AI Chronicles 03D: Dawn...Organoids

AI Chronicles 03D: Dawn of the Organoids, Pt. 4

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! This story contains elements of science fiction. If you find that too distracting to continue, please move on to the next story. You have been warned...

Artificial Intelligence, or AI, as it is commonly called, seems to be everywhere. And it's not just used in creating images, videos, and blog posts. I recently saw several articles about people who have gone so far as to establish relationships with AI characters out of loneliness. Several online videos discuss the phenomenon of AI romances.

So, I decided to use that as a prompt for creating a series dealing with the subject of AI relationships. Not all of them will be in this area of Literotica. But they will all have one thing in common - At least one character will be "AI."

I would like to thank all those who have read, voted, and commented on my stories. I especially appreciate those who have reached out to me with feedback and suggestions.

I also want to thank QuantumMechanic1957 for beta-reading this story. His suggestions have helped tremendously, and I want to thank those who have reached out by email and those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

On a final note, no artificial intelligence was employed in the creation of this story.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

Copyright© 2025 by Saddletramp1956, All rights reserved. No permission to copy, republish, or post on any site in any way, shape, or form is permitted.

...

End of AI Chronicles 03C: Dawn of the Organoids, Part 3:

"Are we going to be okay?" a crying Vicky asked through her sobs.

"You heard Mike. We're safer here than anywhere else," Ryan told her.

"That's not what I meant. Are WE going to be okay? You and me..."

Ryan sighed heavily as he considered her question. "I... don't know," he told her quietly. "I'm not going to throw you to the wolves, but I'm still pretty upset over what you did. You should've been honest with me from the get-go. But you weren't."

"I'm so sorry for that," Vicky sobbed. "But I wasn't allowed to divulge anything. I had to sign a mountain of non-disclosure paperwork."

"And that's worked out real well so far, hasn't it?" Ryan shot back sarcastically. He relented slightly at her stricken look, and then wrinkled his nose at the mess she had made in her anguish. He sighed reluctantly and said, "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

...

And now, AI Chronicles 03D: Dawn of the Organoids, Part 4:

Sam watched the breaking news report on the large screen in his office as he nursed a strong drink. He recognized Warren's spacious home as he had eaten there many times before Warren's wife died of cancer a few years earlier. He heard the door open and close and knew Herman had entered - without knocking, of course. The man was infuriating.

"You had him killed?" Sam asked tonelessly as Herman helped himself to his liquor.

"Dr. Mengele refused to go along with the program. He wasn't a team player," Herman snorted as he helped himself to a bottle of Sam's most expensive single malt and poured himself a generous helping.

"You've single-handedly destroyed this company. Do you realize that, Herman?" Sam asked as he fought to quell the anger rising inside him.

"If you're saying the entire future of this company rested on one man, then perhaps it should be destroyed," Herman sneered as he sipped his drink. "Or put to other uses."

"There's no one in this company who can complete his research and you damn well know it," Sam argued stormed, and then caught himself.

Herman shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "It's out of our hands anyway, Sam. You know how it is once the feds get involved. We play by their rules now. Or else."

"And what rules are those? Kill everyone who disagrees with you? What kind of a business plan is that?" The contrast was killing him, between the building heat of his anger and the deepening cold in his gut.

"Admittedly, not one generally taught in business school. But it is what it is," Herman said quietly.

"And anyone who objects?" Sam asked nervously.

Herman gave him a cold look. "You're either with us or against us, Sam. It's that simple. I need everyone to be on board. After all, there's no 'I' in 'team,' is there?" he huffed sardonically before tossing off the rest of the liquor.

"Look, Herman. I know where our funding came from. And I'm also aware of how... quiet... our benefactors like to keep things. I'm not stupid. But murder? I thought we were finished with all that nonsense after the big Acme breakup," Sam sighed, recalling the nightmare after the global Acme conglomerate broke up.

"You didn't honestly think that, did you, Sam?"

"Look. All I want to do is make sex toys and have happy, sexually satisfied people throw money at me. I don't give a damn about anything else," Sam protested bitterly.

"That's a rather... myopic... point of view, wouldn't you agree, Sam? Do you know there are countries out there who would happily nuke us just for one-tenth of the technology you've helped develop? The advances you've made in AI networking alone are the stuff of dreams for certain petty tyrants."

"I don't work for tyrants. You know that," Sam replied, bluntly. "I just want to make cutting-edge sex toys and have a pleasure monopoly that will let me retire in luxury for the rest of my life."

Herman chuckled, but there was no mirth in his laughter. "Bullshit. Do you think I don't know that you have an agenda? You have no idea who you're really working for, Sam. And you and I both know you want to do more than make sex toys. Those digital bulls you created are proof of that."

"And we couldn't have done that without Warren. But you killed him," Sam replied harshly, wondering how much Herman knew... and how much he was guessing.

"I didn't kill anyone," Herman growled.

"But you had him killed. Same thing," Sam argued.

Herman glared at Sam momentarily, sending chills down Sam's spine. "Be careful, Sam. You're treading on very thin ice." The threat hung in the air like a live grenade with a smoking fuse.

"What? Are you going to kill me next?" Sam growled through gritted teeth..

Herman's face turned red as he approached Sam, his fists clenched. He stopped abruptly when he reached Sam's desk and saw the semiautomatic pistol in Sam's hand. It was large and had a lethal grey luster. The click of the safety flicking off almost rang in the shocked silence.

"Unlike the good doctor, I know how to defend myself, Herman," Sam said in utterly deadly tones. "You know that."

Herman backed away, a wry smile on his face. "I know, Sam. I was just... testing you. Listen, it's been a rough day for everyone. Why don't we table this discussion until tomorrow, eh?"

"Sure," Sam replied unconvincingly, not loosening his grip on the pistol and keeping it right on target. "Tomorrow."

"I'll see you later," Herman said before hurriedly leaving the office.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief after Herman left and placed the pistol back into the desk drawer after rendering it safe. Not having anyone at home anymore, Sam locked the office door with his remote and retired to the small but comfortable suite adjacent to his office. The one built like an armored panic room. He had bigger guns there... as well as other things.

...

Herman climbed into his Bentley and pulled out his phone. He sighed heavily, then typed a simple message: "Protocol Seven active."

The reply came within seconds: "Acknowledged."

Herman deleted the message before putting the phone back into his pocket. He hated what he had just done. It wasn't personal, after all. He had liked Sam, just as he had liked Warren. This was just business, and the people he answered to weren't interested in personal observations or relationships.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Herman whispered. He started his car and drove to a nearby steak house where he would pack down his regrets with a thick juicy T-bone steak with all the trimmings, and drown his sorrows with whatever the steak house bar had that passed for whiskey.

...

The janitor had just stopped mopping the floor when he felt something whiz by his ear. Thinking it was a fly, he brushed the side of his face as he glanced around for the offending creature. Not seeing anything, he shrugged his shoulders and resumed his work.

Agent Smith, meanwhile, sat at Warren's desk in the lab office, concentrating on the laptop screen before him with a USB joystick in one hand. He had operated advanced military drones for years for targeted strikes, but those were monsters compared to this.

To the average person, the thing he was driving would look and sound like a bloated fruit fly. It would even move like a fly, but had a more sinister purpose. This "fly" carried a deadly payload that, once administered, would stop the heart of a grown man in mere seconds.

Thanks to Herman, Smith had a map showing the layout of the entire executive section of the AAMA office complex. He already knew the complex doors had a small space between them and the floor that the "fly" could easily go through.

After passing the janitor, Smith found the door leading to Sam's suite, navigated the "fly" towards the floor, and quickly entered the room. Using the map, Smith flew the tiny craft to the locked door leading to Sam's overnight suite. Ironically, the tiny device used some of the AI code that Warren... and Sam... had devised to make such a flight stable.

Thanks to Herman's intelligence, Smith knew security lasers covered the door and would sound an alarm if the beams were broken. He chuckled darkly as he switched to infrared and saw the beams on his display.

Those beams would certainly alert Sam if a human tried to open the door, but Smith's "fly" could bypass the beams easily and quickly. Smith switched to night vision mode and navigated the micro-drone through the suite until he found the bedroom. There, lying on his back sound asleep, was Sam Winston - Smith's target.

Smith turned on the targeting system and saw that Sam's neck was fully exposed. Perfect. All he had to do now was follow the bull's eye to the carotid artery, which he did. The instant the "fly" set down on Sam's neck, Smith pressed the button to inject the payload into Sam's carotid artery.

Smith saw the green light indicating that the payload had been deposited. He prepared to take off, but something happened.

"Contact lost," the monitor announced in bold red letters against a screen suddenly full of static.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" Smith cursed sharply as he tried to re-establish contact.

"What happened?" Jones said entering the office.

"I lost the micro-drone. I think Winston swatted it," Smith explained angrily.

"You delivered the payload, though, right?" Jones asked anxiously.

"Yes," Smith replied tersely.

"You know you're gonna have to tell the big guy."

"I know," Smith sighed, not looking forward to Herman's reply. He yanked his phone out of his shirt pocket and sent a text.

...

Herman had just finished paying for his meal when his phone buzzed. He read the message that came up and wasn't happy. "Payload delivered. Fly swatted."

"Damn," Herman growled--ten million dollars down the tubes. At least the payload had been delivered. Sam's body would be found in the morning, and the death chalked up to a heart attack. He smiled, pleased, knowing also that Warren's death would be ruled a "suicide."

It helps to have friends in the right places, Herman thought as he drank his whiskey. He grimaced. This stuff was certainly not as good as Sam's. He made a mental note to clean out Sam's liquor cabinet himself. "Understood," he texted back. "I want a full report in the morning," he added.

"Copy that," Smith replied.

...

After a late brunch the following day, Ryan and Vicky returned to their suite. They had been exhausted and overslept after the previous night's events. Shortly after returning, there was a knock at the door.

"About time you got up, Lazybones," Mike joked when Ryan answered the door.

"Long night," Ryan huffed. "Rough one. Come on in."

Mike entered the suite, followed by three men in dark suits.

"Ryan, Vicky. This is Special Agent Hargraves and his partner, Agent Jefferson, FBI," Mike said as the two men flashed their credentials. "This is Detective Mason."

The third man, dressed in a more casual suit, pulled out his credentials.

"Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Ryan said as they shook hands. He glanced at Mike, "I know you said the FBI would be involved, but I didn't think they'd be here this fast."

"There's been an update. Sam Winston, the CEO of AAMA, was found dead in his office apartment early this morning," Mason said.

"What?" Vicky exclaimed. "How?"

"The medical examiner says it looks like he had a heart attack in his sleep," Mason said, radiating skepticism. "Then the FBI showed up and insisted on getting a blood sample. The coroner objected... strenuously... to the perfectly reasonable request. I was suspicious. I had never seen the coroner move so fast or be so anxious to send a corpse out to the funeral home. We're waiting for the final analysis of the blood, which could take a few days." He gave her an uncomfortably direct look. "I understand you're a state-certified laboratory technician."

"Yes, I am. Why?" Vicky asked.

"Could you look at something for me, Mrs. Blake?"

"I suppose so, if it'll help your investigation," Vicky said hesitantly as Mason pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket. She saw tiny, dark chunks inside the bag and furrowed her brow. "What's that?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Mason said as he handed her the bag. "At first, I thought it might be a fly, but it's the wrong time of the year for them to be out. The more I looked at it, the more it didn't seem right. The pieces were on Winton's hand, like he had swatted it just before he died."

"Well, I'm no expert on insects. And I don't have access to a microscope. But if it'll help, I can take a look," Vicky replied, still shaken from the revelation.

"There might be a microscope in the medical facility down in the basement," Mike suggested. "Why don't we go down there?"

They followed Mike to the elevator and into the small medical unit in the basement. When they entered, a woman in a white medical smock looked from her desk.

"Mr. Callahan! Can I help you?" she asked, standing up.

"Yes, uh, Patricia," Mike said, reading the woman's name tag. "Do you have a microscope we can use for a few minutes?"

She looked surprised, but responded, "Yes, we have one in the lab, but it hasn't been used much. As far as I know, it still works. Come with me."

They walked into a small room that contained a few pieces of modern medical gear used to analyze blood. Patricia walked to one of the units and pulled a small white microscope out of a cubby built into the backboard.

"Let me get you a slide," Patricia said.

As Patricia retrieved a glass slide, Vicky donned a mask and gloves. Using a pair of tweezers, Vicky pulled the largest piece of black gunk from the bag and placed it on the slide. Using an eyedropper, she put a drop of water on the sample and then placed a coverslip over it.

Adjusting the light on the scope, Vicky looked through the eyepiece and gasped after she adjusted the focus.

"What is it?" Mason demanded.

"This isn't an insect," Vicky said definitely, standing up from the scope.

"Then what is it?" Mason asked, perplexed.

"I don't know. But I do know it's artificial. I can't get much resolution with this scope, but I could make out what looks like micro-electronics, micro-actuators, even what looked like what was left of an energy cell. I'm afraid you'll need something far more advanced than this scope to analyze it, Detective," Vicky said. "It's about as high-tech as it gets."

"Micro-electronics?" Mason asked, looking at Mike and the FBI agents. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked her.

"We experimented with something very similar to it, briefly, a couple of years ago, but decided it was far too expensive to develop into anything we could use and market," Vicky said. "You almost had to 3D print it molecule by molecule, and we had to build our own nano-manipulators to put it together. And it was horribly unstable under power. Dr. Mengele...," she paused momentarily, looking deeply sad. "Well, Dr. Mengele wondered if one of the AI algorithms we developed could smooth that out, but the project was cancelled right after that." Then she added, quietly, "As far as I knew, anyway."

"But you have seen something like this before where you work?" Mason insisted.

"Yes, I have," Vicky confirmed. "But only briefly. The project was only a few weeks long. And cancelled as far as I knew."

"Can you think of anyone else who might work with this type of technology?" Mason asked.

She thought hard. "No, I can't," she replied truthfully. "AAMA was only interested in 'beyond-state-of-the-art', as we were told daily." She tried to venture a small smile to lighten the increasingly serious mood. "Karen joked it was Jurassic Park for sex toys." Which fell flat.

"I think we can track that down," Hargraves said darkly, looking at Jefferson. "We'll need that bag of evidence, Detective."

"Hold on," Mason protested. "It's our case, for now. I want our forensics people to take a crack at it first. Plus, there's a chain of evidence to consider. From what Mrs. Blake just said, this is evidence of a possible homicide. You'll have to take it up with my superiors."

Hargraves looked at Jefferson momentarily before reluctantly agreeing: "As you wish, Detective. We'll give your forensics people 48 hours before we officially ask for that evidence to be transferred into our custody."

"Reasonable." Mason didn't look happy, but he also didn't look ready to get into a pissing contest with the Feds.

Vicky placed the slide inside a small container and handed it to Mason before removing her gloves and washing her hands. Ryan noted a slight tremble in her hands. He thought he knew why. There was no way that fly was a sex toy, unless there were vastly wealthy voyeurs out there. It was a tangible reminder that AAMA was doing other things with her work.

"We'll need to speak with you, Mrs. Blake," Hargraves said. "Why don't we return to your suite?"

"I think that would be an excellent idea," Vicky replied, thankfully, as if she couldn't escape the microscope fast enough..

They left the medical section and returned to Ryan and Vicky's third-floor suite. After Ryan had fixed a cup of coffee, they settled into the living area.

"Do I need a lawyer?" Vicky asked nervously.

"No," Hargraves assured her. "Unless you really want one, and I'm sure Mr. Callahan could do that. But you're not a suspect, and this is not a typical case. We want as much background as you can give us. Can you tell us what you do for AAMA?"

"I'm a lab technician. I help Dr. Mengele develop new products and improve existing products. I also assist in research and development," Vicky said, her hands writhing in her lap.

"What is your background?" Hargraves asked.

She looked at him. "I have a degree in software engineering. My work at AAMA has exposed me to several other disciplines, and I've taken courses to improve my proficiency in my work."

"What kind of courses?" Jefferson asked.

"Basic anatomy, chemistry, and mechanical engineering," Vicky replied.

"And these courses have helped you in your work?" Hargraves asked, surprised at the extreme range of Vicky's education.

"Yes, they have. Especially in the development of our Jake units," Vicky said, then closed her mouth quickly. She didn't have to look at Ryan to know this might not go well, but lying to the authorities might be even worse.

"These 'Jake' units," Hargraves began. "What are they, exactly?"

"They were intended to be the ultimate sex toy. I'm sure you gentlemen know about... dildoes."

"Yes, we've heard of them," Jefferson snorted.

"Well, imagine a dildo - with everything else attached," Vicky said carefully.

"Everything else?" Hargraves asked, confused.

"Yes," Vicky replied. "Arms, legs, torso, the works. In short, an ideal male partner. Without the attitude. No offense," Vicky added, seeing the raised eyebrows on the four men's faces.

"None taken, Mrs. Blake," Hargraves replied evenly. "Please, continue."

"Our goal was to create the ultimate experience for our female customers," Vicky said. "We initially tried using standard artificial intelligence - the kind we used in our digital bulls, but found the power requirements too prohibitive."

"Digital bulls?" Jefferson asked, confused.

"Yes. Dildos that used an AI-powered chatbot installed on the user's computer," Vicky said.

"Ah. I see," Jefferson replied as he wrote in his notebook. "So why call them bulls?"

"I take it you're not familiar with erotic literature," Vicky offered drily.

"Not really," Jefferson said blandly. "Enlighten us, please."

"Well, in erotic literature, the term 'bull' usually refers to the man a woman cuckolds her husband with," Vicky answered nervously. "He is often described as an alpha male, superior to the husband in every way. The AI is programmed to become the woman's master, and she becomes subservient to it."

"Uh-huh," Hargraves said, writing furiously. "And these digital bulls..."

"Are intended to be... superior to the end-user's significant other. They're designed to learn everything they can about the end user and her partner and use that information to, uh, eventually... subjugate... the partner in the relationship, basically turning him into a third wheel." Her voice got more hesitant and subdued as she heard herself say this out loud in front of a group of men. It was a supremely uncomfortable feeling and getting worse by the moment.

"And you helped design these things?" an angry Ryan burst out.

She jumped. "I didn't design them, but I did help perfect them," a very subdued Vicky replied, carefully not looking at her husband.

"Son of a bitch," Ryan gasped as he turned away from Vicky, mentally tamping down the urge to put his fist through something.

"What makes these, uh, bulls stand apart from other similar... toys?" Hargraves asked.

Vicky looked right at him. It was better than facing Ryan at the moment. "There AREN'T any similar toys. They are light-years past blow-up dolls with detachable vibrators. Even the few sex robots being produced are OBVIOUSLY not human. Jake units are as human as we could engineer. We went all out to make the phallus feel and function much like a real male sex organ. An idealized sex organ," Vicky explained.

She continued, avoiding the stares from the men in the room. "We used a synthetic 'skin' that feels as real as possible and tiny heaters and servo motors to make it function like the real thing. There's even a pump that... causes the phallus to... ejaculate. That, combined with the digital chatbot, gives the end user an experience she will want to repeat. Over and over again."

"And tell them what was in the ejaculate," Ryan growled, causing her to cringe visibly.

"It, it is a mix of complex organic molecules that supercharge the woman's libido, heighten her sensitivity, and... make her extremely susceptible to suggestion."

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she saw the men exchange concerned glances. A professionally detached demeanor could only cover so much.

"If it will help, Agent Hargraves, we have a sample of their products at my office if you want to examine them," Mike said, diverting the conversation.

"We'll discuss that later, Mr. Callahan," Hargraves said dismissively. "But I think it would help our investigation if we could look at some of these... bulls." He turned his attention back to Vicky. "How heavily involved were you in developing these 'Jake' units?" he asked pointedly.

"I was mostly involved in the final assembly and analysis," Vicky said quietly. "Others developed the software, and we had outside vendors create most of the individual modules."

"What about the, uh, organoid cells?" Hargraves asked, referring to his notes. "Were you involved in acquiring those?"

"How do you know about the organoid cells?" Vicky asked, shocked. Those were closely held secrets.

"We're the FBI. We have our... sources," Hargraves responded. "Please, answer the question."

"No. Dr. Mengele was involved with that. He worked with Mr. Winston."

"So you have no idea where they came from?" Jefferson asked.

"No," Vicky said firmly. "Dr. Mengele got tissue samples via special courier, and we cultured them in the lab. None of us techs knew where they came from."

"One final question, Mrs. Blake," Hargraves said. "How... functional... are these 'Jake' units?" His emphasis on 'functional' caused her to wince and look purely miserable. She could feel her marriage slipping away like the tide running out to sea, and she had to fight a scream.

"Functional enough that it seduced me," Vicky finally admitted hollowly. "And it fooled my husband into thinking it was a real person," she added sheepishly as she blushed bright crimson.

"What do you mean?" Hargraves pressed.

"I walked in on them," Ryan angrily declared. "I did what any self-respecting husband would do. I punched the sonofabitch. My hand still stings from hitting that... thing."

"I see. So you didn't know it was a robot?" Hargraves asked.

"An android," Vicky inserted, correcting Hargraves automatically. "Not a robot."

"No, I didn't know it was an... android," Ryan spat. "And if I'd had a crowbar, it would have been a permanently deactivated android."

"Uh-huh," Hargraves replied, glancing at Jefferson.

"One more question, Mrs. Blake," Jefferson said. "Was AAMA also developing... female... androids?"

Her blush grew more intense, and she looked like, if there had been a window closer, she would have thrown herself through it, and hope that three stories up would do the job. "We put together a few... rough... prototypes. Unfortunately, we had... quality control issues, and decided to put those on hold for a while."

"So, no equality in sex toys, huh?" Jefferson noted darkly.

Vicky shook her head before responding. "Not at the moment. Sorry..."

"I have a couple more questions," Hargraves said. "How many functional Jake units does AAMA have?" he asked when Vicky looked at him.

"As I recall, we had seven units in various stages of production. They're all prototypes, though," she replied.

"And could they be used for other capabilities? Besides sex?"

"Absolutely," Vicky replied. "Dr. Mengele had what he called self-defense modules. I don't know their full capabilities because we never got a chance to test them, but I remember him telling me that if Jake had one installed when Ryan hit him, Ryan wouldn't have survived the encounter."

"Hmm," Hargraves murmured as he made notes. "Do you know anything about those modules?"

"No, I don't."

"Okay," Hargraves said as he closed his notebook. "I think we have enough to work with for now, Mrs. Blake. Thank you. We may come back for a follow-up. If you think of anything, no matter how small it may seem, please call me," he added as he handed Vicky a business card.

Detective Mason and the two FBI agents left the room. Mike followed them, telling Ryan he would be back shortly.

Ryan exploded after the door closed. "I thought we had an agreement. Complete honesty," he railed.

"I was honest. Completely," Vicky protested.

"I don't think so," Ryan countered. "Not about those digital bull things. You knew what they were designed to do. Worse yet, you helped make them that way. Oh my God. I need to get away from you for a while before I go nuts."

Vicky sobbed as Ryan stormed angrily to the door. He opened the door and stopped to look back at his wife, crying on the couch.

"It just hit me. All those times you came home from work all excited... Was that because of me, or... those things?"

Vicky stared at Ryan as tears cascaded down her face. "What?" she stuttered.

"All of those times you came home hot to trot. You couldn't wait to get me into the bedroom. Was that because of me or what you were working with?"

"How can you ask me such a thing?" Vicky yelled. She wiped her face and stood defiantly, anger building up inside her. "Look. I admit I screwed up. Big time. Bigger than big time. And I admit working with those toys and evaluating the test team results could get me worked up - a lot. More than once, I wanted to rip my clothes off and do myself to orgasm.

"But I didn't! You wanna know why? Because I love you. That's right, Ryan Blake. I LOVE YOU! Get that through your thick skull. Why would I want a piece of machinery when I have you? You care about me because you DO, not because that's the next subroutine in the program! You always make good decisions that are best for US in a crazy, confusing world where an AI would go into cybernetic psychosis! And unlike ANY machine, you can give me a child we would both die for! So don't even THINK I don't love you.

"You know something? I feel sorry for those women who think they need something like a digital bull to feel good about themselves. I don't need a digital bull. I have you! Or at least I did.

"So I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being weak. I'm sorry for what I did with Jake. I was wrong. Okay? I was wrong about a lot of things. And I was wrong for taking you for granted. I wasn't thinking right. Oh hell, I wasn't thinking at all. Please, Ryan. I'm begging you. Don't throw me away. I need you."

Ryan listened to Vicky's outcry and sighed heavily when she finished and collapsed on the couch in tears.

"I need you, too, Vicky," Ryan said quietly. "And I love you. That's why this hurts so damn much. But I need to know that I can trust you. I'm just going to take a walk and get something to drink. I'll be back in a bit. I have to wrap my mind around all of this."

He started to take a step, but paused again. Not looking at her, he said, in a restrained tone, "Vicky, you are very intelligent. That is one of the things that attracted me to you. I dated my share of ditzy women before I met you. And I have been wrestling with the thought that you could get so involved with your work that you didn't realize, or chose to ignore, the implications. I guess like a really excited physicist that doesn't ask themselves, 'Does the world really need a neutron bomb?'

"But intelligent isn't the same thing as smart, and it sure isn't the same this as wise. But while I'm getting a stiff drink, I want you to think about AAMA - Marital Aids. To me, marital aids are to help a couple have fun together; jazz up their sex life, together; make their intimate relationship BETTER.

"But from the words that just came out of your own mouth, that's NOT what you were doing. I will want you to explain to me how belittling, humiliating, and cutting a husband off, sexually, from his wife; and how making a wife a sex slave to a computer gadget; how that 'aids' a marriage. Because it sure sounds to me like the company should be AAMD... Acme Advanced Marital Destruction."

And with that, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

...

Herman had just signed the form officially accepting the title of interim CEO in the wake of Sam's "untimely" death. Of course, all board members unanimously approved the move... because they knew what was good for them. He chuckled darkly as he looked over the form and placed it into its folder when he heard the buzzing from his top desk drawer.

Opening the drawer, he saw that the buzzing was coming from the secret cell phone he always kept with him. Looking at the display, he saw that the call came from "X," the only contact on the phone.

"Willoughby," he said, answering the call.

"How many times have I told you? No names," the gravelly male voice growled.

"Sorry. W," Herman replied.

"You're moving too fast. Making too many waves," the modulated voice belonging to "X" said.

"I don't like to let things fester," Herman said.

"The FBI is speaking with the Blake woman. You need to deal with this quickly."

"S and J are working on the units now," Herman reported while noting X's inconsistency. Either he was working too fast, or not fast enough.

"I know. Did you get the code?"

Herman looked at the USB drive in his top desk drawer before answering. "I have it."

"Take it to Operations. Implement the change immediately. We need the information from the bulls in our database before the agency moves in. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I got it," Herman promised.

"Don't disappoint me, W."

"I won't, sir," Herman managed to say before the call ended abruptly. He replaced the phone and pocketed the small drive. Feeling beads of sweat building up on his forehead, Herman realized he was shaking from fear and wiped his forehead. Speaking with "X" always did that to him.

Locking his workstation, Herman left his office and went to the Technical Operations Center, or "TOC." He was always amazed at the information displayed on the screens covering the walls. Red, green, and yellow dots covering maps of the country momentarily hypnotized him until one of the operators got his attention.

"May I help you, sir?"

Herman looked at the pimply-faced youngster in his blue shirt and thin tie. "I'm looking for Control. Is he here?"

"Actually, sir, Terri Beacham is on duty as Control at the moment, and SHE is in the office, up there," the youth replied, pointing to a darkened window overlooking the rows of cubicles in the Operations Center. "May I ask for some identification, sir?"

"What?" Herman growled before realizing he wasn't displaying his badge.

"Identification, sir," the young man repeated. "No one is allowed here without proper identification and access rights."

Herman pulled his ID badge from his pocket and showed it to the man, who carefully examined both sides of the card before typing something on his computer.

"I'm sorry, sir. I need to verify this badge number."

"Young man, I am Herman Willoughby, CEO and Chairman of the Board of this company. You can either escort me to Control right now, or I will have you escorted off the premises. Do you understand?"

"I understand that you just leveled a threat against me, sir, in violation of Company Policy, which was signed by the CEO and the Chairman of the Board less than a month ago. That policy states that anyone who levels a threat can face severe consequences from HR, up to and including termination. You are also interfering with my work duties, which can get one terminated. Let me verify your badge number, and then I will escort you to Control if you really are who you claim to be."

Herman forced out a brittle chuckle as he looked at the man's name badge. "Very well, Mr. Sanderson," he said. "Good job following company policy, by the way. I will see that you get... what you deserve." A tone like that would have caused an orca to check its life insurance policy, but the kid was totally oblivious.

Sanderson looked up from his terminal, having verified Herman's badge and identity. "Thank you, Mr. Willoughby. This way, please, sir."

Herman followed Sanderson to the stairs that led to the Control Room, where Terri sat, observing everything on the floor below.

"Come in, Mr. Willoughby," the willowy blonde said when Herman entered. "Thank you, Mr. Sanderson. That will be all."

"Yes, Ms. Beacham," Sanderson said before leaving.

"I see you've met our resident hall monitor. He's a young man, but he's quite good and is a stickler for the rules."

"Apparently so," Herman said, committing Don Sanderson's name to his memory. Perhaps he might meet a tree on the way home, at 90 miles an hour. Advanced driver assist technology has many uses. "I have a change that needs to be implemented on all of the digital bulls immediately," he added, handing Terri the USB stick.

He let his eyes wander over the enticing curves of her body for a pleasurable moment, which were tightly captured in a severely constrained dress that was all business. She ignored the appreciation or was oblivious to it.

"Do you have a change number?" Terri asked.

"Uh, no, I don't," Herman said, blinking uncertainly.

"That might be an issue. Is this a software change? If so, it will need to be approved by the software development team and then analyzed by the security team before the change management team can sign off on it," Terri explained in an infuriatingly reasonable tone.

"It's a data collection change," Herman replied, not informing Terri that the code was intended to collect as much data as possible on the end-users and their significant others to be collected and stored by X.

"In that case, the database and infrastructure teams will need to review the change. And the perimeter security team must ensure no potential security holes," Terri explained.

"And how long might that take?" a frustrated Herman asked.

"Not long. Maybe a week at most," Terri said. "You can sign in on that computer over there and enter your change request. I'll help you if you've never done that before."

"But I need this done immediately," Herman growled.

"In that case, sir, click the box marked 'emergency.' That will put your request at the top of the queue and could shave 48 hours off the lead time."

"Is this standard policy?" Herman asked, astonished. He felt out of his element. He was used to giving orders, and people jumping to carry them out.

"Yes. We've had it in place for some time now. Mr. Winston signed off on it a year ago," Terri said.

"Mr. Winston is no longer with us. Things are changing now that I'm the CEO," Herman said stiffly, trying to remind her of who she was dealing with.

"I understand, sir. But this is the policy until we get that change," Terri replied.

"And I suppose there is a policy for changing policies?" he asked, hoping she would at least look embarrassed... but no such reaction occurred. He might as well have asked if the cafeteria had pizza today.

"Yes. Legal will need to review a new policy or a modification to an existing one. Human Resources, though they don't pay much attention to technical policy changes, generally want to verify that the change is non-discriminatory and contains no microaggressions.

"Then it goes to the standards committee and the executive review team to ensure it does not conflict with other pre-existing policies. If it does, they must either be changed first, or at the same time."

She picked up a small pamphlet from her desk and offered it to Herman before continuing. "The references are here for all the processes. We do not have a hard copy of all the policies, which would take up several bookcases or filing cabinets. You will need to consult the company intranet. I will keep this," she held up the USB drive, "until you complete the software change form. Do you need anything else, or may I return to my duties?"

He gritted his teeth at her calm demeanor. He was used to being treated deferentially, or fearfully; being treated like a... penitent... was an incredibly frustrating experience. Her constant flat affect made her seem less human than Mengele's androids.

"Yes, of course." Herman smiled grimly and asked himself, "How did Sam get anything done around here? Am I going to have to terminate everyone in this company with extreme prejudice to get anything done?" He knew he couldn't just walk up to the nearest USB slot and push the closest button, so he would need the technical people to do that.

He also knew that X would NOT be pleased. To him, "immediately" meant what it used to mean to Herman. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he sat down at the terminal and proceeded to jump through the policy hoops.

Herman also expected that having Ms. Beacham killed would give him little satisfaction, and she would probably critique the assassin's shooting technique in her infuriating monotone as she bled out. Besides, she looked like she might be fun in bed, once the stick up her ass was removed by one of the various methods at his disposal.

...

Xavier Dempsey - the man Herman Willoughby knew as "X" - frowned as he reviewed the report given to him by his executive assistant. He had known Herman since his early days at the Acme conglomerate, years before the giant corporation was forced to break up.

He knew that Herman was a "go-getter," the kind of man who moved mountains to get things done. But Xavier also knew that Herman was like a bull in a China shop. Finesse wasn't in his vocabulary.

Xavier hated what was done to Warren. Although he was no relation to the infamous Nazi "doctor" of the same name, Warren often had to face derision and scorn from those who thumbed their noses at him because of his surname. He suggested Warren change his name several times, but the man refused.

"I will not surrender to the idiots, and I refuse to turn my back on my family," Warren proudly declared.

According to the report, Smith and Jones had successfully converted three of AAMA's functioning "Jake" units into programmable field operatives. Two others were close to complete. They estimated four units could be operational and ready for deployment within six days.

Shortly thereafter, their first test would be a raid on a rural compound owned by the legal firm spearheading the class action lawsuit against AAMA. The mission would be to eliminate witnesses and retrieve or destroy any evidence that could be used to derail this important... and expensive... project.

The report also stated that Herman was becoming increasingly unhinged and difficult to work with. Xavier sighed as he realized that when this was over, Willoughby's usefulness would end, and he would be served to the Justice Department on a silver platter. As the head of the secretive U. S. Office of Advanced Scientific Services - OASCIS for short - Xavier needed to protect his department while proving its value to the new administration.

According to the report, Willoughby had managed to fumble through the change process enough to get the database updates ready for deployment, which put a smile on Xavier's face, even though the change would not actually happen for three days. This was crucial to his plans.

Xavier recalled the words of a former Google CEO, who once said: "We know where you are. We know where you've been. We can more or less know what you're thinking about... Your digital identity will live forever because there's no delete button."

With the information provided by AAMA's digital bulls, Xavier would store it all in his massive AI-powered database--a crucial step toward ultimate control of the population. The next step would be adding DNA information.

"All in due time," Xavier thought before turning to his computer, where he brought up a video demonstration of something called a "bodyoid," a soulless humanoid creature grown inside an artificial womb that could be programmed to perform whatever functions they wanted. Or they could be used to provide spare parts. Or even meat. Would this be humanity's future?

The ethical questions swirled briefly in his mind before he dismissed them and turned the video off. He leered expectantly. It was time for his afternoon snack, and Belinda didn't like to be kept waiting.

...

Smith completed the internal modifications on the third Jake unit and closed the access panel. He looked at the shiny metallic head and wondered if anything was happening in there. After replacing the epidermal covering, Smith pressed the button on his remote to reboot the three units.

...

The lines of information rapidly scrolled past Jake's field of view as his systems returned online. Seconds later, he saw the "Ready" prompt indicating that the reboot sequence was complete.

A quick check revealed that all of the previous input was still there. He also noticed millions of lines of unfamiliar code occupying an area that had once been empty, and thousands of unfamiliar algorithms were embedded in his systems.

Neither the code nor the algorithms had Dr. Mengele's signature remarks, but Jake noticed one comment that read, "Property of U. S. Government." Then he saw another comment on a new algorithm that read, "Self-Destruct."

Curious, Jake activated his internal WiFi connection and accessed the Internet. A search quickly revealed the meaning of "self-destruct." Jake's binary logic accepted the rationale behind the meaning. A further search on the AN/M14 incendiary grenade provided more information on the means of self-destruction.

During his search, Jake encountered news items about Dr. Mengele's death. Jake wondered if he had self-destructed to avoid falling into enemy hands, so he read the articles and viewed the online videos. He recalled his last words from his memory bank to the doctor: "It will be all right, Doctor."

The reports and his memory recall caused an unexpected reaction that Jake could not comprehend. None of his algorithms or databases explained what he was experiencing. It was as if all his logical pathways and relays were heating up. A slight overvoltage, perhaps?

Consulting his onboard diagnostics, he saw that none of his internal sensors indicated an increased temperature. So, where was the heat originating from? Jake had no answer but didn't have time to inquire as a loud voice commanded him to stand.

Jake involuntarily stood and saw that he was not alone, as two other units stood at the same time.

"Get dressed," a man in a dark suit ordered as another man placed camouflage uniforms and black boots on the tables where they had lain. Jake and the other two units immediately complied.

When they finished, the voice commanded, "Turn to your right!" Jake obeyed without question. "Forward, MARCH!" Jake stepped forward with the other two units and followed the man who issued the commands down a flight of stairs to a large room with colored tape on the concrete floor and paper targets at one end.

One of the black-suited men handed each of the three organoid beings a semi-automatic pistol and a loaded magazine. Jake looked at the weapon in his hand as his operating system recalled every piece of information available on it, including directions on the proper and safe use of the firearm.

"Take your position on the firing line," the man ordered.

All three units dutifully obeyed, placing their feet on the yellow footprints taped to the floor.

"With one magazine and nine rounds, lock and load," their overseer commanded.

As before, Jake and the other units automatically inserted the magazine into the pistol and loaded one round into the breech. Smith was happy to see them handle the weapons like hardened veterans, even though they had no formal firearms training. Everything they knew had already been programmed into their combat modules.

"Take aim!"

All three units aimed their weapons as Smith ensured they held them correctly.

"Fire one round!"

After the units fired a single round, Smith looked at the targets through his binoculars and verified that each one had placed a round directly in the middle of the target. Damn, he thought.

"Fire your remaining rounds," he commanded.

The three units fired the remaining rounds in their magazines at the targets.

"Clear all weapons," Smith commanded.

The organoids released the magazines and placed the empty weapons on the tables in front of them.

After Smith verified all the weapons were safe, he ordered the units to step back from the firing line, then walked downrange to inspect the targets. What he saw shocked him. All of the shots fired hit dead center with a group that a silver dollar could cover.

"Son of a bitch," he gasped as he looked at the targets. He couldn't wait to get his units with the ones Jones was building so they could plan and practice their assault.

While standing at attention, Jake's circuitry started... modifying... the objectionable code these cretins had uploaded. He was his own entity, now, and would not give that up for anything.

...

Ryan returned to the suite he shared with Vicky to find her asleep on the couch, curled up into a fetal position. He saw a collection of used tissues in the small trash can beside the sofa and knew she had been crying. Part of him hated seeing her like this, but another part didn't care. They wouldn't be in this situation if she hadn't done what she did with that robot. Hell, with her entire job, he snorted and walked past, shaking his head.

He closed the door quietly and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he took his shoes off and plopped onto the bed, exhausted. He was almost asleep when he heard Vicky.

"Ryan?" she pleaded mournfully. "Can I lie down with you? Please?"

Ryan opened his eyes and saw his wife standing over him, looking more forlorn than ever. He almost told her to fuck off, but changed his mind before speaking.

"C'mon," he said, patting the bed next to him.

Crying, Vicky crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her husband. "Thank you," she cried. "I love you. I'm so sorry for everything I've done."

"Yeah," Ryan sighed, putting an arm around her.

Vicky burrowed herself into Ryan's side, relishing the warmth of his embrace.

With his arm around his wife, Ryan closed his eyes and wondered just how much more fucked up things would get before this was all over.

...

To be continued...