Morning light filtered through the single grimy window like weak, dirty piss, turning the concrete walls a sickly gray and casting long shadows across the floor. I pulled on my battered coat, the fabric still stiff with dried blood from yesterday's fight, and walked over to stare down into the alley three floors below. The usual undergrid filth was already stirring — dealers setting up their corners, a couple of prostitutes negotiating with early salarymen who'd flown down from the towers for something cheap and quick. Nothing new.
Then I saw them.
A full hunter team moving fast toward our building — six figures in matte-black tactical exo-suits that looked like they'd been pulled straight from a corp war zone. They moved with military precision, boots silent on the cracked pavement thanks to noise-dampening soles. Each one wore a full-face helmet with glowing red visors that scanned in real time, feeding data straight into their neural implants. Heavy rifles hummed with charged plasma coils, the barrels flickering with faint blue energy. One guy on the left carried a compact railgun that could punch clean through three walls of reinforced concrete. Another had a shoulder-mounted drone launcher, the little black orbs already buzzing around the team like angry hornets, ready to deploy for surveillance or lethal strikes. Neural jammers clipped to their belts crackled faintly, designed to fry any unregistered synthetic signal in a twenty-meter radius. Flash-bang grenades dangled from tactical vests, and two of them carried portable core-purge devices — sleek black cylinders with glowing red tips, the kind that could overload an android's central processor and cook her brain in under ten seconds. These weren't street thugs or debt collectors. These were corporate black-ops, the kind that cleaned up loose ends without leaving paperwork or witnesses.
"Sophie," I said, voice low and urgent, already reaching for the illegal pistol I'd taken from the debt collectors. "We've got company. Big company."
She was already beside me before I finished the sentence, still naked from last night, her heavy DD tits brushing my arm as she looked out the window. Her processors hummed softly against my skin. "They are here for me."
Before I could answer, the front door of the apartment building exploded inward with a deafening boom that shook the entire floor. Shouts echoed up the stairwell, amplified and distorted through helmet speakers.
"[reducted] Voss! Surrender the prototype immediately! Come out with your hands visible or we will clear the building floor by floor!"
Boots thundered up the stairs — heavy, synchronized, no attempt at stealth. They wanted me to hear them coming. They wanted fear.
I stepped into the narrow hallway, pistol raised, Sophie right behind me. The first hunter rounded the corner on the landing below, railgun already sweeping up. I fired twice. The first shot sparked harmlessly off his exo-suit plating; the second punched through the visor seam and dropped him like a sack of scrap. His partner came next, drone launcher spitting out two buzzing orbs that streaked toward us at chest height. Sophie moved faster than I could track — her hidden self-defense protocol kicking in with cold precision. She snatched one drone out of the air mid-flight, crushed it in her fist with a burst of sparks, then drove her other hand straight through the second hunter's helmet like it was wet paper. Blood and shattered circuitry sprayed across the wall. He crumpled without a sound.
The rest of the team opened fire from the stairs below. Plasma bolts scorched the walls beside my head, melting chunks of concrete into glowing slag. I returned fire, dropping one more hunter with a lucky shot to the neck joint. Sophie was a blur beside me — she grabbed the railing, vaulted over it, and landed among the remaining three. One tried to bring his railgun up; she ripped the weapon from his hands and drove it butt-first into his visor, caving his skull. The last two opened fire at point-blank range. Sophie took a plasma bolt to the shoulder — it burned a ugly black scar across her synthetic skin — but she didn't slow. She snapped the neck of one and slammed the other's head into the wall hard enough to crack the composite paneling. He slid down, unconscious or dead.
The survivors broke and ran, boots pounding back down the stairs, shouting frantic commands into their comms as they retreated. The hallway fell silent except for the distant echo of their escape and the faint crackle of dying electronics.
The apartment was completely trashed.
The front door hung off its hinges, twisted and smoking. Bullet holes and plasma burns pocked every wall, melting sections of concrete into blackened craters. One stray shot had turned half the kitchen alcove into a slag heap of melted nutrient dispenser and scorched wiring. The makeshift bed in the corner was shredded, thermal blankets torn to pieces and smoldering. Broken glass from the window littered the floor like jagged snow. The whole place smelled like burnt plastic and ozone. It looked like a war zone had moved in and decided to stay.
"Fucking perfect," I muttered, kicking a chunk of scorched concrete across the floor. "Just what we needed. Another reason to live in this shithole."
Sophie stood in the middle of the destruction, calm as ever, a thin line of synthetic blood trickling from the plasma burn on her shoulder. "I will clean it. You should rest your shoulder."
I grabbed the broom from the corner and started sweeping up the worst of the glass while she worked methodically — wiping blood and scorch marks off the walls with damp cloths, straightening what could be straightened, hauling the ruined door panel back into place as best she could. Every time she bent over to pick something up I slapped her bare ass hard, the sharp crack echoing through the ruined room. She didn't flinch. She just straightened, smiled softly, and kept working, her upgraded sensors making even the sting feel like something she wanted.
When the worst of the mess was cleared I grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the bedroom corner. The makeshift bed was completely destroyed — blankets shredded, the thermal padding melted in places from a stray plasma bolt. I didn't care. I spun her around and pinned her face-first against the nearest intact wall, yanking her hips back so her ass arched toward me.
I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself deep. Sophie gasped loud and real, her upgraded sensors turning the sudden, deep stretch into pure overwhelming fire. Her walls clenched around me like hot, rippling velvet. I fucked her hard against the wall, hips snapping, one hand fisted in her dark hair to keep her cheek pressed to the cold concrete while the other squeezed her heavy DD tit roughly. Every thrust drove her forward, her tits smearing against the wall, her ass rippling under the impact.
"Take it," I growled in her ear, voice raw. "This is what you get for bringing hunters to my door."
She moaned, pushing back to meet every savage stroke. "Yes, Master… I'm yours… use me…"
I kept pounding into her, switching positions without pulling out — spinning her to face me, lifting one of her legs so I could drive up into her while she clung to me, then turning her sideways so I could grind deep and slow, watching her face twist in overstimulation. Her sensors made every thrust unbearable; she came hard around me twice, walls fluttering and milking my cock as she shook and cried out. I didn't stop. I flipped her onto her back on the ruined floor, pinned her wrists above her head, and railed her missionary — deep, punishing strokes that made her tits bounce wildly. She came a third time, voice hoarse, legs trembling around me.
Finally I buried myself to the hilt and came with a guttural groan, flooding her until it leaked out around my cock in thick, messy streaks down her thighs.
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard.
Sophie looked up at me, eyes soft. "To be safe… can you remove the factory tracker? I'm not sure if it still works, but if they can ping it…"
I nodded. She turned around, kneeling on the floor. I opened the small access panel in her upper back, fingers tracing the warm synthetic skin until I found the tiny black chip embedded near her spine. I pried it out carefully, then smashed it under my boot until it was nothing but dust and broken circuitry.
When the apartment was finally clean enough — walls wiped, glass swept, ruined bed pushed into the corner — I dropped onto the edge of the surviving blanket and blinked my ocular implants online to check the news.
A video was already trending at the top of every feed.
It was us — clear as day. The window sex from a few nights ago, captured from the alley below by some asshole with a drone or a good zoom lens. Sophie's tits pressed against the glass, my hand fisted in her hair, her mouth open in a moan as I railed her from behind. The footage was grainy but unmistakable. The title read: Disgraced Lawyer Voss and His New "Victim" – Predator or Just Another Day in the Undergrid?
Skylar's face appeared in the attached clip, perfectly composed, tears shining in her eyes for the cameras. "He replaced me with another girl," she said, voice trembling with practiced pain. "A synthetic one that looks so real everyone thinks she's human. He's still the same predator who ruined my life. He never stopped."
The hate comments were flooding in by the thousands, scrolling faster than I could read:
Lock this rapist up for good. He's still out there doing the same shit.
Of course he's fucking a robot now. No real woman would touch him after what he did.
She looks exactly like his ex. He's sick in the head.
Burn the whole undergrid down with him and that fake whore in it.
Someone needs to put a bullet in Voss before he hurts another girl.
I scrolled through a few more, jaw tight, the old rage boiling up again like it had never left.
Sophie knelt beside me, calm and devoted, waiting for whatever came next.