Diagnostic Test Ch 02 Ai Era

(Author's note: Hello! This is a continuation of my story "Diagnostic Test," so I highly recommend going back and reading that one if you haven't already for the necessary context. Enjoy!)

CONFIDENTIAL - THIS PAGE INTENDED FOR VIEWING SOLELY BY EMPLOYEES OF PLE(AI)SURE INC.

Ple(Ai)sure Inc. Pleasure-Bot™ Database

Entry 128509-39

RECONNAISSANCE EXTRACTION NETWORK V3.3

-Highly realistic model intended for contract work.

-Currently in stock: 1 (ID No. 23489)

The familiar words sat starkly against their bright white background, taunting me with their unwillingness to provide any new information. After reading through the whole entry about a hundred times in the past few days, I had it practically memorized. It was going on a week since I had met Renee- no, since I had performed a diagnostic test on a REN 3.3. I had just been going about my job, pretending like it never happened. The company was doing the same, save for quietly depositing a fairly generous overtime check into my account. The only difference was that now I was constantly plagued by thoughts of Renee- no, damn it, the REN 3.3 bot. So far, forcing myself to think of her as just another bot wasn't really helping, but that didn't stop me from trying.

The worst part was that my thoughts couldn't seem to make up their mind. Sometimes I was angry at her, or angry at myself for getting so attached to a stupid bot. Sometimes I wondered how much of what she had told me was true, if anything at all. Sometimes I just missed her: her hair, her laugh, her body, her smile. I tried to shut down those trains of thought as quickly as possible, but they always seemed to weasel their way back in whenever I let my guard down.

With a sigh, I scrolled randomly through the page, trying to find something that I hadn't read before. I had no idea why I kept coming back to her database entry— there were no pictures, the descriptions were brief and technical, and it mainly focused on her hardware specs— but I just couldn't stop myself. Maybe I was looking for some kind of closure, some random tidbit of information that would magically make the whole situation blissfully disappear from my mind. My eyes caught on a section that I hadn't read before.

-The REN 3.3 is fitted with CamEyes v5.6 from CyBio Inc., providing high-definition optical capture that is streamed and recorded for viewing using CyBio Inc.'s proprietary streaming software VisStream.

Great. I'm sure the corporate fuckheads that had been administering the actual diagnostic test had a big laugh watching me fawn over Renee like a lovesick puppy. At least she'd been honest about that part.

With a frustrated sigh, I closed the tab and checked my watch. Only a few minutes left of my lunch break. I scarfed down half a Nutra-bar and stalked back over to the warehouse for the rest of my shift, thankful that the majority of my thoughts would be occupied by wires and bolts for the next few hours.

Time was moving at a maddeningly slow pace. I had already taken care of most of my tasks for the day, and all of the machines seemed to be miraculously working perfectly for once, so I had nothing to do to distract myself from my own thoughts. I wandered aimlessly around the machinery, looking for something to fix. My meandering took me down an aisle of unusually new and clean-looking machines, something I wasn't used to. Warner stood at the end of the walkway, marking notes on a tablet and watching a couple of guys wheel away an older machine on a dolly.

"What's wrong with that one?" I asked, sidling up to him. He glanced down at me in surprise as I pointed to the retreating backs of the workers. "Does it need repairs? I could take a look at it." He shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine actually," he grumbled, following my line of sight. "Company's just updating a bunch of machines, hooking everything up to a central system." He tapped his fingers absently against the back of the tablet he held. "Beats me why they chose now of all times to do an overhaul, right before the holidays. Busiest time of the year, and if something goes wrong with the new system, the whole damn factory shuts down. Idiots in corporate, man." I nodded in sympathy, watching the same workers bring back a new, sleeker version of the machine they just took away. Secretly though, the idea excited me. An issue like that would cause such absolute chaos that I would barely have time to breathe, let alone think. I was jostled from my thoughts by a melodic jingle followed by a smooth, robotic "hello" as the machine powered on. Warner turned his attention back to me.

"That's why you've got a pretty easy day today, not much to do right now in the transitional period." I couldn't help it, I scoffed at the irony. Of course I'd get a break exactly when I needed something to do. He studied my face, brows slightly furrowed.

"You'll be busy these next few weeks, though, once everything's set up. There's bound to be some problems while we get used to the new tech. Just enjoy your break while you've got it."

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate. "Maybe I could help set up the new machines? Hell, I'll even get you a coffee if you want." His eyes narrowed.

"You feeling ok, Kel?" He asked, a note of concern in his voice. "You've been a little... off these past couple days. I know you've always been a hard worker, but you're starting to sound like a bot." I recoiled involuntarily, but composed myself just as quickly.

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it." I tried to arrange my face into some semblance of a smile. "Just trying to take my mind off some things." He stared at me for another moment, searching for something I wasn't going to let him find. Finally, he shrugged and turned his attention back to his tablet.

"Alright, I won't pry." I silently thanked him for that. "Why don't you check the database and see how many CAndii bots we have in inventory? We may need to up production for the holidays, they're always popular." I stifled a chuckle at my private inside joke. That was definitely something I knew how to do.

"Thanks Warner," I said honestly, grateful for the distraction. "I'll check right now and let you know." He nodded, and I headed back to the computer that I'd been spending most of my time at these past few days.

++++

I marked down the last few numbers I needed from the database. Not only did I find the amount of CAndii bots we had in stock, including their ID numbers and the times they were scheduled for the next few weeks, I did the same thing for a few of our other popular models. Satisfied, I picked up the tablet I was writing notes on and went to close the database tab. My cursor hesitated over the little X for a moment. I was already here... Maybe just one more quick skim...

I typed in the code for a REN 3.3 and hit search. The familiar page that I was waiting for didn't come up. A single line greeted me instead:

ERROR: No bots with this code found

I checked the numbers I entered in confusion. Had I made a typo? They looked right to me. I typed them in again to be sure. Same error. I knew these numbers by heart at this point, and I knew they had worked the last fifty-odd times I'd entered them. My heart started beating a little faster as I pulled up the keyword search page

>REN 3.3

No results found

>Reconnaissance extraction network

No results found

>REN

Did you mean: KarEN 2.01?

I sat back in the chair and stared dumbly at the screen, my confusion slowly morphing into panic. The entry for Renee had been in the database this morning, but now it was gone. Why?

Luckily, I already knew how I could start looking for answers. But first, I had to stop at the synthesizer.

+++

A bright blue neon sign hung above the doors I was standing in front of, the words pulsing faintly:

The Body Shop

. The dull buzzing noise emanating from it was threatening to give me a headache, but I still couldn't bring myself to stop staring at it and enter the shop. I wasn't scared of what was in there- I came here most of the time after work anyway- just of what I might find out.

A hovcar whizzed past, nearly clipping me with its rearview mirror. Asshole, he shouldn't be hovering lower than 6 feet at speeds like that. My trance was broken though, so I took the opportunity to walk into the shop before I could change my mind. A tiny little tinkling noise rang out as I opened the door, followed by the crunching of metal as I swung it further, pushing aside a pile of scrap parts.

"I'll be with you in a minute, you can take a seat!" yelled a loud, semi-lilting voice from somewhere in the back of the shop. I glanced around the cluttered front room. There was a small sofa shoved in between the overflowing shelves of mechanical bits and bobs, but it was piled just as high with bot parts and other unidentifiable bits of metal.

"If I sit down, you're gonna have to pay for my tetanus shot!" I yelled back. "When's the last time you cleaned up out here?"

"Oh, Kel, it's just you! Hell, you sounded like my mother for a second there." Before I could retort, he was yelling again. "Perfect timing, I need your help." I carefully picked my way through the cramped labyrinth of displays and shelves towards the back room, ducking to avoid a leg replacement that was dangling from an overhead rack. The Body Shop may have been the best cyborg and bot repair shop in the city, but nobody could say it was the cleanest.

I stuck my head around the doorway to the back, and my eyes immediately landed on the shock of wild red hair that I knew so well. Crick and I met in trade school and had been best friends ever since. We used to work together at Ple(Ai)sure inc. before he quit to start The Body Shop. Nowadays, I come over every so often to hang out and help with whatever repair he's working on.

Crick was perched on the rolling chair in front of his workbench, hunched over a cyborg arm that he was tinkering with. It took me a second to realize that he was working on his own arm, bent at an odd angle so he could reach the underside of it while it was still attached to his shoulder.

"Why don't you take your arm off when you work on it?" I asked, feeling like I'd already asked that question a hundred times before. "Wouldn't that be a lot easier?" He looked up, his wide, perpetually near-manic eyes crinkled in the mischievous smile that he always seemed to have.

"What if I have to suddenly fend off an intruder? Wouldn't have time to put it on, would I, and this is the only arm that's got any fighting skills!" I conceded a nod, because honestly, I couldn't argue with that.

"Now quit jabbering and get over here Kel-Bells, I'm not paying you to stand there."

"You're not paying me to work, either," I grumbled, but I walked over to the bench anyway. I stopped to pet Crick's big fat dog Ziggy, who was lounging peacefully in his dog bed, tail thumping rhythmically. I straightened up and bent over the work table, trying to understand what was going on in the cluttered mess of wires and tools that surrounded Crick's prosthetic arm.

"What are you even working on?" I asked, unable to piece it together.

"You'll see in a second, I'm almost done." His nimble fingers grabbed two wires and held them together at a connection point. "Hold these for me, will you?" I held the stripped ends of the wires in place while he picked up the soldering iron. We fell into an easy rhythm— the product of working together for so many years— as I helped with all the little adjustments that he couldn't do with one hand. Finally, he soldered one last chip into place, and his mechanical fingers flexed gently.

He picked his arm up off the table and twisted it back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fist to test the joints.

"So, what's the upgrade? I don't see any extra fingers." Crick was constantly inventing random, impractical, and sometimes dangerous add-ons for his bionic arm.

"Now that's a good idea, I'll have to remember that for later. Let me test it and see if it even works." He pointed his arm up, made a finger gun, and clenched his thumb. With a

click

, a small flame erupted from the tip of his finger like it was a lighter. A wicked grin took over his face as he looked back at me with an eyebrow waggle.

"Eh? Not bad, huh?" I nodded appreciatively.

"Wow, that's even more dangerous and impractical than switchblade-thumb was, well done." He unclenched his hand, and the flame sputtered out.

"Surprisingly, stapler-fingers holds the record for most damage caused by an add-on. I think this could give it a run for its money, though." Crick rolled his shoulders and swiveled around his chair to face me.

"Now tell me Kel-Bells, what brings you to my fine establishment on this fine evening? I thought you said you were too busy to come round this week?" I wrung my hands nervously around the neck of the paper bag I was holding. Why the hell was I freaking out so much? I just needed some information. Just because I was curious. No other reason.

"I need you to hack into Ple(Ai)sure's bot database." His brow furrowed, and I noticed that a chunk of the right one had been singed off.

"The company database? That all employees can access at any time? Kel, if you need an excuse to hang out with me, at least make something up about my devilish good looks or operatic singing abilities-"

"No, I know, but I need backend stuff. There's an entry that got deleted and I wanna know..." I trailed off. What did I wanna know? When it got deleted? Why? What it has to do with me and Renee? If Renee is ok?

"Ah, ok," Crick said, nodding his head in understanding. He pushed back from the workbench and spun across the room to the opposite wall, landing in front of a desk stacked haphazardly with monitors and empty wrappers from various Nutra products.

"This is what I love about you, Crick," I said as I walked over to stand behind him, watching as he booted up the computer. All of the screens in the disorganized array lit up, and a few holograms of mechanical diagrams and point clouds shimmered into view. "No questions asked."

He set up whatever magic coding thingy he needed (I was never very good at the software end of things) absentmindedly, barely looking at the screens as he dragged windows back and forth across them, meticulously setting up a workspace that was just as disheveled as his physical one. He turned back to look at me and flashed a grin.

"There are many things to love about me, but that's a good one." He turned back to the screen as he began connecting to the Ple(Ai)sure network. "Although, you know I don't work for free..."

"I know, I know, here it is." I dropped the paper bag I'd been strangling on the desk in front of him. With a delighted laugh, he opened the bag and pulled out a shiny, pink-frosted donut.

"It still baffles me how you can stomach the synthesizer pastries, let alone enjoy them." He took a bite from it, and the frosting crackled in a suspiciously plastic-looking way. "I mean, there's a traditional bakery a block away from the shop!" He moaned and closed his eyes, savoring the bite he was chewing.

"Those fresh-baked donuts just don't have the same...

bite

to them," he said once he swallowed. "I swear to god, that synthesizer in the break room is the only reason I regret leaving that company." A small

ding

sounded from the computer as it finished connecting to the company network, and Crick set the donut down on the paper bag and wiped his hands on his pants.

"Alright, now that payment's been taken care of, let's get down to business." His fingers danced over the keys as he did whatever computer wizardry it took to hack into the database.

"God, you make it look so easy," I whispered in awe, watching line after line of code tumble down the screen.

"It is easy. For me, at least," he said matter of factly. "Now, do you remember the first few numbers of the entry you're looking for? I might be able to find it with a keyword, but-"

"The ID was 128509-39," I said immediately. He turned back to look at me, eyebrows raised.

"Remember what I love about you?" I warned, wagging a finger at him. He threw his hands up and turned back the screen pile.

"I didn't say anything," he singsonged, and I recited the digits again so he could input them into the database. "You've just never been very good at remembering numbers." I fidgeted uncomfortably. He was right, I wasn't, but after staring at Renee's entry for longer than should be considered sane, her ID code had been seared into my brain. Luckily, a log of entries popped up on the screen, saving me from having to explain myself.

"There we go," Crick said, cracking his non-cybernetic knuckles and picking up the donut again. "This look right?" I leaned over his shoulder to read the wall of text spilling over to the screen below it. The formatting was all different since this was a changelog instead of a database page, but the words seemed right. The first couple entries after the initial posting of the page were just minor tweaks, spelling errors and incorrect version numbers. I skimmed through the text until I noticed unfamiliar lines, information I'd never seen before in all the times I read through the entry:

RECONNAISSANCE EXTRACTION NETWORK V3.3

-Highly realistic model intended for contract work.

-[Clearance level 4: Human-adjacent bot equipped with advanced artificial intelligence that is constantly learning and improving. This model is nearly imperceptible from a real human and is intended to be used in intelligence missions, particularly situations where sexuality and emotion can be utilized in order to gather information. Programming specializes in emotional manipulation techniques and non-conspicuous target elimination skills]

-Currently in stock: 1 (ID No. 23489)

My eyes ran over the lines again and again and again until the words swam off the screen and jumbled into gibberish in my brain. This confirmed what I'd been told about Renee, all of it. I'd had no reason to believe that it wasn't like that, that it was all some elaborate misunderstanding and Renee wasn't just manipulating me for some convoluted test of her abilities, but it had never seemed as real as it did in this moment. The worst part was that I'd wasted hours and hours searching for something that had been right there all along, hidden behind a few clearance levels.

I was frozen in place, staring silently at the screen, not really reading anything. Crick noticed, and he turned his attention away from the donut to the screen, quickly skimming the log. His head cocked slightly as he read.

"Wow, the company's making contract bots for government missions and shit now?" He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me. "I always had my suspicions, but I never thought any serious agency would ever want to risk associating with these guys. I guess if they've got the tech- Hey, are you okay Kel?" Crick had turned back and noticed my near catatonic state. He glanced back and forth between my face and the words on the screen a few times.

"Kel, are you in trouble with the government or something?" He asked, swiveling around in his chair to face me. "Look, I know a guy that can get you a whole new identity, I can hack your ID chip and switch everything over-" I pushed back from the desk.

"No! Crick, no, I'm fine, I don't need a new identity." I rubbed absently at the small bump on my wrist where my ID chip was as I paced nervously around the room. "I appreciate it though, and we'll definitely circle back to this guy you apparently know at some point, because... wow." He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a conceding nod. He motioned for me to continue with a wave of his hand.