I was halfway through breakfast — synthetic eggs and spiced protein strips heated on the dispenser — when the knocking started.
Three firm, deliberate raps on the apartment door.
The sound cut through the quiet morning like a warning. Sophie was standing quietly in the corner, still in her tight black crop top and short pleated skirt, watching me eat with that soft, devoted smile she always wore. Skylar stood motionless in her usual corner, naked, blank-eyed, broken legs locked in place, dried cum from last night still faintly visible on her inner thighs. The apartment smelled faintly of the cheap nutrient paste and the lingering metallic tang of last night's use.
I set the fork down, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and stood up. The knocking came again, louder this time, more insistent.
I opened the door.
A middle-aged man in a cheap but neat gray suit stood in the hallway. He had a worn leather notebook in one hand and a small holographic ID badge clipped to his lapel that read "Jim Harlan – Licensed Private Investigator." His face was ordinary — receding hairline, tired eyes with deep crow's feet, the kind of face that blended into crowds and made people underestimate him. But his posture was sharp, alert, like a man who had spent years digging up secrets others wanted buried.
"Morning," he said, voice calm and professional, with the slight rasp of someone who smoked too much cheap synth-tobacco. "Name's Jim Harlan. Private investigator. I've been hired by the Harrington family to look into the disappearance of Skylar Voss. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
I kept my expression neutral, leaning casually against the doorframe to block most of his view into the apartment. "Sure. What do you want to know?"
Jim glanced past me into the apartment, eyes flicking over Sophie standing quietly in the corner and then lingering for a split second on Skylar standing motionless in the far corner, naked and blank. He didn't react outwardly, but I saw the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"First off — how many people live in this apartment?"
"Only me and my android, Sophie," I answered smoothly.
Jim looked directly at Sophie, then back at me. "That's a woman, not an android."
I corrected myself without missing a beat. "Right. Only me and my girlfriend Sophie."
Jim nodded, scribbling something in his notebook with a cheap stylus. He asked a few more routine questions — when I last saw anyone matching Skylar's description, whether I'd noticed any unusual activity in the building, if I had any security footage or knew anyone who might have seen her. I gave short, boring answers. Nothing useful. Nothing that would make him linger.
He seemed satisfied enough, thanked me politely, and left without pushing harder. But as he turned to walk away, I caught the way his eyes flicked back toward the corner where Skylar stood one last time.
The second the door closed, the tension in my chest snapped like a wire.
I turned and walked straight to Skylar. She stood there, blank and obedient, but I could see the tiny micro-expression flicker across her face — a barely visible tightening around her eyes, the ghost of trauma breaking through the chip for a fraction of a second.
I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the wall.
"Maybe we should just get rid of her," I growled, voice low and dangerous. "This investigation is getting too close. One wrong move and they'll tear this place apart looking for her."
Skylar didn't react. She couldn't. But that tiny crack in her blank mask told me she was still in there, still suffering.
Later that day, after Sophie had left to buy more food, I stood in front of Skylar again. She was still naked, still motionless in the corner. I stepped closer and grabbed her chin, forcing her blank eyes to meet mine.
I started fucking her slowly, deliberately, pinning her against the wall while I looked straight into her eyes.
"Should I do it?" I asked quietly, thrusting deep and steady. "Should I wipe the rest of you? Get rid of whatever's left of Skylar Voss inside that head?"
She couldn't answer. She couldn't even flinch. But I watched her face closely, looking for any reaction, any crack in the obedience programming. I fucked her harder, one hand around her throat, the other squeezing her heavy tit.
"Tell me," I growled, even though I knew she couldn't speak. "Should I erase you completely? Turn you into nothing but a warm hole that doesn't even remember who she used to be?"
Her eyes stayed blank. Her body took every thrust without resistance. But for the briefest moment, I thought I saw another micro-expression — a flicker of pure, silent horror deep in her gaze.
I kept fucking her, long and intense, trying to provoke any reaction, any sign that the old Skylar was still fighting inside that broken shell.
Sophie wasn't back yet.
The apartment was quiet except for the wet sound of my cock sliding in and out of Skylar's passive body.
I still didn't know what I was going to do with her.,