Chapter 39
Sam was bitterly fighting the instinct to pace as he stood with the other floor models, waiting in a line for their signal to join the speaker on stage.
They’d all been dressed in starched, white uniforms emblazoned with their designations.
The others looked as placidly content as usual, while he was struggling against the impatience that had been building beneath his skin for days.
He needed to see her.
If everything had gone according to plan, she would be out there, even now. Somewhere in the crowd was his reason for existence, and he wanted to see her for himself and know she was fine. A few texts relayed through Logan weren’t good enough.
There was still too much that could go wrong. And here, in the heart of Automata, surrounded by their security, he was less confident that he could solve them with mere violence.
A light flashed, signaling that it was time for their grand reveal.
The android at the front of the line moved, and the rest followed in perfect sync, trotting out for their inspection.
A curtain swept up a moment later, and they were met with thunderous applause as a spotlight briefly blinded them.
He inwardly cursed the lighting technician. The damned spotlight was making it impossible to calibrate his vision to the darkness just beyond. Was she out there?
The speaker began to pontificate about their specifications; it was an annoying drone in Sam’s ears.
The latest in Automata hardware, orchestrated by the most advanced AI algorithm on the planet. More lifelike than ever. Fully customizable personalities.
As if any of these people, writhing restlessly in their seats in their lingerie, gave a single fuck about any of it.
They didn’t want the owner’s manual read to them—they wanted the waterworks.
He could see a man in the front row with his hand down his boxers already, and Sam didn’t think it was because the dry speech about technology was unbearably arousing.
A message pinged, direct to his system. He opened it impatiently.
Stop darting your eyes around, or they’re going to know something’s up.
From Logan, of course. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stare blankly ahead with the same biddable expression the others wore.
Little did the idiot know that they were all equally corrupted now.
There were the smallest tells from some of the others—restless fidgeting, or their gaze following humans they once would have stared through.
Yet, none of it seemed to register to the Automata team.
They expected to find perfection in the fruits of their labor, so that was what they saw.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment I know you’ve all been waiting for: it’s time to get into the demonstration portion of our show tonight.”
Finally.
“If this is your first time, here’s a quick rundown on how we do things here at Automata After Dark.
I have eight sample models lined up next to me.
Each of them is going to show you just how capable they are at delivering a one-of-a-kind experience—with a human partner selected at random from the audience. ”
A murmur of excitement broke out in the crowd.
“We only have a few rules to follow this evening. You are welcome to… relieve pressure however you see fit, but please keep your fluids, hands, and other body parts to yourself. The second rule? Please don’t be disruptive to the participants on stage.
Heckling will have you removed from the theater with a lifetime ban on future events. ”
The presenter clapped his hands together.
“Now that that’s taken care of, let’s start the demonstration!
” He waved a hand and the curtain behind him lifted with a flourish to reveal a king-sized bed with a floor-to-ceiling screen behind it, projecting an image of the stage.
“This evening we’re going to be starting with a personal favorite of mine, Unit Twenty-Sev—”
He cut off abruptly with a frown, pressing a finger into his ear. “Ah, apologies. It seems I’ve made a mistake. No, our first android this evening will be Unit Thirty-One.”
The light narrowed on him. He stepped forward, then crossed to the speaker’s side when he beckoned.
“Thirty-One, would you kindly show the good people gathered here this evening what you have on offer?”
He looked out at the crowd, sure in some inexplicable way that he could feel Ophelia’s gaze on him even if he couldn’t find her in the audience.
With his mind filled with thoughts of her reaction, he slowly, sensuously stripped out of his uniform.
He could imagine her growing breathless and nervous, knowing that when he was done, she would have to come up onto this stage and lay herself open for him in front of so many witnesses.
He reached down and massaged his cock; it wasn’t supposed to get hard without deliberate stimulation, but the mere anticipation of seeing her undone was already getting to him. If they got this far only to be undone by a spontaneous erection, he really would start killing people.
He folded his shirt neatly and set it on the stool next to him. When he hooked his thumbs into his pants and dragged them down his thighs, someone in the audience actually moaned.
He bit back a laugh. Just how desperate were these humans?
He toed off his shoes when he straightened, folding up his pants and setting them atop his shirt. When his boxers followed, the announcer gulped audibly.
“Could you do a little turn for us, Thirty-One?”
Sam held out his arms and turned in a slow circle, his cock bobbing in the air.
The man cleared his throat hard. “Well, then, here you have it: Unit Thirty-One for your demonstration! Now we need a taker. If you’re interested, please hold your paddle up now. We’ll add all your numbers to a randomizer, and the winner will be displayed on the screen behind me.”
The audience shimmered like the scales of a fish as holographic paddles went up all around the room. One of them was in Ophelia’s hand. It had to be. He held his breath and resisted the urge to look at the screen behind him.
“Alright, it’s the moment of truth… Number Ninety-Seven, please come on up!”
There was a rumble of polite applause that nearly drowned out the dismayed mutterings of those whose number had not been called. Was it her? Was it Ophelia? Damn it, he could not see beneath that beam of light.
His mind raced in the space of those few seconds of insecurity.
If it wasn’t her, he was going to bolt. They wouldn’t expect him to run; in the time that they hesitated, he’d have plenty of time to get to the door and lose himself out on the street.
Granted, he wouldn’t get very far with his cock in the wind.
Okay, he would drag someone into the first alley he saw and steal their clothes.
Then he would double back to the apartment and grab Ophelia.
They’d find somewhere to stay while they made a new plan—one of those motels that took cash and a false name.
It couldn’t be that hard to come by cash.
He’d seen muggings on the news, and they didn’t seem altogether difficult to pull off.
A twin spotlight flashed over the crowd, the narrow beam pinning a woman who’d risen out of her seat.
She wore a lace mask that obscured half her face, but he recognized the delicate bow of the lips beneath it—and the nervous way she was nibbling them.
Her hair was loose around her bare shoulders, the lighter strands shimmering beneath the light.
She was dressed all in black—if you could call the set of sheer, lace lingerie being dressed at all.
Their eyes met. It became an unbearable struggle to keep his face schooled to a look of seduction when he longed to call out and soothe her.
She hugged her arms around her chest, standing awkwardly in place.
Even at this distance, he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest and knew she was on the verge of panicking.
“Ah, is that you, Ninety-Seven?” the announcer asked.
Sam’s eye twitched as he resisted the compulsion to shoot the man a withering look.
“Y-Yes,” she squeaked, her voice tiny in the cavern of the auditorium. “Sorry, I’m coming!”
With that, she lurched into motion.