sound of her heavy footsteps on the metal deck preceding her. Like the beam of a flashlight, that red glow swept across the room, the frowning emoji that was displayed on her screen switching back to a contented smile when she located me again.
“Hurray, you found me,” I muttered as she stood there with inhuman patience. She replied in her simple way, her voice little more than a series of garbled words and electronic distortion, made easier to understand by the text that scrolled across her face.
“Stay close...to darling...protect...”
There was something different about this unit. The D.A.Rs had sustained a lot of damage during the course of the outbreak – they were in limited supply, and they tended to get beat up – resulting in a lot of fresh paint and hasty repairs. This one’s chassis was painted hot pink, and the logo on its chest piece was different from the rest. Someone had added ling to the D.A.R logo, and there was a warning label that someone had stuck to its crotch plate. Could be an inside joke among the engineers, maybe, referring to its unusual color scheme.
She took a step closer, and I backed up reflexively, a heart symbol blinking into view on her display.
“S-subroutines...c-compromised,” she said, the text flickering as her voice glitched. “Automatic c-core reboot...initiated. R-reverting to factory c-configuration.”
The heart was replaced with a circular progress meter, and I found myself raising my hands defensively, fearing that she might explode. After a few moments, whatever process that she had started was completed, her stiff posture relaxing as another beaming smile took over her screen.
She reached down, popping off a section of her chest piece that I hadn’t even realized was removable, the metal plate falling to the floor with a resounding clang. Something soft spilled out from beneath it, bouncing like rubber, its texture akin to dark silicone or latex. As the crimson glow from her screen illuminated them, I realized that they were artificial breasts, far more perfect than anything designed by nature. They were an idealized teardrop shape, just the right heft, their weight squashing them together beneath her chassis to form inviting cleavage.
She wasn’t done, sliding off the protective plate that covered her midriff next, revealing more sculpted, artificial flesh. Her waist was a flawless hourglass, wide hips tapering into a slim, lightly-muscled core, the light reflecting off her synthetic skin to highlight her abs and a navel. I was dumbstruck for a moment, features that had been purpose-built to draw the male gaze doing just that, but I was distracted as one of her mechanical hands wandered ever lower.
The final plate was just beneath the warning sticker on her crotch, a panel flipping open to reveal a pair of puffy lips, the jet-black material already glistening with some kind of lubricant. A strand of it drooped from her inhumanly neat vulva, glittering as it caught the light, gluing itself to her inner thigh.
This was no normal D.A.R unit – this was a custom job. Where the hell had they got their hands on this thing, and why had it been disguised as a regular security robot? Resources were scarce, sure, but did they surmise that nobody would find out as long they kept wiping its data? Was that why its possessive, clingy subroutines kept surfacing – because its original programming had a far more lurid purpose?
The symbols for male and female flashed on its screen, interlocking suggestively, its hips swaying with an exaggerated feminine gait as it began to approach me.
“Mine...love you...”
I drew my sidearm and tried to push her away, but she caught my hand, pressing it against her chest. I had seen her tear Zeds limb from limb like they were made of wet paper, but she was impossibly gentle with me. My fingers sank up to the knuckle in one of her wobbling breasts, my palm filling with velvet-soft, artificial flesh as she encouraged me to squeeze. It wasn’t cold and mechanical, but warm and soft, enticing…
She seemed pleased, a blushing emoji appearing on her screen, and she took a step closer. I flinched as I felt her robotic digits brush the growing bulge beneath my uniform, and they began to unbuckle my belt with programmed finesse, my erection bouncing free. Before I knew what was happening, she was easing me down onto the cold floor, her servos whirring as she straddled me. I hadn’t even had time to holster my handgun. She poised there, crouched over me, a droplet of her juices falling to my hip. She was running on some kind of predetermined algorithm, a blend of arousal and curiosity encouraging me to let it play out to its conclusion. There were worse ways to pass the time.
“Good...boy,” she said, punctuating her praise with a digital purr.
She let her considerable weight fall, slamming me into her. The maddening textures of her tight passage raked down my shaft, covered in innumerable tiny ribs and teasing nubs, drenched in a thick layer of slippery lubricant. Synthetic muscles clenched and twitched, starting their relentless massage, her warmth mimicking that of a flesh and blood woman. No, it was better than the real thing, her wide hips starting to piston as she fucked me into the floor.
Story by my pal Snekguy
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