Paris stretched out before her. La Ville Lumière had never seemed so beautiful to Symmetra, the architect allowing herself a pause to sip on some piping hot masala chai. The glimmering glow, the sights and sounds of the busy Paris metropolis far below even managed to illuminate the apartment she'd rented in the lavish Grand Domaine hotel -- a popular destination for wealthy businessmen.
She laid her chin atop an upturned palm, glancing sideways out of the massive window to her right. Hundreds of people passed by in the street below, tiny dots moving along the busy sidewalks.
"So many people down there," came a thought. That single, lonely realization struck her, rising from her stomach and wrapping its fingers around her throat. Her eyes briefly scanned the vast emptiness surrounding her.The invasive reflections were one of the many reasons why she always drowned herself in work. Keeping her mind occupied helped keep any unpleasant ideas out -- but it also made for a solitary existence. Which of those had come first? She wondered.
She had come to Paris for a scientific convention. Researchers from around the globe had come here to show off their latest inventions and to discuss their most recent findings. Thanks to her relative fame, Symmetra had been sent by the Vishkar Corporation to reveal their newest prototype. The hard-light device had the potential to allow millions of homeless people to find temporary shelter, creating structures seemingly out of thin air. Structures suitable for any of Earth's climates, allowing those less fortunate to find some stability. Paired with the Vishkar Corporation's rehabilitation and mental wellbeing programs, this new technology had the potential to help millions of people, the potential to bring mankind into a better, brighter future. That was how they would market it, anyway. A solution to end poverty.
Reality was otherwise, Symmetra recognized. She had not been sent to Paris as some sort of celebrity scientist. Rather, she knew, they had sent her because she had the biggest pair of tits the corporation had on hand. Sure, she was smart. A hard-light architect unlike any other, she had accrued some amount of fame over the years. But science, actual science, bored investors. A fat pair of knockers like hers would get eyes on the product.
She knew, also, that investors would not be using said product to give shelter to the destitute or for any humanitarian efforts. War was a far more lucrative option and technology like this, if put in the right hands, could help end conflicts or prevent them entirely.
Looking down, Symmetra took a good look at her breasts, those huge melons straining against the soft fabric of her light blue dress. With her prosthetic arm, she reached up, gripping one of the hefty orbs, allowing one finger to circle the tenting nub of her nipple. A soft sigh slid past her lips. Fuck, it had been so long... Need and desire rose within her. These human needs were so distracting, so unnecessary, so chaotic.
The architect glanced sideways to the hard-light prototype she'd been working on, lying on a table next to various plans and schematics. She then glanced at the clock hanging on a nearby wall. Five thirty. More than enough time to work on the prototype before dinner.
With a sigh, Symmetra turned to the table, lit by a single overhanging lamp. The entire room seemed to be richly decorated, not unlike the Château de Versailles but with technology that far exceeded the old constructions beneath. Making her way through the room and to the table where her prototype lay, the woman's long, shapely legs would peek out from the slits aside her garment.
She gently placed her beverage on the table, the teacup touching the marble of the table with a soft cling. Oh, how she wished to be back in India, at home, where things were organized in the way she preferred them. Here, er thoughts, like the room's décor, were too crowded, making it nearly impossible to focus. Looking at those schematics and the gently whirring prototype, no ideas came to mind. No concepts, no ideas on how to improve what was in front of her. It didn't help, either, that she had grown just so fucking horny over the last few days.
Resignedly, she gripped the orb-shaped prototype and rolled up the schematics on the table. Slowly, casually, she crossed the room to the golden safe that had been placed against the wall. Those who could afford this apartment often had things to hide, to protect, it seemed.
Barely had she placed the prototype and accompanying schematics into the safe that the apartment's doorbell rang. Had room service come so early? Without her calling? The dark complexion of her face twisted into a slight frown as she straightened. Another glance at the clock indicated 5:47 PM.
"I'm not even hungry," Symmetra inwardly remarked as her long legs yet again carried her from one end of the apartment to the other.
The door opened and behind it stood a woman in the hotel's uniform, standing behind a cart full of food. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. Votre repas."
It was obvious that this person was not from here, considering the thickness of the accent. Either American or British, if Symmetra had to guess. She spoke very little French, but enough to understand that this person was not a local.
"I understand English," Symmetra said with a polite smile, taking note of the employee's short white hair and red pupils. Was this her natural hair color? Symmetra wondered, for the employee seemed rather young, probably a little over thirty, by her estimates. "I didn't order anything, though. And room service is typically around 6, is it not?" Had she seen this person before? On some sort of wanted poster, perhaps?
The employee's eyes went wide. "Oh, dear Lord, I am so sorry," she said, tugging on her uniform's collar. Her cheeks reddened suddenly with embarrassment. When switching to English, the employee's natural accent surfaced, one that Symmetra could probably identify as from the south of the United States. "If management finds out I've been messin' up orders again, I'll probably get fired. Oh, dear me," the visibly unwell woman explained, visibly distressed by the mix-up.
"Well, you seem to be far from home. Not many Americans work for this hotel." Symmetra noted how the white-haired woman stole a glance at her huge breasts. The architect had not been wearing a bra, and the thick nubs of her nipples were quite erect from her previous self-groping. "Well, accidents do happen. You losing your job for some ridiculous mistake such as this would make me seem like the villain in all this," Symmetra said with a chuckle. "And we both know how corporations get when things don't get in their way. Vishkar would have my head if I tarnished their reputation at an event such as this..."
"Ah, I've been workin' in Paris for a few months. Decided to explore the world, you know, just me and my rusty ole' bike." Her lips curled into the widest of smiles. "Though I'm not too sure how you'll get little old me out of this particular pickle I've gotten myself into. It just keeps happenin', you know."
Symmetra gave the woman another look-over. She seemed honest enough, and with beauty far exceeding any of the other employees she'd interacted with recently. There was no way in hell their bosses would fire either of them for a situation such as this, but the white-haired woman's charm paired with her own loneliness made for a rather flimsy excuse.
"Perhaps, you should come in," suggested the black-haired Symmetra. "I will call the hotel manager and explain the situation. I'll cover your wages for the evening if need be. I'm certain the meal will be rather exquisite, even if a little early."
Symmetra turned sideways, opening the door a little wider to let the employee through with the service trolley.
"Name's Shae, by the way," said the older woman with a genuine smile. "Thanks, darlin'."
