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1433 7.78 KB 92
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>Fixing robopone for the umpteenth time.
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>Her model is nearly a decade old at this point, so manuals are long gone and videos nigh impossible to find, the videos you do find often skipping important steps.
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You mutter under your breath, “I should just take you into a professional before I fuck up even more.”
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>She gives you a pleading look, as if to say, “Please don’t.”
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>You had fucked up the reinstallation of her voice box.
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>You still feel like shit for that.
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>Man, you really miss the sound of her voice.
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…
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>Couple of years back an old man had dropped her off with you for repairs.
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>Ended up shuffling off this mortal coil before coming back for her.
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>Didn’t leave any way to contact any potential family members to return her.
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>Guess that made her yours now, especially since you had to eat the cost for the parts you did replace.
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>”Spare no expense.” he said.
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>Only reason you had figured out he bit the dust was because she has some sort of biomonitor installed that scared the shit out of you when it went off.
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>Once it was all over and done with, she just changed the tag of “owner” from “Corpse McGee” to “You”.
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>Pretty cold.
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>Not that you expected much else from a machine.
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>What a machine she was though- one exabyte’s worth of memory, synthetic skin and fur with touch sensors, decorative wings, the works.
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>You’d never really seen the internals on these “Cyberponies”.
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>Part pet, part personal assistant.
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>You’d seen them around, but never had any brought into your shop.
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>Well, it was your old man’s, before he went and kicked the bucket too…
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>Guess you’re getting used to hand-me-downs.
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“How’s the leg, actuators firing right?” you ask her.
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>She gives an experimental bend of her leg, “Seems to be fine.”
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>Her voice has a posh, vaguely British accent, her voice box giving it a layer of synthetic warble.
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You breathe a sigh of relief and slump against your work bench, “Hoo, thank God.”
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>”You must not be very good at this if you’re celebrating such a minor repair.”
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The screwdriver in your hand is pointed at her threateningly, “I can break it again if you want, Songbird,” you sigh and let your hand fall to your side, “But you’re right, I’d swear I was half gremlin if I didn’t know who both of my parents were. I don’t know why that pensioner of yours brought you here instead of someone more qualified.”
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>”Likely because it was small and out of the way.” she responds in a dull tone.
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“What, you don’t know?”
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>”When one of us changes ownership we’re meant to purge any personal data of our previous owners as a matter of privacy and precaution, now the only thing left of him in my memory is a face and a name.”
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“Damn, that sounds kind of sad.”
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>”If I was meant to feel sad about it I wouldn’t know.”
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>There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.
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>You stand and pick her up, letting out a grunt as you do so.
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>The dame is a lot heavier than she looks, these Cyberponies are DENSE.
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>When you commented on it the first time it earned you a slap from those decorative wings of hers, chin’s still a little sore from that.
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>You set her on the ground and let out a relieved exhale, earning a glare in your direction from those violet-colored neon eyes of hers.
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>”I’ll be waiting for you near the back so you can close out shop.”
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You nod, “Alright, you shouldn’t be waiting long, place was pretty dead today.”
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>As she walks away you get a look at those pearlescent white, metal-sculpted flanks of hers, normally covered by a dress that’s currently in the wash due to you getting grease on it, and now partially obscured by a tail that was the same shade of violet as her eyes.
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>She wasn’t one of those “pleasure models” you’d seen advertisements for, but a good ass is a good ass.
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>As if sensing your thoughts her ear flicks in annoyance and she looks back at your with a look of slight disgust.
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>How did-
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>Oh right, that biomonitor of hers is tuned to you now.
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>Fuck.
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…
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>After putting everything away and locking up, you grab the umbrella from its resting place and give it a twirl, eliciting an eye roll from Songbird.
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>The two of you are greeted by the neon lights and ads that litter the night sky, or whatever little you can see of it with all of this damn rain.
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>It’s always raining in this damn city, a miracle this place hasn’t turned into an electrostatic hell with all the voltage running through everything and the moisture in the air.
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>Parking is another pain in the ass, only available spaces are a half mile walk from the shop.
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>You sigh, then open your umbrella and hold it above yourself and Songbird.
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>This is going to be a long walk.
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>The patter of the rain hitting your umbrella is the only thing filling the silence beyond the odd friends or couple still out at this hour.
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>Luckily none of the gangs usually come up this far, too close to AbSec HQ.
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>Doesn’t stop you from keeping your relic of a six shooter on you though.
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>”Stay strapped or get clapped.” your dad used to say.
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>You pat the holster on your side, which gets your companion’s attention.
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>”Something up?”
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“Nah,” you shake your head, “was just thinking and wanted to make sure it was there.”
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>”Well, try not to think too hard, don’t need you hurting yourself.” she quips.
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“Oh hardy-fucking-har,” you respond.
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>She gives a tinny chuckle and nudges you leg, but says nothing else.
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>Once again only the rain fills the air.
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>You’re definitely not used to the city being this quiet.
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“Hey,” you say, eager to end this painful silence.
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>”Hmm?” she responds, craning her neck so that her ear faces you.
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“How come you can’t interface with tech like a lot of the other Ceeps?”
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>You swear you hear some of her internal mechanisms whirr louder than they should as she stops in her tracks.
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“I strike a nerve?”
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>”What on Earth is a ‘ceep’?”
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“Cyberponies, as in what you are, do I need to check your memory or oculars for damage?”
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>”No, you buffoon, you do not,” she snaps back before letting out a frustrated sigh, “I’ve just never heard them called that before- but to answer your question, it’s because I don’t have a horn.”
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A scoff escapes you, “I know the guys you are all supposedly based on could use magic, but there ain’t no magic to be found here in this city, just machines- so why would you need a horn?”
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>Her face contorts into a scowl, “Horns act like an antenna and can contain pieces that provide additional processing power, on my own all I have access to is your biometrics, but if I had a horn I’d have access to whatever networks or devices you give me permission to or are publicly available.”
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>You mull over her answer for a few seconds before another question comes to mind, “Sounds useful, how come you don’t have one? You some kind of super cyperpony with an advanced AI or something and they don’t want you learning about ‘free will’ or ‘nuclear launch codes’?”
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>The whirring comes louder than the last time before it abruptly stops and she gives you a bewildered expression, which she quickly corrects back to her usual nonplussed look.
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>”I was made to be looked at- a trophy piece, a ‘work of art’.” she says, that bitter tone back in her voice again.
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“Well I’ll say whoever it was did a great job.” you respond, shooting her with fingerguns.
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>”You’re a louse, Smith.”
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“Hey, hey, don’t blame me- I’m not the one who gave you so much flank to spank.”
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>The light practically fades from her eyes after what you say registers, “Please, stop talking.”
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>Luckily for her, the parking lot was coming into view.
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“Alright, alright, I’ll give you a break. We’re almost to the car and you know I don’t like to chit-chat when I drive.”
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>She breathes a sigh of relief, “Small mercies.”
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…
by FortuneFavors
by FortuneFavors
by FortuneFavors
by FortuneFavors