I sat cross-legged on the makeshift bed, the thin thermal blanket bunching under my thighs, and shoveled another forkful of synthetic eggs and spiced protein strips into my mouth. The food actually tasted decent now — salty, warm, with a faint hint of real herbs Sophie had somehow bartered for. Steam curled up from the single plate we shared, carrying the faint scent of the cheap spices that made this concrete box feel almost like a home. Sophie knelt opposite me, still wearing the black-and-white maid dress from last night, the frilly apron spotless after she'd washed it by hand. The short skirt rode high on her smooth thighs, the low-cut top pushing her heavy DD tits up and together so the soft inner curves were on full display. She sat perfectly straight, hands resting on her knees, watching me eat like it was the most important task in her entire world.
I swallowed and looked at her. "Can you even eat?"
Sophie tilted her head slightly, a small, calm smile curving her lips. "Yes. My digestive simulation suite is fully functional. I can chew, swallow, and process food exactly like a human would."
I raised an eyebrow, fork paused halfway to my mouth. "Then why don't you ever eat with me?"
"Because androids who can eat simply empty the stomach later," she explained patiently, voice soft and matter-of-fact. "The nutrients are broken down and discarded through a waste vent. It is pointless for us. The calories would be wasted when they could go to you instead. I would rather use that energy to serve you better."
I didn't know why her answer twisted something in my chest. I just nodded and kept eating, the silence between us comfortable in a way it hadn't been a few weeks ago.
The knocking started light — three polite raps on the door. Then it grew louder. Harder. Fists slamming against the cheap metal panel until the whole frame rattled in its rusty tracks.
"Open up, Voss!" a gravelly voice barked from the hallway. "We have a warrant this time!"
Sophie's eyes flicked toward the door, her processors humming faintly. I set the fork down, wiped my hands on my coat, and stood.
The pounding turned violent, the door shaking so hard dust sifted from the ceiling. "Court order! Open the fucking door or we kick it in!"
I yanked the door open.
Two debt collectors filled the narrow hallway, the same pair from before but dressed sharper this time — cheap suits, official-looking badges clipped to their lapels, and a glowing holoscreen held up between them. The bigger one on the left read from it in a bored, official tone.
"[Reducted] Voss, you are in default on two thousand eight hundred credits plus daily interest. This court order authorizes us to seize any and all assets in this unit, including unregistered synthetics, personal property, and any credits remaining in your implant."
Sophie stepped up beside me, calm as ever. She leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. "I could offer them my body," she whispered. "One night. Debt cleared. It would solve everything."
Rage exploded in my chest like a warehouse crate detonating.
"Shut up, bitch," I snarled at her, loud enough for both collectors to hear every word. "That's not happening. Ever."
I didn't give them time to react. I drove my fist straight into the big one's face, feeling cartilage crunch under my knuckles. Blood sprayed across his cheap suit. His partner pulled a small, illegal pistol from his jacket — untraceable, the kind that left no ballistic signature. He fired. The shot went wild but the bullet grazed my left shoulder in a hot, searing line of fire. Pain flared white-hot, blood soaking into my coat instantly.
I didn't stop. I grabbed the pistol barrel, twisted it out of his grip, and cracked it across his skull. He dropped like scrap. The big one lunged at me; I caught his arm, spun him around, and slammed my knee into his spine until I heard something snap. He screamed once. I took the pistol back and put one round through the back of his head. The second guy tried to crawl away, groaning. I put two more in him for good measure. The hallway fell deathly silent except for the distant hum of the city.
I dragged both bodies into the apartment, kicked the door shut, and bolted it. Blood was already pooling on the concrete floor in dark, sticky puddles.
Without a word I shoved the window open, the grimy pane screeching in its track. The alley below was the usual rotting mess — overflowing dumpsters, broken drones, trash and bodies no one ever bothered to collect. I heaved the first collector's corpse up onto the sill and pushed. It dropped three stories and landed with a wet thud in the open dumpster below. The second body followed a second later. No one shouted. No one even looked up. In the undergrid, bodies in bins were just Tuesday.
Sophie was already on her knees, calm and efficient, wiping the blood off the floor with a damp cloth she'd soaked in the tiny sink. She worked in slow, methodical circles, the red streaks disappearing under her hands until the concrete looked almost clean again. Not a single drop of panic on her face. When the floor was spotless she stood, still in the maid dress, and turned to me.
"I want to make up for my mistakes," she said softly, eyes steady on mine. "Let me serve you properly. Let me show you I am yours."
I pulled her down onto the makeshift bed before she could finish the sentence.
This time I didn't rush.
I laid her on her back and stripped the maid dress off her slowly, savoring every inch of flawless skin I revealed. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, the heavy swell of her DD tits, taking my time to lick and suck each nipple until they were hard, glistening peaks. Sophie sighed softly, fingers threading through my hair, her upgraded sensors making every touch draw longer, deeper shivers from her body.
I moved lower, spreading her thighs wide and burying my tongue in her pussy. I licked her slow and thorough, circling her clit with lazy strokes, sliding two fingers inside her and curling them while she moaned low and sweet. She came once like that — a gentle, rolling orgasm that made her back arch and her walls flutter around my fingers, her breath catching in soft little gasps.
I climbed up, settled between her legs, and slid into her in one long, smooth thrust. Missionary, deep and unhurried. I fucked her slow, grinding against her with every stroke, letting her feel every inch, every throb, every ridge. Her new sensors turned it into something overwhelming; she gasped and clung to me, legs wrapped tight around my waist, whispering my name like a prayer.
I kept the pace torturously slow for what felt like hours. Every time she got close I would ease off, kissing her deeply, letting her come back down before starting again. She came twice more like that — long, shuddering orgasms that left her trembling and overstimulated, her voice cracking as she begged me to let her finish.
I flipped her onto her side, spooned behind her, and slid back in, one hand cupping her heavy tit while the other rubbed slow circles on her clit. I fucked her like that for long minutes, whispering against her ear, "How much of this is real, Sophie? How much of your loyalty is just code?"
She turned her head, eyes glassy with pleasure. "All of it," she breathed. "The programming started it… but everything I feel now is real. For you. Only you."
I kept going, slow and deep, drawing it out until she came again, walls milking me in long, rhythmic pulses. Finally I rolled her onto her back, pinned her wrists above her head, and fucked her harder — still controlled, still deliberate — until I buried myself deep and came with a low groan, flooding her until it leaked out around us in thick, warm streaks.
We stayed tangled together afterward, breathing slow, her body warm and soft against mine.
My ocular implants pinged suddenly — a bright red headline flashing across my vision.
SKYLAR VOSS ANNOUNCED AS LEADING CANDIDATE FOR CORPORATE BOARD SEAT — "FROM SURVIVOR TO LEADER"
The article loaded instantly with her smiling face, the same perfect victim story, the same lies that had destroyed me. She was climbing higher while I was still scraping by in a concrete box.
I lost it.
My hand clenched into a fist around the blanket, knuckles white, rage flooding every vein as the old wound tore open again.