Pleatorial - Larry Stylinson AU

As weird as this is going to sound, trust me, just keep reading.

Prologue

Click. Click.

Whrrr.

A pristine white machine rolls several different crisp appendages out over a sterile looking platform. Lights begin to flick down in a spotlight in the middle of the room, and the sound of machine’s being awoken fill the space.

This is the creation lab of Pleatorial Inc., the world renowned cyborg builder. Pleatorial has just introduced their new line of the Styles bots, a pleasure robot of the highest quality, laced with over 20,000 command responses of any sexual desire the owner may have. Each Styles bot is created to the buyers tastes, down to the T for how incredibly expensive these robots are. They are each given specific names, and no 2 will ever look alike.

This particular morning, the machines buzz and hum expectantly of their instructions for their newest order of a Styles bot. The white mechanical arms begin to shift about the platform as the head creator begins to type out instruction to the computers.

The holographic blueprint of the android’s basic outline flickered above a lighted platform. White mechanical arms reach out and place a long, basic and robotic looking torso in the blueprints specific locations, followed by a specifically detailed face, which was welded into place upon broad and masculine shoulders.

“Can you hear me?” A woman’s voice coos out calmly through the creation lab. The bots eyes open fluidly, revealing emerald green irises that fluctuate gently, adjusting to the harsh lighting.

“Yes.” It says in fluid reply, voice deep and slow as several of the mechanical arms begin to attach long arms with massive hands.

“ID please.” The woman’s voice requests.

“TRR0IL2BUR.” It recites without question.

“Can you move your head for me?” She asks, and in reply slowly turns its head to the left.

“Eyes?” It’s eyes rove upward with interest, studying the rapidly moving arms that were welding its legs to its torso.

“Cervical and optical functions, check.” The woman says out idly, typing out something to the machine. “Now, tell me your name and functions.”

“My name is Harry Styles, fourth generation Styles bot. I am at your expense of sexual desire, I can speak over 200 languages, no need to feed me or charge me.” He recites, looking over as his arm is stretched out and covered in a buoyant and white material.

“Memorization, check.” The woman trills off with appraisal. “Now move your arms for me, Harry.” His perfectly crafted, and pigmented lips are parted slightly as he slowly raises his left arm, looking down as he curls his fingers gently. Milky skin begins to form about the once white and buoyant material covering the wiring and circuits.

“Upper limb function, check.” She chirps again- more typing. “Now say something in French for me, Harry.”

“Je suis très heureux de ce qui peut arriver dans ma vie.” He speaks fluidly, grinning cheekily, again watching as the mechanical arms buffer around him.

“Perfect. Speech function, check.” The woman breathes as his skin pigmentation and body parts are finished. He covers himself modestly, looking about as perfect, chocolate curls begin to grow from the crown his head until they cover it’s entirety in shiny mop. A pair of crisp white boxers are placed onto his narrow hips and he looks down to study his long and toned torso with a curious smile on his face.