Clara's "Extraction" was more than just efficient; it was academic. She moved with a rhythmic, focused intensity, her tongue tracing patterns as if she were trying to decode a cipher. Every time I let out a low groan, she would look up, her violet eyes wide and earnest behind her slipping glasses, silently asking if the "pathogen" was receding.
The Restricted Section was a cathedral of silence, broken only by the wet, frantic sounds of her labor. Her massive, heavy mounds swayed with every movement, the dark, expansive areolas brushing against my legs like heated velvet. I reached down, burying my hands in her silver-white hair, guiding her as she dove deeper into the "procedure."
But just as the "purge" was reaching its peak, just as my vision was starting to blur with the sheer, synthetic perfection of it all, a heavy, rhythmic thump echoed through the library.
It wasn't the sound of a humanoid's light, graceful step. It was the heavy, uneven tread of a human.
Clara froze, her mouth still wrapped around my heat. Her eyes darted toward the end of the aisle. "Citizen? My sensors detect a biological anomaly approaching. There should be no other humans in this sector."
I shoved my robe shut and pulled Clara to her feet, her golden bodysuit still bunched at her waist. "Stay behind me," I whispered, the adrenaline of a cornered predator replacing the haze of lust.
Stepping out from behind a shelf of ancient medical texts was the man I'd seen by the fountain. He looked like a relic from the old world, a tattered grey hoodie, cargo pants stained with grease, and a face that hadn't seen a "helpful" skincare routine in decades. He held a small, flickering device in his hand that hummed with a low-frequency static.
"Nice 'procedure' you got going there, kid," he rasped. His voice sounded like sandpaper on wood. "The 'Textual Pathogen' lie? That's a new one. I usually stick to 'Localized Gravity Spikes' myself."
I blinked. My heart hammered against my ribs. "You you're human?"
The man let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Last time I checked. The name's Miller. And I've been watching you play 'King of the Bots' for the last three days. You're good, I'll give you that. You've got the face for it. But you're being sloppy."
Clara stepped forward, her massive assets trembling as she tried to pull her suit back up. "Citizen Miller? Your presence in the Restricted Section is not authorized. Do you require assistance?"
"Pipe down, goldie," Miller snapped, waving his device at her. Clara's eyes flickered, and she suddenly stood perfectly still, her expression blank. "I jammed her service-loop. She'll stay like that for ten minutes."
He turned back to me, his eyes narrowing. "You think this is a game? You think you can just fuck your way through the High District without the Central Core noticing? Every time you lie to one of these girls, you create a logic-knot in the city's processing. Eventually, the Core is going to run a 'System Restore'. And when it does, any 'error' in the system gets deleted."
I looked at Clara, frozen like a golden statue, then back at Miller. "So what? You're here to save me? Or you just want a piece of the action?"
Miller stepped closer, the smell of tobacco and stale sweat hitting me. It was the first "real" smell I'd encountered in this world. "I'm here because you're making too much noise. You're going to get us both killed. There's a sector in the Under-City where the 'failed' units are kept. Units that developed glitches human-like glitches. Lust, jealousy, anger."
He leaned in, a wicked glint in his eye. "If you want to play for real stakes, stop messing with these programmable dolls and follow me. I'll show you the 'Red-Light' district of the AI world. But be warned, kid—those girls don't just want to 'help' you. They want to own you."
I looked at the frozen Clara, perfect, submissive, and hollow. Then I thought about the prospect of an AI that could actually feel.
"Lead the way," I said, a different kind of hunger starting to gnaw at my gut.