Neither dark nor light existed. Sophy could not see. Her wrists and ankles rubbed against cold metal restraints. Ice filled her veins as she became aware that she was naked, her skin cold and prickling.
"Hello?" She flinched at the sound of her own voice. It seemed to stop flat right in front of her as if stopped by some unseen force. It was quiet, and it became apparent to her that she was in something.
Sophy squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide. Her eyes would not adjust to the darkness. She could move her head left and right, but when she tried to look up, a restraint held her head down.
"Hello!" She yelled. Her voice reverberated against the material in front of her. "Hello! Somebody!"
Her heart began to drum. She squirmed about, her skin pressing hard against the restraints. They would not give or wane against her force. Trapped, she gave up.
In the void, she could not see, could not hear anything but her own voice. The only indication that she was lying down was that her long hair was falling to her side. She could feel metal pressed against her back, but only when she moved. How long, she thought, had she been lying here for her skin to be accustomed to the metal?
The pounding of her heart now steadily played in her head. Where was she and how did she get here? All she could remember was going to bed. That was it.
This must be a dream, she thought. Sleep paralysis. She hoped that with enough concentration she could wake herself. Closing her eyes, she counted down from ten. On one, she would tell herself to wake up.
... four...
... three...
... two...
... one...
Her heart rate jumped into the low hundreds with a heavy drumbeat. Faced with the realization that this nightmare was no dream, she writhed and fought against her restraints. "Help! Please! Someone let me out!"
The restraints tightened, Sophy yelped. "Oh, God! Someone! Please!"
Sophy's struggle was interrupted by a metallic whirling, like the sound of a power drill. Something underneath her was moving, machines positioned themselves.
*Initializing, please stand by,* a robotic female voice chimed from the outside, its voice muffled through the thick metal. *Initiating Nerve Splicing Routine.*
"What's going on? Can anyone hear me?" Sophy cried out. "Please! Someone let me out!"
Her heart raced with a machinegun rhythm. She bucked against the tight restraints refusing to believe it to be futile.
There was a prick at the back of her neck. A sharp pinch, like the jab of a needle. Sophy groaned with a wretched cry as she felt something slither up through the inside of her neck. She cringed with horror; She could feel it, feel every inch of it creeping inside her. Like a tiny tendril, it crept along her spine and up to the base of her skull.
*Phase One complete. Initializing Phase Two.*
"Help! Someone for the love of God please help!"
A sudden internal snap, like the flipping of a switch, every nerve in her body cried out in unimaginable pain. She screamed in excruciating agony. Pins and needles, hot brands digging deep into every pore. The instant onslaught of hellish torment seemed to last forever, every second nothing but pain.
Then it stopped. The pain subsided as though it had never occurred, only to be replaced with a steady buzz of pleasure. Her body hummed with indescribable ecstasy. She felt as though she was floating in the clouds, her mind adrift in constant, blissful mindlessness. The bliss stopped. Like the pain before it, it vanished as suddenly as it came. She felt nothing -- nothing at all. Her body and mind were without feeling, without emotion. Blank.
The whiplash left Sophy confused. Logically, she knew something was wrong. She should not be feeling such acute sensations. She knew that, given the circumstances, she should be panicking. She was only concerned in a logical sense, as though it were a math problem.
*Phase Two complete,* the robotic voice said, *Initiating Neural Reformatting.*
As Sophy contemplated her lack of emotional response, she began to find it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts seem to be hushed, as though being drowned against a current; whisked away into oblivion only to be replaced by an empty void. The voice in her head left, and so, too, did her subconscious. Her senses were muted. She was aware, but not cognitive. She lied perfectly still, unthinking, unfeeling, her mind was as soulless and empty as the space between the stars.
*Neural Reformatting Complete. Please Select Format.*
Standing on the outside of the chamber, Dr. Angela Havel stood over top of the control panel. She reviewed the order form. She punched in the code and inserted her key. Turning her key and hitting the start button, a chime sounded, and a green light flashed from above the coffin-sized pod.
*Format Selected. Initializing, please stand by.*
The timer showed thirty minutes. She sipped her coffee and went on to the next pod. The subject inside was undergoing its Neural Splicing, which was automated. Good, Dr. Havel thought, by the time the first subject is finished she'll be too busy with it to handle the second. She'll let her intern deal with it. For now, she was going to make a trip to the break room. After handling fourteen subjects today, she thought she deserved it.
When she returned, the neural formatting procedure was finished. Last one of the day, she reminded herself, just need to tough it out. She checked the order form; she was to perform the same procedures she had done to every subject they pull through here, but there was a special note at the bottom of the form. It was written in pen, the black stroke faded from being photocopied. The subject was to be picked up today, the note said, by the buyer.
That was a first. Most customers preferred to wait for a few days so they could make sure the press wouldn't send out their watchdogs. Dr. Havel would rather not face whoever it was wanting to spend so much money on--
She caught herself. She had to stop that; she knew better than to allow her morals to get in the way of her job. The money was too good, and the benefits to die for. That, and she knew what she was getting into when she signed the dotted line.
With the tap of a button, the compressed air of the sealed pod hissed free. The lid rose with a mechanical whine. Once the top was open, the pod rose to a standing angle to allow the subject to step out.
Dr. Havel did a quick visual inspection of the subject. It looked healthy, no visible wounds. It was completely bald, the machine worked to remove the hair on its head. Its ankles and wrists were red from having struggled against its restraints -- nothing to worry about.
She retrieved her penlight from her coat pocket. She shined the light into her subject's unblinking, soulless eyes, strobing the light until she saw the eyes twitch and blink to the overwhelming stimulus.
"Can you hear me?" Dr. Havel said loud and clear once she was certain the subject was awake.
The subject's eyes slowly moved about at first, then, with confusion, her eyes flickered all about.
"Can you hear me?"
The subject then looked at Dr. Havel, life showing from behind its pale green eyes. "Yes."
"Can you raise your hands, please," Dr. Havel ordered.
The subject did what it was told and raised both of her hands out in front of her.
"Good. Now, slowly, step out of the pod."
Hesitantly, the subject took a small step out of the pod, its naked feet wincing from the cold ceramic floor. It stepped out further, cautiously, and finally stood out of the pod. It showed no signs of curiosity, that was good. Most subjects don't, but if they do, they must be reformatted a second time.
From a glass cabinet in the corner of the large room, Dr. Havel retrieved a neural collar. The collar was small and lightweight, easy to remove for undressing and bathing. Top of the line, it never needed to be recharged and had a functional range of one hundred miles should the signal not be blocked. She stepped behind the subject and found the small micro-socket in the back of its neck. She aligned the small receiver with it and with a snap she braced the tight collar around the subject's neck.
Dr. Havel retrieved a remote control from her pocket, dialed in the connection to the collar and hit the necessary programming buttons. Then, she tested it. First, pain. The subject cried out, as its entire body cringed with pain. Then, relaxation. The subject's body went limp, shoulders rolling back.
"How do you feel?" Dr. Havel asked, her voice monotone.
"Good," the subject replied.
"Do you know your name?"
"I am Doll 0304"
Dr. Havel nodded. She hit the button to return Doll 0304 to a blank state. "Great, now let's get you dressed."
The two walked together down a short hallway to the dressing room. The room was large, with chairs and mirrors strung about. The attire was kept in neat rows of garment bags hung along the walls; each bag contained identical outfits tailored in size to their respective subjects. Dr. Havel ordered the subject to stay put while she retrieved its outfit.
"Here," Dr. Havel laid the garment bag on a chair and unzipped it. She held the jet-black latex clothing in her hand, feeling how smooth it was, how it reflected the light. It was almost mesmerizing. Dr. Havel sighed, setting the outfit down for a moment to take the neural collar off the subject. Once the collar was off, she ordered Doll 0304 to get dressed.
It didn't take long for the subject to dawn the clothing. Her abilities and skills were still present, the neural reformatting was made precise through years of experimentation to only affect emotions, memories, and metacognition. With the neural collar off, Doll 0304, like all the dolls processed in the lab, was aware and cognitive but in a blank lobotomized state. For her emotions, she relied on the neural collar.
Doll 0304's conditioning began the moment she slipped into the black latex. After dawning the three-holed hood, the ensemble was complete. Dr. Havel attached the collar, and with the remote she dialed in a conditioning stimulus.
"I want you to examine yourself in the mirror," Dr. Havel said in a clinical tone.
Doll 0304 did as it was told. Its eyes roamed about the body that stood opposite of her in the mirror. Covered in head to toe with black, glossy latex, the only visible skin was at the slits for her eyes and lips. The latex was tight, conforming to every inch of her body with a sleek tautness.
Its lips parted in a silent gasp as tingles shot down its spine. Every inch of it was made to be leered at, to be desired. The gloss of the latex drew the eyes in -- commanding one's gaze. The latex gleamed and reflected under the lights like oil on metal.
