Roommate's X-Mas Present

This erotic story features humanoid robots and/or anthropomorphic (furry) cyborg characters, which have animal characteristics. Sexy robots...do I really need to explain further?

Dear Brian.

"Ugh...sounds gay."

My main man, Brian.

"Hmmm."

Brian, my main man.

"Better, but not quite there."

Brian, buddy.

"Good enough!"

John's pen scribbled away on the note paper, the inky implement embarking eagerly on its grand adventure across the page, with the goal of creating a heartfelt (but not sappy) farewell:

Brian, buddy.

Sorry I can't say goodbye in person, what with the move being on a tight schedule, but I wish you all the best.

You were a kick-ass roomie.

I got you something special as a thank-you, on the super-sweet down-low. Chores won't be such a pain no more. It'll help keep you company too.

So long fuck-face, and Merry Christmas!

John

:-)

"An emoji on paper, that's not right," John thought aloud, reviewing his note.

Eh...fuck it,

his brain said,

you'll be gone soon anyway. Back to roamin' the wide wide world.

"Short and sweet," he muttered, "let's keep it that way."

You got it, me!

Next up was the present. This had John worried. For two reasons. Firstly: because it appeared to be the wrong shape and size for what he was expecting; and secondly: it wasn't strictly...uh...legal. Well...it was entirely illegal, but John thought the nature of his acquisition to be more of a grey area than any so-called 'court' full of so-called 'lawyers' might assert. His gift to Brian came hot off the

dark web

— paid for in the most secure cryptocurrency he could find, a transaction made behind endless layers of network obfuscation. It's country of origin: unknown. But he had been assured (by his less-than-scrupulous business associates) that the purveyor of this exquisite gift was indeed legit, that the item was indeed special.

Special,

they'd said,

because nobody lets anybody into the factories without a tonne of security clearance. Trade secrets doncha know.

Thanks to them he'd been given the leads necessary to track down and acquire one, straight from the source. John almost wished he'd splashed out on a second.

He picked up the nondescript cardboard box from the coffee table and brushed the dusty surface to reveal the faded lettering:

VIXNPSD009911334556

Kontor-Vyamin Manufacturing

Household & Industrial Robotics

Personal Service Droid

PARTS READY FOR TRANSIT, ATTEMPTS BY WORKERS TO DAMAGE OR BY ANY MEANS HARM COMPONENTS/MATERIALS WITHIN WILL BE MET WITH PROSECUTION IN COMPLIANCE WITH LOCAL GOVERNMENT AND LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES, UP TO AND INCLUDING TERMINATION OF EMPLOYEE LIFE-CONTRACTS.

John gazed silently at the blank, featureless package. The words rang out through his head: personal service droid.

Personal...service...droid...

Cool, so where's the rest of it?

He grew worried. This small box couldn't be the whole thing, could it? No way. How is a whole person-sized robot supposed to fit into that shoebox?

Some assembly required I guess,

John harrumphed. He was in no position to complain though, having effectively (read:

literally

, he had an ego to protect after all!) bought stolen technology. Still, once activated it wouldn't seem out-of-place. Droids were a common sight among the wealthy. And Brian was solidly middle-class. With a nice suit and a straight haircut he'd pass for rich no problem.

Stop over-thinking this shit! Stop day-dreaming and focus. Gotta get this set up before I miss my flight!

John had never seen one of these up close, and despite his apprehensions, was excited to 'flip the switch'.

"Ooo-kayy. Let's take a look."

Confusion crossed his mind as he set it back down and twirled the box, putting it in alignment with its 'this way up' label. Too small. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd fucked up. Been scammed. Had some joker absconded with his money, leaving him without a gift for the best friend and college roommate in the world!?

Carefully, he cut the tape, separating the cardboard flaps, allowing him access to his contraband. Inside, the rustling of paper announced a second layer of dead-tree-based packaging. Half-expecting men in suits with handguns and those earpieces with the wiggly cable to barge into his apartment the minute he opened the bloody thing, he tore away the brown paper concealing his order.

No shouts? No gunshots? The door hadn't exploded? Cool, he was freaking out over nothing.

Pull yourself together bud. They have no way to track this.

...

Who's they?

"So this is—" John's words died in his mouth before he finished his sentence. What confronted him was not, as he expected, a folded-up droid. No siree. Not even remotely. "The fuck is this?" he asked himself, getting angry.

Much of the space within was superfluous packaging. Meaning with the already small size of the box the contents were minuscule. A semicircular object with one featureless side; the other dotted with tiny perforations. John reached in and grabbed it, bringing it out of the box for closer examination. Strange. Was this only a piece of a complete droid? Brushing the surface of the device with his thumb he felt the side with those tiny holes. Curious. No instruction manual accompanied the object — likely due to its stolen nature. John had an uneasy feeling this wasn't supposed to be let leave the factory floor.

"What a waste of money. Should've known better."

He tossed it back onto the coffee table, preoccupied with its sunk cost. Several minutes passed with him staring at the device.

I wonder...can it be activated?

Maybe that made sense. Maybe it would expand, become its proper shape.

You can do amazing things with nanotechnology these days,

he recalled.

"What the hell, I've got time before I need to go."

Let's unravel this mystery.

Fiddling with it, John tried his best to find a means of activation. Flipping it over in his palm, smooth side up, he tapped it a few times. Nothing. He frowned and battered the metal surface again for good measure. It glowed...

"Whoa, gettin' somewhere now!"

In his excitement John didn't devote much attention to what the lights meant. They mesmerised him. Thin concentric circles of white-green, changing over time to purple, surrounded his pressing thumb, a pulsing glow emanated from within.

Pretty, very pretty—

"AGH! What the—!?"

Thousands of pin-pricks stabbed him. The device beeped calmly as it drove needles into the flesh of his hand. The object was proving far more dangerous than he'd expected. He winced at the pain. It'd started sharp, but then faded, numbness taking over his hand, spreading from his palm outwards. Now he was worried. John cried out, shaking his arm in an attempt to dislodge the device before it could do any more damage. This had been a mistake. Fuck the droid idea. Brian can get a thank-you card and he'll be happy with it.

Pain. Then nothing. Then calm.

John's worry dissolved. Why? He didn't know. The device had something to do with it. It was injecting him with something...whatever now coursed through his veins, circulating through his body, was dulling the senses.

Drowsiness.

John stumbled back into the centre of the room. His fingers and the entire length of his forearm had lost all feeling, and whatever drugs this thing was pumping into him was slowing his mind and body. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open. It latched on tight, and he lacked the strength to fight it.

Lie down.

"I...

shurre

...should lie down," his words came out slurred.

The emotional suppressants were doing their job. Soon he would be clay in the hands of a master craftsman. His psyche was going to need that suppression to keep his mind from driving him insane upon seeing the results after the device was finished with him.

He could feel his sense of free will shift, becoming blurry and ill-defined. More and more he heard this voice, this...calling, this suggestion...steering him towards obedience. Yes, he would need that too.

More and more he fell into a stupor, nanites flooding his system.

More and more he felt ready for his...

conversion.

* * *

The 'VIXN' model personal service droid awoke, her systems rebooting. Thin eyelids withdrew, revealing a pair of striking ocular sensors. They were enchanting, fabulously ornate — with all the beauty of diamonds as they emitted a soft purple glow, warming the room. Her surroundings were alien. New. Her mind was fuzzy...scrambled. Her body was not yet responding to conscious control. A stream of low-level diagnostics flowed through her mind. She was ready to activate, and eager to serve.

A ringing sound in her head developed. Her biological components were having trouble synchronising with her central processor; her wetware was slow to adapt. No matter, soon she would be operating at peak efficiency, her mind a powerful cyborg computer, a fusion of man and machine. She wondered in her half-awakened state: what gave her that spark cascading through her systems, that special something that blessed her bio-mechanical frame with artificial life? How did her creators fuse metal and flesh in sublime symbiosis to create such a wonder as she? That knowledge was in reach, swirling in the murky mists of her fragmented memory, dancing on the tip of her tongue...until...

Oh, stop day-dreaming and focus on restoring all your faculties!

the little voice in her head chided. She groaned, her mouth creaking open to release the animal sound. Her (

his

) past now relegated to the dark recesses of her mind. Hidden.

The feminine droid lay on the floor — sluggish, scrambled, out-of-sorts. Scraps of disintegrated clothing lay around her. She surveyed the room. A domestic building...one, maybe two occupants...an apartment...this must be the home of her new master. A giggle escaped her synthetic lips as her excitement grew. She had a master. An owner! Gosh, what was he/she like? She hoped she would be able to please him/her.

She hoped she could do her best.

Her best...

...

Who...who was she?

VIX—John—

She'd been pondering, when suddenly that name shot through her. John...who was this John? The name bounced around her synthetic consciousness, spreading like a solitary ripple 'cross the vast waters of her bio-electric brain.

John...

Male name. Unknown origin.

I am not male. I am female.

Type: CANID, species aesthetic: VULPINE...

So why do I think of myself when I think of the name 'John'?

This does not compute! Something must have happened to my circuitry in transit. Stupid human delivery service, they better not have roughed up my finish!

Diagnostics proceeding normally. I have time to solve this puzzle.

As she lay, she mustered the energy to shift her head. Her neck muscles twinged as she moved, the fibrous machinery powering up slowly. She could feel mild pain, and tiredness, at this moment. It wasn't pleasant. She could experience the full range of sapient emotion, and couldn't wait to bring joy to both her and her master through servitude. Emotions. Much like a human. Oh what was she thinking, exactly like a human!

A momentary flash of realisation caused her to stop...

Human.

John.

Then it passed safely into memory.

Silly me! I am not human. I serve humans!

Her body tingled as her recently-installed robotic consciousness reminded her of her true place in the world. She couldn't wait to meet him/her.

Let's find out who this John is, shall we?

Still immobilised, she tried to sit up. Her arms shook as they struggled to support her. Her vision flickered as her systems fought to survive, fought to calibrate themselves with her brand new body. She could feel, and she felt cold. Sad. Pain was in the back of her mind, pain from sometime before. The naked trauma of her transformation became a festering wound, gnawing at her from places unknown. Why did she feel this way? She called forth memories, but they did not answer. Part of her was fighting back, fighting against herself.

Who...I don't understand.

"Who am I?"

Surprise was her next emotion to experience. Her voice had come through loud and clear. Excellent! She was restoring herself. She could speak! Speak!

"Hello, hello, hello," she said, mimicking an echo. Her vocal subsystem adjusted itself to a comfortable pitch and tone. A couple more utterances and she'd settled on a voice.

Mouth, jaw, neck working,

she checked her diagnostic status,

hopefully arms and legs will be next.

The droid was correct. Her limbs recovered quickly. She groaned and pushed her arms out, moving her away from the floor.

Yes! Getting there.

Her legs jerked about, then kicked wildly, before coming under her full control.

"Wooh!"

VIXN-93 — now in good condition — raised herself up. Standing was a little tricky for her, gyros aligning her bio-mechanical frame to achieve balance. Tilting forward, she caught herself by slamming her arms up against the wall. Now leaning, she stretched her legs one at a time, and arced her back, popping joints. Refreshing.

Looking around, she noticed a note on the table near her. John's final words were within her grasp. Freeing an arm to retrieve it she read the piece of paper. It took a couple of tries for her optical character recognition processor to parse the handwriting style, but she got there in the end.

The note was vague, but enough of John was floating around her consciousness to bridge the gap — though she knew not of his true fate.

"Eeee!" she squealed, delighted to discover she was the Christmas gift. Her past was no longer important, she had a future to plan for! She had a job. A purpose.

Wow, John must be such a nice guy to leave me as a present for his friend, that's soooo thoughtful!

I wonder...has he already left...I would like to say 'thank you' too...

She felt alone. Standing without support, VIXN-93 explored her surroundings.

Nobody home,

she realised. Giddy at the prospect of meeting her master soon, she decided to prepare herself. Worried she might screw up, the cybernetic servant decided right there and then to put real effort into making a good first impression. No time to second-guess her abilities.

Lots to do. I need to prepare.

One step forward.

Uh-oh,

she thought,

that doesn't feel right.

One step back, apparently.

"Hurrgh...hmm...hurh—"

She keeled over, knees slamming into the floor as she collapsed back down. Stuck in the same spot she'd awoken, her arms strained as she felt weak again. This time it wasn't paralysis, but nausea.

I feel sick!

Her body was a powerful piece of cybernetic engineering. Muscle fibres melded organic tendon and sinew with mechanical motors. Her skeleton composed of carbon nanotubes grew entwined with the original bone. Where a stomach and digestive system would be sat a biomatter reactor capable of extracting a huge amount of chemical energy from ordinary human food. Every part of her being had been changed by the nanites in the device John had the misfortune of activating. They remained inside her still, flowing through her like blood, under the low-level control of her subconscious. They were almost finished adapting her body to its new role, and would therefore remain a part of her body, regulating it.

Thanks to this change in internal chemistry a nausea response shot through her nervous system.

The droid vomited forcefully, expelling an oily fluid — her transformed stomach clearing itself out in preparation for proper refuelling. She looked on in horror at the expanding puddle of nanite slurry.

Oh God,

she screamed in silence,

I've ruined the carpet!

Panic at having dirtied her new master's home ruled her thoughts. What if he came home right now and saw this? The horror!

Recovering, she drew herself back to full height and took stock of the situation. Step one was cleaning up her own mess. Step two was cleaning the rest of the apartment for her master. Step three was...not known at this point. Possibly cook some food for him.

VIXN-93 strolled out to find the bathroom, the first place she was going to check for cleaning supplies. While there, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

"Whoa."

Her expression of shock did her true feelings no justice. Staring back at her was a machine, a robot, a cybernetic person. Her face, her chest, her limbs...her form was shapely, the embodiment of wild beauty contained in an artificial shell. She had an animal twist to her feminine exterior. A cute fox watched her intently from behind the mirror-glass.

Thankful to have been given this rare and special chance to admire what she'd become, and with her mind preoccupied with her duties, the memory of a person called John was evaporating fast.

Now now, no more dilly-dallying! Time to give this place a clean.

* * *

Brian arrived home to a seemingly-vacant apartment. After closing the door carefully behind him — mindful of the neighbours at this late hour — he removed his coat and stashed his bags beneath the coffee table in the hall. In no time at all he discovered John's note, conspicuously stuck to the mirror above the table. Snatching it from the silver pane, he read what his roommate had written. A chuckle at his friend's sense of humour, and intrigue at what was in store for his 'present', occupied Brian's thoughts.

Shame he had to rush off like this, could've done with a real...y'know...goodbye in person.

John must have cleaned the place up,

Brian surmised after viewing the state of apartment. What he'd seen thus far was spotless, and that warmed his heart. John had always been the slob of the pair. Unkempt. Untidy. Unconcerned with general hygiene or his roommate's opinions thereof. It was a real treat to see him give the place a good tidy before departing. He finished removing his outdoor layers, eager to retire and binge-watch some TV.

Hold on...was that humming?

Yes, it was. Faint, from the far end of the apartment. Someone was humming. In a carefree sing-song fashion...

A woman? It sounded like one. Melodious tones caressed the senses.

"Hello?" he called out, probing the unknown for knowledge of this unexpected guest.

A sound of surprise reached his ears. If Brian didn't know any better he could've sworn he heard someone say 'gosh'. Perhaps this was all in his head. And the long day was getting to him. Fatigue? Does that usually lead to hearing voices?

"Probably nothing," he grumbled.

Brian had been mistaken of course. He realised this mistake while entering the living room to collapse exhausted onto the couch. From out of view he heard approaching footsteps. They hammered a steady, upbeat rhythm on the floorboards.

The

tap-tap-tap

of delicate feet danced their way closer, closer 'till from the other end of the living room

she

emerged. Brian was treated to the sight of a very expensive-looking personal service droid. Clean, presentable, and overjoyed at his presence.

"Greetings," it exclaimed, bouncing on the spot with mirth, "I am VIXN-93, your new cybernetic assistant. Are you pleased with your gift Master Brian?"

"You know my name?"

"Of course! Your dear friend John prepared everything before his departure, including the correct owner registration." She placed her hands on her hips and rested her weight on one leg, striking a proud pose. "Congratulations. A model such as myself is not usually sold to the general public. Your friend must really care for you to jump through the hoops necessary to purchase one of my kind."