Static Crush {M/M} ✔

Chapter #2

The trip from the Bionic Capital store to Melissa's car takes less than five minutes, but they are the longest five minutes of Hale's short existence. Overwhelmed with sensory data, he scans each environmental detail and person they pass. If anything were to happen—a robbery, an assault—his data logs would be able to replay and identify persons involved within seconds. Tall LED screens, responding to Melissa's BioCyber Implant, advertise classes for getting the most out of your android, or the latest in android fashion. The parking garage is an inundation of license plates and registration numbers for Hale to process until they arrive at the coral pink, self-driving vehicle registered to Melissa.

The interior smells overwhelmingly of her perfume, and a vintage plastic daisy with a smiley face sits on the dash. As the car inputs her home address and begins their journey, Hale watches the smiling daisy wobble to the movement. It sparks a small smile, and he reaches forward with a finger to prod the daisy into a more vigorous dance.

Melissa doesn't notice, too busy reaching under the seat for a quarter-empty bottle of gin. She starts to unscrew the top and stops mid-motion. Her eyes flick up to meet Hale's for a moment of consideration. Then she thrusts the bottle towards him.

"Open this for me, would you?"

Hale accepts the bottle and unscrews the lid. Melissa beams, taking the bottle back and tipping it to her mouth. "I could get used to this," she says after a healthy swig.

"I'm here to serve. I can also tell you that your blood alcohol content is 0.075%, and it is unsafe for you to drive this vehicle manually."

"Oh, how do I change the killjoy settings on this thing?" she says, leaning forward to tap Hale on the temple, as if there may be a hidden button beneath. "Nobody drives manual anymore."

"On average, 2.5% of people persist in driving manual or petroleum-fueled vehicles. However, if you wish me to keep these observations private—"

"Yes, please!" she sings, a little louder than necessary. "I'm not interested in how many people still live in the dark ages or whatever. Tell me about you, Hank—"

"Hale."

"What can you do? That manual is way too much to read." Melissa gestures to the bagged manual in Hale's lap. He makes note to recycle it upon their arrival. "Give me the best-of list."

"Well, I can cook any recipe you desire, cater for events of 300 people or less, and adjust for dietary restrictions and allergies as necessary."

"Can you make lobster thermidor?"

"Yes."

"What about...champagne?"

"With the required fermentation time and ingredients, yes."

"Hm, probably easier to just buy it then."

At the disappointment in her tone, Hale sits up straighter and offers, "I can make purchases for you whenever necessary and hand deliver items within a 500 kilogram capacity."

"Hmm, my phone can do that. It's called next-day delivery." Melissa still sounds unconvinced. A conniving smile replaces her earlier bored expression. "I'm more interested in the other uses for androids I've heard about."

Hale interprets the southward flow of blood in her body and emphasis on the word 'other' correctly. "You mean uses for sexual gratification."

"Now you're talking!" She leans closer. "I've heard robots can be better than the real thing. Tell me about the sex stuff."

Hale refrains from correcting her on the term 'robot' again. "Correct. Bioandroids such as myself are programmed with a library of Kama Sutra positions, alternative fetishes, can identify hundreds of individual erogenous zones, and last hours longer than the average human male."