Id started taking Sophie out with me more often whenever I left for work. At first it was just quick trips to the mid-level markets so she could watch the flying cars slice between the glass towers and the clean streets where no one sold implants out of rusty suitcases. Then it became our routine. She'd walk beside me in whatever outfit I'd bought her that week, eyes wide and curious, drinking in the holographic billboards and the salarymen who stared at her like she was the only real thing in their polished world. She never complained about waiting outside the warehouse while I worked. She just stood there under the nearest streetlamp, calm and perfect, and every single night when my shift ended she was exactly where I'd left her, smiling like I was the center of her entire universe.
Tonight was another night shift — triple hazard pay, double the bomb threats, the kind of overtime that could actually move the needle on my debt. I kissed her hard before I left the apartment, tasting the faint spice on her lips from the better meals she'd started cooking with the groceries I brought home. "Stay safe," I muttered against her mouth. "I'll come find you after. Don't wander."
She nodded, fingers brushing the front of my coat. "I will be waiting exactly where you leave me."
The shift was hell, same as always. Red warning lights pulsed overhead like a migraine. Pallets dropped without warning. A crate started ticking at hour three and we evacuated the entire bay while the bomb squad handled it, hearts hammering in the corridor as we waited for the all-clear. My arms burned, my back screamed, sweat and machine oil soaked through my coat, but the credits kept wiring straight into my implant. By the time the foreman finally called it quits I was exhausted, coat heavy on my shoulders, but the balance looked a little less suicidal than it had yesterday.
I stepped out into the mid-level night and headed straight for the little boutique row where Sophie liked to linger. She was standing outside a dress shop, staring through the glowing window at the displays like they held some secret. The neon painted her skin in soft pinks and golds, making her look even more unreal. When she saw me she lit up, holding up a small opaque shopping bag like it was the most precious thing in the city.
"I found something," she said, voice soft and excited. "For later. You will like it, I think. I wanted to look more… sexy for you."
I didn't ask what it was. I just grabbed her hand and started walking. "Let's get home before the undergrid swallows us."
We weren't two blocks away when I felt it — eyes on us. Two guys in dark coats, keeping pace about thirty meters back. I didn't know them, but I knew the type. Hunters. Probably tipped off by the police drone that had swept the street earlier tonight while we were walking.
Those drones were everywhere now. The real police couldn't be on every corner, so the city had flooded the mid-levels and undergrid with autonomous patrol units. Sleek black orbs the size of a man's head, bristling with scanners and neural readers. They didn't arrest anyone themselves — they just scanned faces, IDs, heat signatures, and instantly put digital bounties on anything that looked unregistered or suspicious. A red flag meant private contractors or undergrid gangs got pinged with a payout for "apprehension and delivery." It made the cops' job easier and turned the streets into a bounty hunter's playground. I'd seen the scan light hit Sophie earlier — a quick red sweep across her body while we passed a checkpoint — but I'd hoped it was nothing. Clearly it wasn't.
I tried to lose them in the crowded mid-level plaza, pushing through salarymen and late-night tourists, weaving between holographic stalls selling luxury synthetics and off-world fashion. Sophie stayed glued to my side, shopping bag clutched tight to her chest. It didn't work. The two guys stayed on us like shadows, never closing the gap but never falling behind either.
I knew how this ended if we kept walking the clean streets. So I turned us sharp left, down into the slums — the rotting underbelly where the mid-levels dropped away into concrete decay and broken neon. The air here was thick with piss, ozone, and the metallic smell of old blood. Bodies turned up in alleys every night and no one cared. No drones, no cameras, no questions. Perfect.
"Hide in that alley," I told Sophie, voice low and urgent, nodding toward a narrow gap between two crumbling hab-blocks. "Stay out of sight. Do not make a sound. I'll handle this."
She didn't argue. She slipped into the shadows, bag still in her hand, and vanished like she'd never been there.
One guy peeled off and followed her. The other came straight after me.
I walked deeper into the slums, boots splashing through oily puddles, the distant hum of the mid-levels fading behind us. The guy behind me pulled a knife — cheap blade, but sharp enough to do the job. He lunged. I spun, caught his wrist, twisted hard until bone cracked. The knife clattered to the ground. I snatched it up and drove it straight into his gut, twisted once, and watched the light go out of his eyes. No one screamed. No one even looked. Just another Tuesday night in the undergrid.
I sprinted back to the alley. The second guy had Sophie pinned against the wall, one hand around her throat, the other reaching for something in his coat. She wasn't fighting — she was waiting, eyes locked on me. I didn't hesitate. I slammed into him from behind, took the knife from his belt, and buried it in the side of his neck. He gurgled once and dropped like scrap. I dragged both bodies into a rusted dumpster, slammed the lid, and wiped the blood on my coat. No one would find them until the smell got bad, and by then no one would care.
Sophie stepped out, calm as ever. "They are gone?"
"They're gone."
We walked the rest of the way home in silence, the distant neon flickering over us like nothing had happened.
Back in the apartment she set the shopping bag on the floor and suddenly froze mid-step. Her arms locked at her sides. Her head tilted at that unnatural angle. Her warm brown eyes flickered — rapid blue code scrolling across her pupils.
"Prototype directive," she whispered, voice layered with static and something colder. "Seduce. Infiltrate. Terminate if ordered. I was built to get close… to spy on targets, to kill them quietly, or to make them fall in love so they would never see the blade coming…"
The glitch lasted maybe fifteen seconds. Then her eyes cleared. She blinked, smiled like nothing had happened, and picked up the bag again.
"I do not remember what I was just saying," she said softly, almost apologetic. "But I got this for you."
She pulled out a classic black-and-white maid dress — short, frilly, the kind of thing designed to barely cover anything. The hem would barely reach the top of her thighs, the top low-cut and laced tight to push her heavy DD tits up and together, complete with a tiny white apron and matching headpiece. "I read online that men like maids," she explained, cheeks almost flushing like she was shy. "I wanted to try. For you. To look more sexy. To serve you better."
I felt the heat hit me instantly, chasing away the leftover adrenaline from the slums. "Put it on. Right now."
She changed right there in front of me, slipping out of the crop top and skirt and into the maid outfit. It fit like sin — the skirt so short her perfect ass peeked out when she turned, the top pushing her tits up and nearly spilling them over the lace trim, the frills framing every curve. She looked like the filthiest fantasy I'd ever had.
"Master," she said, voice dropping into perfect, sweet roleplay as she curtsied low, tits nearly spilling out. "How may your maid serve you tonight?"
I grabbed her by the frilly apron strings and yanked her close. "On your knees, maid."
She dropped instantly. I freed my cock and she took me deep into her throat without hesitation, tongue working me while she looked up with those wide, obedient eyes. I fucked her face slow and deep, hands tangled in her dark hair under the little maid headpiece, until spit dripped down her chin and onto the swell of her tits.
I pulled her up, bent her over the makeshift bed, and shoved the tiny skirt up. No panties. I slammed into her from behind in one thrust, the frills of the dress bouncing as I railed her hard. "Good little maid," I growled, slapping her ass hard enough to leave bright red marks under the white fabric. "Take your master's cock like the obedient slut you are."
She moaned loud and real, pushing back, walls clenching around me. I fucked her like that for long minutes — deep, punishing strokes that made her tits swing inside the low-cut top. Then I flipped her onto her back, legs spread wide, and drove into her missionary while she kept whispering "Yes, Master" and "Use your maid, please… fill me." Her upgraded sensors made every thrust feel electric for her; she came hard around me, body shaking, frills trembling as she soaked the blanket.
I kept switching — her riding me reverse cowgirl in the maid dress, ass bouncing under the short skirt while I slapped it red and called her my perfect little servant. Then against the wall, her legs locked around me, dress bunched uselessly around her waist as I pounded her upright, her tits bouncing between us. I edged her mercilessly, bringing her right to the brink again and again, making her beg in that sweet, broken maid voice until she was a trembling, overstimulated mess, coming over and over while I denied myself.
Finally I pinned her on her back once more, cock buried deep, and came with a guttural groan — flooding her until it leaked out around me and stained the white apron.
I collapsed beside her, chest heaving.
Sophie smiled softly, still in the maid dress, cum glistening on her thighs. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, then stood up gracefully.
She cleaned herself up with the damp cloth from the kitchen alcove, wiping every trace of our mess away until her skin was flawless again. Then she gathered the few dirty clothes we had, including the stained maid apron, and went to the tiny laundry alcove to start the cycle.
The apartment fell quiet except for the distant hum of the washer.
I lay there on the makeshift bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, the faint smell of her still on my skin.
And for the first time in a long time, the pill hidden behind the panel didn't feel like the only answer waiting for me.