Martine's therapy included interactive simulations depicted on the walls of an interface room, most featuring social gatherings. She spoke to virtual people, flirting with a variety of them. When she offered to go home with a woman, the simulation walls bloomed a nasty shade of red. In the corner, a Shadow grew, spreading out like spilt milk. When the Shadow reached the edge of her shoes, it stopped, seemingly waiting for a reaction. That close to her, the darkness leaked coldness into her heart, and her lungs grew heavy.
What do I do? Is this it?
Then she remembered the re-set button on her interface, and hit it. The simulation started over, and she did her best to leave the women in the party alone.
Inexorably, the simulation suggested the happiest outcome would result from an aversion to women. If she touched a man's arm, or accepted their offers, the walls of a the simulation lit up a beautiful amethyst hue.
Months passed before she forced herself to 'go home' with a man. Nearly a year passed before she was intimate with one. Even though the acts were performed in simulation, they still felt real. Outside of the barracks, she'd only been with a man once, and afterward, she'd cried. The pain had been too much, and she had experienced zero pleasure. She vowed never to touch a man again, and for ten years, had succeeded. Her open lifestyle involved a certain degree of danger, and she hadn't been careful enough. Now she was paying for all the casual displays.
"You've been doing so well," a voice assured her.
Bastion was there, a State authority waiting close behind.
At her apprehensive face, he said, "We're only here to initiate the final stage of acceptance. Don't fight it. We only wish you success."
The Statie entered the room, threw a nod at Bastion, and closed the door. With the room empty save the two of them, he loomed over her, head shaved, and smile eager. He locked eyes with Martine.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello..." she said.
They didn't speak after that. He directed her with grunts and slaps, taking what he wanted.
When he entered her, the familiar pain gripped her lower body, snaking its way to her abdomen. An important part of her cracked, spiraling apart with each thrust.
"Sam."
The Statie frowned at her whisper, covering her mouth with his hand as he continued violating her.
Finally, her spirit shattered, and she cried out. The man associated her trauma with pleasure, and groaned in response.
"Good girl," he whispered, patting her head.
YOU ARE READING
Obsolution ✔
Science FictionTy, a shift manager with an alcoholic wife, creates a female replicant in a dystopia veering toward full mechanization. For Ty, the surreal drudgery of working in a retail environment is interrupted when robotic interfaces are installed at his job...
