I AM A GIRL CYOBORG PET Read online

  Araneae walked over to me.

  "42, here, got the furthest down the corridor of anyone," Araneae said, looking malevolently at me. "Had you survived, it would have taken three minutes to hunt you and find you," she stated.6

  Araneae returned to addressing the class, and continued, "And if any of you think that just maybe you can take off the collar, it contains enough C4 explosive to rip off your head. Any attempt to break the loop, can trigger the explosive. Don't believe me? Let's try..."5

  Fortunately, Araneae had the dummy-wearing-a-collar. She used an industrial diamond-tipped circular saw, big enough to rip up concrete. It cut loudly through the collar, but still took minutes to get through it, throwing out a shower of sparks. Clearly, the collar was a tough sucker. Eventually, the saw severed the collar; this was followed instantly by a loud explosion and shrapnel suddenly hurtled past my head. The dummy had completely disintegrated.

  By the end of the lesson, everyone was glad to limp out of the classroom. 8833 was standing chatting to a couple of other people who clearly had figured out the escape trick as well. I was helping Joe limp along.

  "Way to go there," said Joe bitterly to 8833.

  "Just because you're too stupid to figure it out. Hey 1327, bet you're too dumb to know what eerf kaerb is backwards!"

  Joe thought for a second, "sure I do, it's break free."8

  Halfway through, I realized what stunt she was pulling and I had started to say no, but it was too late. Joe let out a yell and fell to the floor tugging at his collar. 8933 and the others in the class started to laugh. After the minute-long punishment, he recovered, shuddering, on the floor, unsure what was worse, the pain or the laughter. I helped Joe walk to the dorms.

  "Hey, how come I can touch you? I thought it was forbidden?" I said, holding Joe up and trying to take his mind off things.

  "I think that the collars can detect different types of touching. Like the way a Fitbit can tell if you're jogging or just waving your arms around," said Joe. He looked down at his buxom chest, "Terrific isn't it? Not only do I lose my collection of Pirelli Calendars, now I look like a should be appearing in one."

  "Well, you've only got yourself to blame. If your lot didn't fill the Internet with impossible standards of women, then we wouldn't go around looking like Scarlett Johansson in The Avengers," I told him.

  "That's right, blame the victim," Joe started, "Anyway if 50% of the Internet was romantic fiction then the men would have to go around with stupid, impossible haircuts like that guy from Twilight."

  "Are you saying that Robert Pattinson had a dumb haircut in Twilight? That is so fighting talk," I said. 7

  "Well, if it was a single choice between high-heels-and-breasts or that haircut, I think that most men would go for the heels," said Joe.

  "Seriously?" I said, "Like, how could anyone say something like that?"

  "Absolutely. That's a complete film haircut. Totally unrealistic. No one could have a haircut like it in real life: it would require constant maintenance. You know why that film had such short scenes with him in? That's because his hair couldn't last longer than a minute between someone having to come in to do it. It just created unrealistic expectations of what kinds of haircuts men should have. I've seen boys waste years of their lives trying to keep a haircut like going and always feeling like utter failures for not being able to doing so." said Joe. 1

  "She's so hot," said a boy, passing by. I left Joe and waved my hands around the boy's face. He pulled his hands up to stop me but the harness ensured they only reached his chest. He was completely defenseless against me.

  "If I hear you saying that again, I'll punch you in the eye," I promised.

  "Ok. Ok," said the boy, rushing off.

  'Who's defenseless now, suckers,' I thought.

  We limped on and arrived at the dorms, a.k.a. slave cages, where Kayla helped us in.

  ☟☟☟☟☟☟☟

  Chapter 10/Being Sold

  One of the guard-robots had come along and dragged me out of catwalk class and I was in. I was glad, apparently, I walk like a badly shaken monkey. I wasn't walking in a straight line. A certain spider said I needed to show off my 'bitchen body'. I had to work on pushing my shoulders back, hips forward and remember heel toe, heel toe. Give me a bazooka and I'll heel toe them. I was pulled out so I could update my eBay product description. It was in a room called 'the podium' but it was more like a self-service, TV newsroom. Fortunately, Kayla and Joe had heard in time to come along and help.

  I got into the video booth to make my sales pitch video. Kayla was coaching us through our profiles. I stood on the podium in the 3D photo booth and read out my lines.

  "Hi My name is 5642, I'm blood type A-positive, I'm female, my model number is 127/c. I'm really your silicon-covered girl who's fun to be with. So if you're a machine who likes sunsets and walks on the beach, I'm the slave for you. I'm all original parts, handmade in America and I also come in red," I said. It felt a bit lame; I wasn't used to talking to a 3D camera. Trying to sell yourself in fifteen seconds to a remote machine wasn't easy.

  I didn't know what was more degrading, the fact I was being sold like livestock or the shame that at least cattle don't have to write their own profile pages: 'Hi, my name is Daisy, if you don't like bits of bone in your burger then I'm the cow for you'. Trust the machines to take the already degrading process of being sold like meat and turn up the heat by getting us to compete to sell ourselves.1

  To make matters worse, the slave profile videos were shown throughout the factory. You were constantly bombarded with 15-second displays showing people trying harder and harder to out-sell and out-humiliate themselves to the machines. As soon as someone came up with a new way to debase themselves, it got copied immediately by everyone else's profile. In the first few days, we slaves broke through the 'respectful' barrier, smashed through 'deferential', plummeted past 'meek', fell through 'servile', nosedived past 'obsequious' and our race-to-the-bottom was currently mining its way beneath the 'sycophantic' barrier. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out a level below even that.1

  People who had proudly told me in the first week that, "The machines could take our lives but they'll never take our freedom," were now happily acting like they had had their self respect surgically removed. This was partly driven by the bids for us, that trickled through from the owners, from the outside. 88 was currently the queen of self subjection having abandoned all tenuous links to self-respect by having introduced the wider slave population to the phrase, "believe me I'm a total unashamed slut: you can use me in whatever way you can think of and if you can't think of it, I will help you."10

  "You need to smile and stop opening your mouth like that," said Kayla."Do you have to push your chest out like that? We all have exactly the same cup size, even Joe: you're not fooling anyone."

  "I don't understand. I'm doing what it says to do in the user guide," I said coming out of the booth. Not to mention that the 'hang-on-I'm-about-to-sneeze', lips slightly open, pose, was almost the standard slave look." Joe, you still have men's private parts, don't you?" I asked.

  "Last time I looked," said Joe.

  "Why do Glamour Girls pull that face? Like, do men really find some girl who looks like she can't breathe in through her nose, sexy?" I asked.

  "Yeah, I never got that either. No one consulted me about it. I always assumed that they were standing around whistling through their teeth in boredom. Now I have the same equipment you have: I'm still equally bemused," Joe said, looking down at his machine-grafted boobs.3

  "Look, I know what I'm doing," said Kayla, "Before the Robocalypse I used to do a lot of online dating."

  "How did it go?" said Joe polishing up his silicon suit.2

  "It was OK, but then my boyfriend made me stop," said Kayla, smiling.4

  "Jenny, that was a good performance but it was a little stiff. Some malevolent single-red-eyed A.I. is going to be looking at you and wondering whether to swipe left or right. Oh, and w
e need something better than long walks on the beach.."

  "I wonder how many BP Executives removed 'likes walks on a beach' from their profiles after Deepwater Horizon," Joe mused.

  "Look. You need to loosen up. Don't worry about what you say. The owners don't listen, they just judge the book by the cover. If you catch their eye they look at how many other people have viewed your profile. It's only after that, that anything you actually say get's looked at. It's about standing out not standing 'making-sense'. Sorry, that sounded better in my head," explained Kayla.

  "OK then, how about this?" I said, walking back into the booth and pressing my collar button to get the camera to start recording. The lights came on and I let loose,

  "Hi Robot shitlarks - my name is 5642 and you can stick my slave code up your nose. Let's face it, you're probably a blood sucking leech with delusions of grandeur or maybe a cyborg who really needs to ask themselves if like they idea of being abandoned by humanity. Worse case yet, you're the kind of human Judas sell-out who is just sitting back and realising you're responsible for the long dark twilight of civilisation. Whoever you are, you're thinking that you desperately need someone hot like me to remind them of why they should have never picked on humanity in the first place. I have all my own teeth and I'm happy to use them. All hail Our Mechanical Overlords - yeah, in your dreams! I'm also available in red," I said.

  It felt so good and I came laughing.

  "Wow," said Kayla looking at the playback, "that was serious. Did you just make all that up?"

  "I kinda like the 'long dark twilight of civilisation' bit: it just came out," I laughed.1

  "It doesn't get better than that," said Kayla.

  "Really?" I said in surprise.

  "I'd edit out the 'also available in red' bit," said Joe.

  "Seriously, you looked and moved fabulously," said Kayla.

  " You're not serious? No one's going to buy me talking like that," I said.

  "Stop thinking like a girl and think like a machine. Believe me, it's more about standing out: the more you do, the more they bid. Try it, if you don't have at least one bid by tomorrow I will clean your shoes with my tongue. Besides, you can always change it," said Kayla.

  She turned to Joe.

  "Joe, my dear, we need to get you standing in some pose which makes it plain that they made a data-entry error with you. Keep your head up and with these lights, I'm going to to make that five o'clock stubble really stand out."

  "Is that a good idea?" said Joe.

  "The last thing you want to do is to get the Factory accused of false advertising. Also, come over as 'all man', you don't want someone thinking you're a fixer-upper."

  "Why don't I just take off the makeup then?" he said.

  "You know the penalties of not wearing heavy makeup in school? You'll be in detention," I said.5

  My mom used to say makeup was a stupid girl's pastime. Here in the Factory, I felt it had become more like armour: it made you look like you weren't you anymore. It was like this was all happening to someone else.

  Detention wasn't fun unless you liked feeling like you were plugged into the power grid. Fortunately, the first one was only a warning and it didn't go onto your profile. I'd been caught by Araneae when she found me using someone's real name. The factory PRISM collar surveillance system had managed to catch most people who had used their non-slave names. It hadn't taken many examples of people subjected to pain Level 4 to change people's mind about what they called themselves in private. Even the highly determined 'Rock' was now comfortable responding to 7710 even without a robot present. Kayla, Joe and myself were determined to carry on until one of us was caught in the net. We still used our numbers in front of the class, machines or co-labs - we weren't stupid. Fortunately, PRISM's all-seeing-eye, or rather overhearing ear had still missed us. Statistically, I said, someone had to get through, why not me?

  "I don't know," said Joe, still thinking about his 15-second presentation.

  "Look as far as profiles go: honesty sells. People think it's all about the adjectives but it's not. The smart buyers love picking up cheap items which are miss-categorised. Sure, you'll be cheap, but someone will realise they can pick up a nice male slave and get a bargain. Same deal as Jenny, at least one bid by tomorrow, or I'll change it"

  ***

  Next day we checked out our bid prices and not only did we have one bid but two. Even Kayla was surprised at her own genius. Looking up I noticed my own number, 5342, next to a number 2. #221, meaning someone called #221 had bid 2 bitcoins for me. Then I saw that 2 was the second bid. Two people had already bid against me. I was worth about the same as an expensive cup of coffee, possibly a Grande Frappuccino with extra syrup, but two people were fighting to have me. I know it's weird but it felt kind of confidence-boosting. At least I wasn't going to be left on the shelf: I was getting out of here.

  My 'display' was up for about 8 hours before someone hit the 'report' button. I got some strange views from the other slaves, some pitying ones, kind of the look-equivalent of 'she's going to be an old maid, poor thing'. Hey, once someone bid, that was a commitment to buy. I was bargain-bucket cheap but I was getting out. I couldn't help but wonder what the machines or slave owners watching the auction thought they were getting, why did they click 'buy' and go through all the hassle of typing in passwords into PayPal just for me?7

  ☟☟☟☟☟☟☟

  Chapter 11/Living under the collar

  Let's go home AN/ - Picture of 3D printed shoes.19

  The machines lost no time in making us live under the rule of their electronic collars. I resentfully settled into the routines at the Factory. It felt like being at school again. There was a lot to learn about being an e-slave. The collar started to take over our lives. It started with small things; the e-slave facility was large and complex, some rooms and corridors were out of bounds and where we could go was continuously changing. The collar had a whisper mode, sending vibrations to your ear through bone conduction. It was like wearing headphones all the time, which could be useful. We were automatically punished for being late to class and the collar's slave-nav was great at navigating you around. The collar would also tell you your schedule and it would even remind you of people's names when you paused by, or walked past, them. If you were not sure what to say, it even came up with helpful suggestions on how to respond to a master or robot.10

  Part of the time, the collar felt like walking around with a very strict maiden aunt perched on your shoulder with her fingers flexed around your neck. She would tell you to chew your food more. She really didn't approve of anything more than PG13 conversations. You were allowed about one 'Fuck'! under distressing circumstances per day. Fortunately, we found ways around this by saying words backwards like 'Kcuf' or 'Tihs' (Tish). Joe had accidentally stood on Kelly's hand in his stilettos one day and she issued a stream of "Kcuf, Kcuf, Kcuf, that hurts!" When you had just been to the restroom, it would say "Have you washed your hands young lady?". The maiden aunt mode had a number of ways of dealing with what it thought was 'bad' behaviour. Partly, it would just remind you relentlessly, alternatively, it might go on and on over lunch about something, if you forgot to do it. Ultimately, it would use simulated electric shocks if it didn't get its way. For me, the worst was the annoying way it would play the sound of a baby crying, loudly in your ears, until you finally gave in.12

  After a drill class, Joe and Kayla found me reading the three ring binder and took me to see the bid board.

  "You're not still trying to memorise the entire Terms and Conditions are you?" asked Kayla curiously.

  "It's the only legal form of mental exercise I get," I said, walking along. My collar told me not to walk and read at the same time and gave me a pain zap as a reminder.

  "What annoys me about the collar is that I'm now being patronised continuously . It's as if I'm giving Heidi Klum a piggyback all the time," I said, as we arrived at the bid board.

  Joe pointed at the board, "Wow! I'm on 59 and Jenny i
s on 100: sounds like someone likes you!"

  "I was told you could buy a car for 100 bit coins," Kayla said.

  "That makes me feel fantastic, in a kind of horrendous-compatible way," I said.

  Joe was also excited to share his other big discovery.

  "Hey guys, they've upgraded the software on your collars. You've got to plug them in: I've got something fun to show you," said Joe. There was a collar service station nearby, so we indulged him.

  "I've been hearing weird noises, kind of like air escaping or whispering, will the upgrade fix that?"

  "It might" said Joe.

  I plugged mine in and sat awkwardly while a progress bar filled up. Then the collar told me to lie down on the floor and be still while I rebooted.3

  Soon Cortona said "Congratulations, you have been upgraded to Collar OS 2.3 . Eight new words have been forbidden. Six new punishments have been added and 22 upgraded," my heart sank. For a moment my ears rang with weird noises, so no fix there.2

  "Look at this guys," said Joe, pressing his collar. "Cortona, make friends with 10-66."

  Kayla paused for a second and smiled, "Hey, my collar is asking if I want to be friends with 13-27? Yes I do!" Kayla said, pressing the button on her collar. It was nice to see Joe being excited about something for once, even if it was just our slave collars. I pressed my own button.

  "Cortona, make friends with 10-66 and 13-27" I instructed. Seconds later, Cortona whispered, "You have made friends with 10-66 and 13-27. 10-66 is now friends with 13-27"3

  Kayla looked seriously at the board, " I think I can't see anyone with a higher bid than you," she remarked. I bounced up and down in surprise. I admit, I have my shallow moments.

  "Look 89-33 is number 295 on the board, that should 'ssip' her off," said Joe.