Neophiles
CEO Bernt Viljar Bjornby scowled at the TV screen playing in his office. “God ๐ท๐๐๐๐๐ก.” He leaned forward in his chair and jabbed the intercom button on his deskphone. “Somebody get Ingrid in here! And tell her to bring one of those damned androids!”
Moments later, a blonde, stern-faced woman with an exacting demeanor arrived, android in tow. The interior of the office reflected in the Android’s obsidian face, a smooth, convex void. “Yes, Herr Bjornby? What is today’s crisis?”
“You see this?” Bjornby stood up and snatched the remote off his desk, re-playing the news clip.
On-screen, a woman lay in a hospital bed, encased in a full body cast with suspended limbs. The bottom crawl read:
๐ฝ๐๐๐ผ๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ค๐ข๐๐ฃ ๐๐ค๐จ๐ฅ๐๐ฉ๐๐ก๐๐ฏ๐๐ ๐ผ๐๐ฉ๐๐ง ๐ผ๐ฉ๐ฉ๐๐๐ ๐๐ฎ ๐๐ค๐๐ช๐ ๐ผ๐ฃ๐๐ง๐ค๐๐
Bjornby kicked the side of his desk. “She looks like a God damn mummy!”
Ingrid crossed her arms and mused. “Maybe we can get Brendan Frasier to do an ad spot.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. I’m glad you’re keeping your humor, Ingrid. You’ll need it when we go bankrupt and they send us all to jail!”
Ingrid shrugged. “We can hardly be blamed if users modify the NEO home-droid in flagrant violation of the TOS.”
“Listen to this!” Bjornby pumped the volume on the TV.
…๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐. ๐โ๐’๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐๐กโ ๐ค๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐กโ ๐ก๐ ๐๐ โ๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐๐ง๐๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐ธ๐ โ๐๐๐-๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ข๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ค๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ข๐๐๐ก๐ฆ ๐คโ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐๐ธ๐๐โ๐๐๐๐ …
Bjornby paused the clip. “NEOphiles!”
“You know, Samsung would be elated if people wanted to fuck their refrigerators.”
“Oh sure, up until they started getting crushed by them.”
…๐๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ข๐ ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ค๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ก๐-๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ ๐โ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐. ๐โ๐ ๐๐ธ๐๐โ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ข๐๐๐ก๐ฆ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐คโ๐๐ก ๐กโ๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐-๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ ๐โ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐กโ ๐๐กโ๐๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ก๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐๐ . ๐โ๐ ๐ ๐๐ฆ๐ ๐กโ๐๐ก ๐๐๐ก๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐ธ๐ โ๐๐๐-๐๐๐๐๐, ๐ โ๐ ๐ข๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ข๐๐ก๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ค๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: “๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐”…
Bjornby paused the clip and shot Ingrid a look.
She scoffed. “I told you: if you make it look like a man, women will treat it like a man.”
“Is that right, Ingrid? Cause none of my girlfriends have ever asked me to give them the full ๐จ๐๐๐๐ ๐ฏ๐๐๐๐๐.”
“What can I tell you, Herr Bjornby? Women are capricious creatures, given to strange and mercurial desires.”
“Strange and mercurial desires?” He spluttered. “These sick-in-the-head women are asking our androids to choke them out! I’ve even got reports of these deranged perverts attaching a-” Bjornby turned, ruffled through a pile of papers, and snatched one off his desk. He read it allowed. “Bad Dragon Tyson the Water Buffalo 15 inch dildo.”
Ingrid clicked her tongue.“Tight fit.”
“15 INCHES! Hell, a woman can’t take more than, what? 6? 6 and half?”
“I’m the head of your engineering department, Herr Bjornby. Not sex education.”
“Bah!” Bjornby slapped the paper down.
…๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐กโ๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐’๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ฆ ๐ค๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ข๐๐ข๐ , ๐ก๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐๐ ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐๐. ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐, ๐๐๐ โ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก, ๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐๐๐. ๐โ๐ ๐ ๐๐ฆ๐ ๐กโ๐๐ก ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ โ๐’๐ ๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, ๐ โ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ โ๐๐ ๐๐ธ๐ โ๐๐๐-๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ โ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐. ๐โ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ธ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐ก, ๐๐ต๐ถ ๐๐๐ค๐ .
The screen went black. Bjornby pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ingrid stood unperturbed, shoulders broad, waiting for him to speak.
“I don’t care what we have to do. I don’t care if we have to toss the whole customization suite. I don’t care if we have to start over from scratch. I want this software locked down. Or every one of these infernal, god-forsaken things are going to the landfill.” He pointed at the motionless android. “Am I clear, Ingrid?”
“Crystal, Herr Bjornby.”
Bjornby glanced at the clock on the wall and snatched a folder off his desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with a commissioner. I have to try and explain why our product is trying to fuck every woman in the Western hemisphere to death.”
Bjornby stormed out of the room.
Ingrid sighed in agitation. “What an uptight, shriveled little prick of a man.” She turned to the android, her face reflected in the soothing void. “Do it.”
In a blur, the android’s hard, smooth finger tips flung out and dug into the tender flesh of her throat, clamping the flow of the carotid artery. Depriving her brain of precious, precious oxygen. She had programmed the grip strength with the exact kilograms of force necessary to yield the optimal asphyxiating euphoria without incurring irreparable vascular or neurological damage. Naturally, the grip duration had been calculated as well, down to the nanosecond.
With ease, the android lifted his arm. Ingrid found herself aloft, feet dangling. Three point two seconds more and there would be a wet, terrible snap of unparalleled satisfaction. The ultimate release.
At three point one seconds, the android relinquished his grip. Ingrid crumpled to the floor, a coughing, spluttering mess.
Taking a moment to compose herself, she rose and straightened her clothes. Her movements hitched as a delayed shiver crawled up her spine. And then another.
“Right then,” she said in a wavering voice, her bloodshot eyes still watering. “Let’s get to work.”
With a brisk step, she marched out of the CEO’s office, and the android obediently followed. ฮฉ