Be still. Calm those ticks and fidgets. Those behaviours that mark you as people and not a thing. My body becomes a statue, a cul de sac in the uncanny valley and I might be ready. Taking a job always feels like a betrayal of my birth... working for the greediest and best connected organics the void has to offer. Though at least I'm no longer the product. Just my services. Which is somehow better? The synaptic recording of a deep breath helps. Time to go.
My hooves click softly on the quaint stone path leading to Myrzh Brellick's home. My servos grind in annoyance. A nobody human, labouring in obscurity for SymbioTech on this backwater planetoid. My courtesy minders supply the information I need, an oily slick at the back of my mind. I knock softly on the door. Some oddly specific quirk of culture that it be only three times. The door cracks open to reveal his owlishly blinking face. In the unmodified baritone that belies my heritage, "Excuse me sir. I am here for Mr. Brellick" His eyes flick down to my optic and without a word, he nods and turns, mumbling something tired and indistinct, but beckoning me to follow.
I do, speculatively watching the obvious signs of stress. Hunched posture. Tension in the back. Bags on the bags under his eyes when I saw his face. This is a man who desperately needs to relax or get a prefrontal lobotomy. Maybe both. And who's to say that I can't have a touch of fun while I'm here. Bundles of sensory fiber lance from my shoulders at nerve clusters in his neck while my courtesy minders wail at me. Fine, fine. We'll do this the nice way. My sensory net probes the tense lines of shoulders and back, efficiently poking and using mild electrical stimulus to smooth away any discomfort, "You must take better care of yourself sir. Your work is too important. That is why SymbioTech sent me"
He stiffens and jerks, turning to face me with alarm, "There must be some kind of mistake. I don't work for SymbioTech... Now I must ask that you leave." Damn. I hate it when my targets have a few brain cells to rub together. Brellick is still leery of admitting anything. Even to what he sees as an object. Smart of him. More sensory strands reach out. It's child's play, really, to paralyze a human without even leaving a mark. Sensitive bunches of fiber reach past his eyes, treasing gently into the brain, where I can feel the delightful fizzing pop of frantic synapses. His panic tastes a little tart and sour. Lemons and claustrophobia.
My first goal is simple. Triggering a large release of norepinephrine, melatonin and a handful of other chemicals lulls him into a more malleable state. Cradling Brellick's head in my hands, I probe a little deeper, skimming the currents of his frontal lobe to try and interpret all those little connections frantically babbling away to each other. His flavour is a little more muted now. Soft warmth and a touch of sweet as those calming chemicals do their work.
Ha! There it is. A bunch of metallic secrets. Hardened resolve at the importance of work. Finding meaning in creating arcane strands of boutique genes. Aaaaand, hello beautiful. Theres the sequence I've been sent to collect, locked away in this fleshy grey lump. The rest is perfunctory. A few choice jabs and jolts, to blur the memory of his most recent project and to turn this evening into a blank spot on his mental canvas. Tomorrow he'll wake, little the worse for wear after the most relaxing sleep he's had in years and a troubling fuzziness that refuses to go away. And I get mine. So long Brellick.
To: FindersKeeper
From: [redacted]
Subject: Job Well Done
You'll find your usual payment delivered in full.
Good work as always and your discretion is appreciated.
Not having to cover up a dissapearance makes this whole exchange much more palatable.
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Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - by kilosilvey - 01-20-2018, 05:41 PM
RE: Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - by kilosilvey - 11-28-2018, 02:41 AM