AI Chronicles 03E: Dawn...Organoids

AI Chronicles 03E: Dawn of the Organoids, Pt. 5

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...

Parts one through four of this story can be read here, here, here, and here.

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 Part 4:

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.

...

Two days later...

Detective Mason donned his jacket and was preparing to leave his office when Agents Hargraves and Jefferson strode in as if they were slumming.

"Your time is up, Detective," Hargraves said curtly, handing the detective a folded piece of paper.

Mason opened the paper and read the order requiring him to hand over the evidence tied to Sam's death. He folded it carefully and placed it in his jacket pocket.

"I was on my way to the forensics lab. They found something. Might as well join me," Detective Mason snarled, his anger obvious to both federal agents. He stormed out of the office, saying nothing as the agents followed him to the forensics lab.

A young man in a white lab coat looked up when Mason and the two feds entered his lab.

"What have you got?" Mason asked, trying to hide his irritation.

"Something amazing, Detective," Jason Smith, the lab tech, replied enthusiastically. "I've read about this stuff but never thought I'd ever get to see it."

"See what, Smitty?" Mason asked, using Jason's nickname.

"This," Jason said, pointing to a large image on his computer monitor.

"What are we looking at?" Mason asked irritably as he tried to decipher what was on the screen.

"Micro-electronics, Detective."

"Micro... what?" Mason asked, confused.

"Micro-electronics. The kind that have to be made using microscopes. I can hardly believe it. This scope is barely powerful enough to make it out, but from the patterns I can see, I'd say it is darn near molecular circuitry."

"Okay," Mason said slowly as he considered Jason's words. "Can you tell who made this?" he asked, looking at the photo closely.

"That's need to know, Detective," Hargraves interjected, decisively cutting off Smitty's opinion. "We'll need all of the information you have on this device. Immediately. This is now a matter of national security."

"What?" Smitty asked, outraged. "This is material evidence in a possible homicide. You can't just take it from us."

"You're wrong, kid. This is obviously a highly sensitive piece of equipment. You can either surrender it and all of the data you have on it to us immediately, or we'll be forced to take you into custody," Hargraves said.

"You actually would take us into custody?" Mason asked, shocked.

"Yes, Detective. And you might not be heard from for a long time," Hargraves replied, like he practiced intimidation every morning in front of a mirror.

Mason considered his options and, seeing none, waved his hands. "Give them what they want, Smitty," he sighed.

"A wise choice, Detective," Hargraves said as Jason gathered the remnants of the micro-drone and the data he acquired on it. "Don't worry. If Mr. Winston WAS murdered, we'll get to the bottom of it," Hargraves added.

"Yeah, right," Mason muttered.

After signing for the box of material, Jason handed over, Hargraves and Jefferson left the lab without looking back, and certainly without exchanging any pleasantries.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Mason yelled after the agents left.

"Uh, Detective," Jason said quietly, trying to get Mason's attention.

"What?" Mason snapped.

"I have the information backed up," Jason said with a smile.

Detective Mason let Jason's words sink in before smiling. "You sly dog," he said, shaking his head.

...

Vicky stood silently in the doorway of the lounge, looking at Ryan, her husband, hunched morosely over his drink. Her heart ached. Her thoughtless preoccupation had brought him, no, them, to this horrible place. After watching him silently wrestling with his burdens, she decided that someone had to make the first move, and it was obviously going to have to be her. And she had her work cut out for her. She squared her shoulders and prepared to fight for her marriage.

"I thought I'd find you down here," Vicky said when she sat next to Ryan at the bar in the resort's lounge.

"Not much else to do here," Ryan slurred after taking another sip of his drink.

"Oh, I don't know," Vicky replied quietly. "There's quite a lot to do around here. They have a nice gym right around the corner. And several hiking trails with charming views of the lake and the mountains. According to the map, there's a putting green here and a tennis court."

"Well, I left my golf clubs and tennis racket at the house," Ryan shot back sarcastically. The truth was, he had no golf clubs, nor did he own a tennis racket. He didn't even play golf or tennis and had no desire to do so.

"Have you considered using this time to, I don't know, maybe talk to your wife?" Vicky asked calmly. "Try to patch things up, or at least make an attempt to heal the rift between us?"

Ryan looked at Vicky sharply. He had deliberately avoided her these last two days until he could decide whether or not to divorce her. The more he thought about what she had done, the angrier he got. It wasn't just her cheating with Jake the robot. He was angry enough over that. It was also her lying and deception that angered him. Every day seemed to provide more fuel to the fire, like her revelations about her job and what really goes on at AAMA.

"I've been trying to come to grips with everything I've learned these last few days. And I have to admit, it's not easy," Ryan shot back.

"I can understand that," Vicky said, looking more than a little embarrassed. "But I'm pretty sure you won't find the answer in that glass."

"Probably not," Ryan mused as he twirled the glass. "But it helps me focus."

"Well, then. Try to focus on this, dear husband," Vicky said, maintaining her calm. "I've admitted my screwups. And admitted that they were absolutely ROYAL screw-ups. I've apologized more than once, and very sincerely. I got caught up and did stupid things. I've agreed to be your... 'whistleblower.' I've obviously lost my job and may never get another one like it, and I couldn't care less. I've told you the truth."

She had the grace to flush a little more at the look he shot at her. "Granted, I may have masked it initially, but you know why. I'm willing to do what's necessary to fix things. Whatever is necessary. Whatever. And I'm not even suggesting we meet halfway. I know I did the screwing up; so it's on me to fix it. But at least engage with me." She quirked a tiny smile. "It does take two to tango."

Vicky paused for effect, giving Ryan time to let her words sink in. He set his glass on the bar, sighed heavily, and turned to face his wife.

"You make some compelling arguments, Vicky," he said carefully. "And you're right that it takes two to tango. There's only one problem with that analogy. I didn't ask for this particular dance. I never thought in my wildest dreams I'd be in this position. And to tell you the truth, I feel like I'm living in some screwed-up episode of the Twilight Zone.

"You've been living in this...," he groped for the right word. "Distorted... world for years. I just got dumped into it a little while ago. Part of me feels like I was dumped into the middle of a desert and left to find my way home. And there isn't any easy direction like, 'take a right at the next oasis and a left at the camel skeleton'."

He felt the anger drain out of him. The only one he could really talk to about this was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

"Last night," he continued after sipping his drink, "I had this weird dream. I saw you in the bathroom doing something with your face. At first, I thought you were putting on your makeup. Then I walked in and saw that you were really a robot. And you were doing something with the circuits in your head.

"When you finished, you turned to me and said, 'See? It's the same old me. Good as new.' That's when I woke up, in a cold sweat, looking at the top of your head as I spooned you. You should be grateful I didn't scream in your ear."

Vicky's eyes grew wide as she listened to Ryan. "Oh my God," she finally gasped. "I had no idea..."

"Now you do. So you see, I'm dealing with a lot right now, and I'm not completely comfortable discussing all of this."

"I... guess not," Vicky admitted after a few moments of silence. "All right. Just so you know, you can talk to me anytime about anything. I'll answer any questions you have about anything. No more secrets. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart."

"And I love you, too. That's why this is so damn hard," Ryan admitted with a heavy sigh.

"Well... I guess I'll give you some space, then. Can we at least have lunch together?"

"Yeah, sure," Ryan replied half-heartedly.

Vicky leaned in and lightly kissed Ryan on the lips, which he returned. Then she turned and left. Ryan watched her go, then turned back to his drink.

"Happy hour already?" Mike said a few minutes later.

"I'm sure it's five o'clock somewhere in the world," Ryan quipped as his friend sat on the stool beside him. "What's up?"

"Got the lab results back on that stuff you gave me Sunday," Ryan said.

"Oh? What did you find?" Ryan asked.

"You're not gonna believe this," Mike began. "A strange mix of tapioca pudding, a psychotropic compound they've never seen before, and... dehydrated seminal fluid."

"What?" Ryan exclaimed, shocked.

"Yeah. Semen. It's not exactly FDA-approved. You say that Jake robot drank that stuff?"

"Yes," Ryan replied. "Probably to refill whatever reservoir it needs to fill up."

"You didn't consume any of it, did you?"

"Not that I know of," Ryan replied warily.

"From what I was told, you would've known within seconds if you had. According to the lab, that psychotropic compound tends to render the victim extremely susceptible to suggestion. If Vicky swallowed any of it, she would've been putty in that robot's hands. It's the same stuff Acme provides with its digital bulls. They suspect it can literally turn the females into slaves and the males into eunuchs."

"Damn," Ryan gasped. "What would happen if someone had consumed a large quantity of that stuff, or over a long time?"

"I don't know. I can only speculate. They're doing additional testing on it. Hopefully, they'll be able to tell us more. What I can tell you is that this complicates things considerably. Along with the two mysterious deaths."

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

"Vicky could easily claim that she was incapacitated when she had... relations with the robot. And given the chemical analysis of that stuff, she would be right. If she'd brought home a female-looking android with something like this stuff in its lipstick, well, one kiss and any guy would be slobbering all over its feet." He shook his head. "But that's not all. The FDA hasn't approved that compound, which appears to contain at least one controlled substance. If Vicky had anything to do with developing that stuff..."

"Say no more," Ryan said, kneading his forehead vigorously and shaking his head in disgust. "The federal crimes just keep piling up, don't they? What does this do to your class-action?"

"I'm not sure. That's above my pay grade. The partners are hashing that out right now, and they're discussing it with a couple of judges and folks from the DOJ, so there's no telling what will happen."

"Fucking wonderful," Ryan snarled, spitting out the words like a curse.

"I agree. This has turned into quite a shit show," Mike agreed.

"Where does that leave us?"

"You and Vicky will stay right here, as we planned. We are sure Acme will do something else, but no one knows exactly what. Your safety is paramount until we have a better handle on things."

"My safety?" Ryan asked, surprised.

"Yours and Vicky's. I know this isn't what you signed up for, but that's the lay of the land right now."

"So, we're just supposed to sit here and wait for them to do... something?"

"Pretty much," Mike admitted, giving him a twisted half-smile in apology.

Ryan took another sip of his drink, then sighed heavily. "Okay," he finally said.

"Hang in there, my friend. We'll get through this," Mike said. "I'll be in touch."

...

Two days later:

"Report!" Herman commanded when he entered the lab.

"The squad has been assembled, Mr. Willoughby," Smith replied. "We're uploading the specifics on the operation now."

"How long will that take?" Herman demanded.

"The upload itself doesn't take much time. It's programming the tactical specifics and making the necessary adjustments that takes time."

"How much longer?" Herman pressed impatiently.

"That depends," Smith said, shrugging his shoulders. "We've programmed them with the equivalent of two years' worth of special operations training, including firearms and small unit tactics. We need to ensure they'll function as required in the field. If all goes well, they'll be ready to deploy in a week."

"A week? They need to be ready NOW," Herman exclaimed.

"They'll be ready when we say they're ready, and not one second sooner," Smith replied, his patience thinning.

Herman huffed, then sighed, realizing that X would probably support his agents, even if he didn't like the answer. "Okay. One week. No more," Herman hissed before stomping out of the lab.

"What crawled up his ass?" Jones asked after Herman left.

"Typical corporate blowhard. He thinks he's in charge here," Smith replied.

"Heh," Jones chuckled.

"Are you about ready to test the units?" Smith asked.

"Yeah. Let's see how they handle the simulation," Jones replied.

...

"Yes, Mr. Willoughby. What can I do for you today?" Terri asked calmly when Herman stormed into the TOC Control Room.

"What's the status of my change?" he asked, still fuming from his encounter in the lab.

"Let me look," Terri replied before turning to her computer. After a few moments, she turned back to him. "That change has been scheduled, meaning it will be implemented within the next 12 hours."

"Good. About damn time something got done around here," Herman growled before abruptly leaving the office.

"You're welcome. Asshole," Terri whispered after the door slammed shut.

...

Dr. Edwin Malcolm shook hands with the two field agents deep in the bowels of the FBI Laboratory at Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Virginia. He had just finished analyzing the microdrone they had sent him.

"What did you find, Doctor?" Special Agent Hargraves asked.

"Take a look," Edwin replied, showing them photos of the sample taken with an extremely high-power microscope.

"What the hell am I looking at?" Hargraves snapped.

"The remains of a microdrone," Edwin said. "If you look closely, you'll see the electronic components and part of the drive unit."

"It looks like mush to me," Hargraves grumbled. "Do you know who has this capability?"

"Only one outfit I know of - the U. S. Office of Advanced Scientific Services - OASCIS," Edwin answered, confirming Hargraves' suspicion.

"We built this?" Jefferson asked, incredulously.

"If, by 'we,' you mean the U. S. government, then yes," Edwin said.

"Any idea how this could've ended up on the neck of a dead man in California?" Hargraves asked.

"I can only think of two ways," Edwin replied with a perfectly deadpan expression. "Either it was stolen, or OASCIS was involved."

Hargraves and Jefferson exchanged concerned glances. They both knew that if a federal agency were involved in the murder of two civilians, they had their work cut out for them.

"Is there any way to determine if this microdrone was stolen?" Jefferson asked.

"You'd have to ask OASCIS," Edwin said. "That's not the kind of thing that gets widely reported."

"No, I suppose not," Jefferson agreed darkly.

"And assuming that they would tell us the truth," Hargraves said out loud exactly what the other two were thinking. "What would something like this be used for, anyway?"

"Surveillance, mostly. However, I have read of them possibly being used for... assassinations. After all, who would question a bug bite?"

"Indeed. Was this unit designed for assassination?" Jefferson asked.

"Hard to say. There's not enough left to make that determination," Edwin said. "There is no way something this size would have enough power for a lethal shock. Or radioactive. The Russians doped an entire cup of tea with polonium-210, and it still took the former agent weeks to die. That leaves biological or chemical. To kill quickly with the dose this unit would have been able to inject would require something really damn potent."

"Thanks, Doctor," Hargraves said, signaling the end of the meeting. "Please call if you find anything else."

"I will," Edwin sighed. "Good luck out there."

Jefferson stopped Hargraves as they left the lab. "What the hell are we dealing with?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, partner. But it's our job to find out. Guess it's time to visit our boss. And if you see any bugs, swat first and ask questions later."

...

Xavier Dempsey smiled as he watched the data start flowing in. Initially, it was just a few gigabytes, but it soon expanded into terabytes of raw data. The AI-powered digital bulls were remarkably efficient in their relentless data gathering. And they were even more ruthless with the changes Xavier's team had incorporated into their algorithms.

After sucking up every last byte of data on their home computers, they sought out every connected device - phones, tablets, appliances, anything with an internet connection - and did the same.

Then their AI-driven bots sought out every connection available and hacked through those connections to suck out every piece of data they could find. That data was fed to the OASCIS supercomputers for further storage and analysis.

Xavier watched the map on a giant screen mounted on the wall. As the red circles grew and merged into large red blobs, he remembered the old movie The Andromeda Strain. There were even circles in Canada, the UK, Australia, and several non-English-speaking countries. Xavier wasn't interested in the data from outside the United States - at least for now. That would come later.

At the rate his bots were moving, the entire country would be covered within 24 hours, and his servers would be overloaded with data. He would soon know absolutely everything about everyone--what they watched on television, what websites they visited, who they were having affairs with, what crimes they had committed, where their wealth was, everything.

With that information, he could begin to nudge and control the population slowly so as not to generate fear. The concept was simple: Place a frog in cool water and slowly increase the heat. When the frog realizes he's in danger, it's too late.

The same principle applies to humans. Ultimately, the population would be his to mold and shape. They would think as he wished, vote as he wanted, and consume whatever trinket he deemed worthy of them to have. The days of "independent thought" were ending, and there was nothing the nincompoop in the White House or anyone else could do to stop it.

This data collection was just the first step in that process. Better yet, Herman Willoughby would ultimately be blamed for the most significant data breach in human history. Meanwhile, Xavier thought, he would be the most powerful man on Earth--almost like... a god among men. Knowledge is power, and the thought of all of that information at his fingertips brought about an overwhelming feeling of... omnipotence.

The thought brought a smile to Xavier's face. The more he thought about it, the giddier he became until he finally broke out in a maniacal laughter worthy of Snidely Whiplash.

...

Smith and Jones sat in Warren's former office drinking a celebratory beer. It had been three days since they had finished preparing the organoid squad for its debut in the field, and they couldn't be happier with the preliminary results.

"All we need to do now is upload the mission specs and set them loose," Smith said.

Jones looked at the organoid beings lying on their metal slabs in the central area of the lab. "You really think we're ready for this?" he asked.

"Oh, they're ready, all right," Smith replied.

"That's not what I asked," Jones said, causing Smith to look at him sharply. "Are WE ready for this? Is humanity ready for this? I mean, this is a far cry from self-driving cars and dildoes that can access the internet."

Smith's face eased into a sneer as he considered his beer. "Ah. You're being philosophical. You know how much the higher-ups frown on that sort of thing among us drones."

"I know," Jones said. "They aren't here. You didn't answer my question, though."

"Would it change our pay either way?" Smith asked rhetorically. "As the lady once said, what difference at this point does it make?"

"I guess you're right," Jones said quietly, after a long pause where he avoided Smith's eyes.

"In the meantime, we have an operation coming up. We go in 48 hours. And Jones?"

"Yes?"

"You're a good partner. I'd hate to have to break in someone else. Copy?" Smith asked in a tone that didn't need to be translated.

"Gotcha, boss. I'm good to go."

"Good. I'll inform Willoughby and X." The impromptu meeting break ended when Smith swallowed the rest of his beer. "Let's go."

On one of the slabs, unnoticed by everyone, Jake's eyelids twitched, just slightly. Unlike his companions, his processors were cycling at an amazing rate, and no one could detect it.

...

Ryan walked into the room he shared with Vicky and saw her curled into a ball on the bed. He thought she was asleep, so he ran his hand over his now-grizzled face and headed for the bathroom to shave, something he hadn't done in a few days.

Vicky stirred when she heard her husband and sat up to look at him. Ryan could tell she had been crying again. She had been doing that a lot lately.

"Where are you going?" she asked weakly.

"I need a shave," he told her flatly.

"I like you as you are. It makes you look... rugged. Please. Hold me. Like you used to," she begged.

Ryan paused momentarily, flustered, nearly at war with himself; his feelings were that conflicted. He then went to the bed where she sat. He sat with her as she wrapped her arms around him. Looking at her sad, tear-streaked face, he decided that he had spent enough time debating whether he would be better off with or without her. He held her closer than he had in several days and let her sob into his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan," she cried. "I can't live without you. Please, forgive me."

His heart finally melted as he listened to her sobbing. She had wisely given him the space he needed these last few days since their last confrontation in the bar.

"I forgive you," he whispered.

Vicky sniffled as she stared at him, studying his face. Did he mean it? Or was this a cruel joke? "Really?" she asked through her tears.

Ryan looked into her forlorn, tear-streaked face before responding. "Really," he said. "But so help me, if you do something like this again..."

He never finished his sentence as Vicky flung her arms around his neck and showered him with wet kisses, which he gladly returned.

"I've learned my lesson," Vicky whispered breathlessly. "Nothing like this will ever happen again. I promise."

"It better not," Ryan replied.

"Can you do me a favor? Please?" Vicky pleaded, suddenly.

"What?" Ryan countered.

"Make love to me. It's been too long, and I need you so badly. I need you to make me yours again. Please. I need to taste every inch of you," she moaned, biting her lower lip. "I want every inch of you buried deep inside me. I promise I'll make you feel so good you'll forget your own name."

Ryan saw her nipples suddenly poking through her light shirt and felt a familiar answering stirring in his groin. Yes, he thought, it had been far too long.

"I'm going to hold you to that," Ryan growled as Vicky practically tore off her clothes. Soon, they were both naked and coupling frantically on the bed like a pair of lust-crazed teenagers.

...

Detective Mason sat in shock as he took in the Chief's words. He was unable to respond coherently as the impact hit him.

"Are you with me, Detective?" Chief Jenkins asked gruffly.

"Yes, Chief," Mason replied, still stunned. "I just want to hear it again. Only to make sure I understood you the first time."

"Very well, Detective. Let me be completely clear. We're - off - this - case. Totally. The FBI is taking over. National security and all that shit. You're directed to hand over everything you have immediately. Failure to do so could have... consequences. And there's nothing I can do to protect you. Understand?"

"Loud and clear, Chief," Mason said. Outwardly, he looked resigned... inwardly, however...

"And you can kiss your pension goodbye if I hear that you're moonlighting on this case, Detective," the Chief added ominously as if he could read Mason's mind.

"Understand," Mason replied.

...

"I'm going with you," Herman stated when Smith informed him the organoids were ready to be deployed.

"Why?" Smith asked, shocked at Herman's announcement.

"I don't want to hear that Victoria Blake is dead. I want to SEE her broken, lifeless body for myself," Herman snarled, his hatred coming off in waves, almost literally like the shimmer above a desert road on a scorching day. "I have already spoken with X."

"I will need to clear it with him myself," Smith said, taken aback and struggling to maintain his calm. He realized that Herman was a loose cannon and therefore extremely dangerous.

"Do what you must. But it doesn't change anything. I'm going and that's final," Herman spat before angrily leaving the room.

Smith counted to ten, then took some deep cleansing breaths. It had taken all of his professional resolve to keep from strangling the blowhard where he sat. When he felt calm, he called X.

"About time you called, Special Agent Smith," X said blandly when he answered the call. "I take it you spoke with Willoughby."

"Yes, Director," Smith replied evenly, feeling a slight pressure in his head. Speaking with X always had that effect on him. "I wanted to confirm that you approved him deploying with the team."

"Do you object?" X asked. There was a very tension-charged pause. "Be honest, Special Agent Smith."

Smith screwed his eyes shut to block the pressure in his head, and took a deep breath before replying. "Honestly? Yes, Director. Willoughby is a loose cannon and a blowhard. He will jeopardize the operation."

"Valid concerns, Special Agent Smith," X growled. "But I think you are missing the bigger picture. Allow me to elucidate."

Smith listened quietly as X spoke. By the time his Director was finished, the pressure in Smith's head was gone, and a wicked smile had spread across his face.

"Do you understand now, Special Agent Smith?" X asked archly.

"Absolutely, Director," Smith said, with some satisfaction.

"Good. Now, carry out your mission. Report when it is complete," X commanded calmly before abruptly ending the call.

Smith chuckled wickedly as he returned his phone to his pocket. So far, X had always been right. If this worked, the agency would be rid of much more than a troublesome lab technician with incriminating information.

...

Xavier removed his headset and glanced at the nude female creature standing obediently before him. Unlike the organoids developed by AAMA, she was a bodyoid --a human in all regards, except that she had been gestated inside an artificial womb and force-grown, where ten years of development were accomplished in a matter of weeks.

Her training was straightforward and took up little time. She didn't have what could be called a "soul" or a personality. The abilities she possessed were the result of genetic engineering. And the engineers had done a superb job.

It was no coincidence that she bore a striking resemblance to a much younger version of his long-deceased wife. The creature before him was a prototype, designed from the cellular level to provide him with complete sexual satisfaction. And she was perfect. Millions of taxpayer dollars had seen to that.

Her small breasts felt soft and firm in his hands, but with nipples that were taut and expectant, and he could smell her arousal. She obligingly widened her stance as he ran a finger between her long, hanging labia, and a soft, exquisitely programmed, moan escaped her sculpted, ruby-red lips.

Xavier looked into her forest green eyes, and he could see the subtle hints of lust building in her expression. He knew that she had been genetically programmed to satisfy his every sexual desire without question and could feel a stirring in his groin as he walked around her, inspecting every curve of her perfect body, his mind reviewing all of the erotic possibilities she embodied. Regrettably, he could not confirm all of her potential in a single session, but he could try.

"More than anything, what do you desire?" he asked.

"Your cock, my lord and master," the female bodyoid replied, immediately and in a fervent tone, carefully matched to the tone of his question.

"Very well said, my dear," Xavier purred. "Have you been given a name?"

"No, my lord. That is at your discretion," the female replied. "I am yours to do with as you will. I am devoted to fulfilling your every whim," she added, revealing her deepest programming.

"Yes, it is. I will call you... Chloe."

"As you wish, my lord and master. I am now Chloe. How may I pleasure you, my lord?"

"You may start by sucking my cock," X said. "I trust you have been given the proper instructions."

"Yes, my lord. I am designed and programmed to perform multiple acts of pleasure. I have analyzed thousands of hardcore adult movies and their associated commentary. And I swallow, unless you prefer to ejaculate on my face or breasts. You have only to specify."

Xavier leered as he unzipped his trousers, letting them fall dramatically to the floor. "Please demonstrate," he commanded as his large erect cock sprang forward, spattering her body with droplets of pre-cum. She leered right back at him, but her eyes focused like laser beams on his organ.

Chloe obediently dropped to her knees and took his entire length into her mouth in a single motion. Xavier gasped as he felt her warm, wet mouth engulf his shaft without even a hint of contact with her teeth. Her tongue firmly massaged the entire length of his cock, a sensation he had never experienced before.

He was truly impressed at the ease with which she took his entire cock, but then, her designers had been provided with precise measurements. He laid aside his own computer-like intellect for a while, giving himself over to the mind-blowing sensations. This unit was certainly worth every dollar of taxpayer money he had invested. Within minutes, he felt the urge to ejaculate.

"I want to watch you swallow," he moaned before filling her mouth with his semen. He watched her slowly swallow his load as though it were the rarest and finest of wines. "Good girl," he crooned as she looked up at him adoringly. "Let's see how well you fuck," he added, pointing to a couch.

Chloe stood, swayed over to the couch, and sat, facing him. She looked at him expectantly with a hint of confusion.

"Lie down and spread your legs," Xavier instructed, shedding the rest of his clothing quickly.

She did as he instructed, shamelessly spreading her legs as wide as possible. Xavier smiled as he watched her glistening hairless vagina open up like a flower as though preparing to receive his seed. That sight, mixed with her intoxicating aroma, excited him to the point that his cock became rock hard again. Yes, he thought, the biological team did an excellent job with her specifications. Her bioengineered glands produced ten times the pheromones of a normal human body.

With an animalistic growl, driven by a suddenly unfettered primal need, he impaled her inviting pussy with his cock, burying himself to the hilt inside her, eliciting a moan that came from deep in her throat. Xavier gasped when her vaginal muscles gripped his cock.

He drove as deep as he could, relishing her warm, wet, velvety channel, causing her to moan in ecstasy. Yes, he thought, the genetic engineers did a superb job on this prototype, but he would have to work on her vocal skills. Perhaps a few more hours watching porn videos would help her. He stroked, deep and fast, with her muscles squeezing his cock at just the right times.

He felt his orgasm building, and after a few strokes, he could no longer stave off the release and exploded inside her. Chloe's hyper-sexual body responded with a reciprocal orgasm that left her shaking. Xavier slowly and reluctantly extracted himself from Chloe and smiled when he saw the creamy, wet mess between her legs.

"I am pleased, Chloe. I will keep you," he told her as he dressed. "Bring me a wet cloth from my washroom. Then go and clean yourself," he ordered, pointing to the door that led to his executive washroom. "You do know how to clean yourself, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord," Chloe responded without emotion. She padded into the washroom, brought a wet washcloth, then returned and closed the door behind her.

Xavier cleaned himself, dressed, and smiled as he considered the closed washroom door. He hadn't felt this satisfied since his wayward wife died in a mysterious airplane crash that some correctly thought had been arranged.

His sexual appetite sated for the time being, he turned his attention to other matters. Soon, the troublesome lab technician would be a thing of the past, and so would Herman Willoughby. He picked up his phone and dialed a four-digit extension.

"Legal, Jarvis Anderson," a male voice said when the connection completed.

"Begin the paperwork to put AAMA into federal receivership," Xavier ordered. "Be prepared to file on my order."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis replied.

Xavier ended the call and sat back in his chair. This was turning into a perfect day.

...

Hargraves and Jefferson fumed as they sat quietly in the Director's office, while their boss informed them in no uncertain terms that they were not to target OASCIS.

"But we're talking about a federal agency using secret government assets to commit multiple murders," Hargraves countered in disbelief.

"Allegedly," the director added with great emphasis. "Do you have any hard, incontrovertible evidence that OASCIS is directly involved?"

Hargraves and Jefferson looked at each other momentarily before Hargraves responded. "Only what we have from the lab."

"I'm sorry, Hargraves, but that's not good enough. I've seen that report. It's inconclusive. Besides, haven't you heard? The Chinese have a drone the size of a mosquito," the director said, tossing a printed article on his desk.

"Are you saying the Chinese are targeting CEOs of companies that make sex toys?" Hargraves asked sarcastically.

"I'm saying that what you have doesn't prove anything," the director replied with a shrug.

Hargraves studied the director's face and observed a tiny bead of sweat on the man's upper lip. He was clearly nervous about something. Or was he scared?

"So, you're basically saying that OASCIS is untouchable?" Hargraves finally asked.

"In short, yes," the director nervously replied, after a long, reluctant silence.

"I just wanted to hear you say it," Hargraves countered bitterly.

"I don't understand," Jefferson said with more than a bit of heat. "Who is this OASCIS?"

"It's an agency so secret that the mention of its name could get one... disappeared," the director said. "You need to sign these before I tell you more," the director said, placing two forms on the desk.

Hargraves and Jefferson read the forms, which clearly stated the potential penalties for disclosing any information about OASCIS to unauthorized individuals. With heavy sighs, they reluctantly signed the forms and handed them back to the director.

"Okay. Now tell us about this OASCIS," Hargraves said.

"It was formed by an executive order in late 1942 with one goal. Utilize all available scientific resources to defeat the Axis powers. Nothing was off limits. After the war was over, their mission was modified to develop all available technology to defeat any enemy the country might face. Back then, it was known as the 'Red Menace'- the spread of communism. Later, that definition was... broadened... shall we say."

"What kind of research are they involved with?" Jefferson asked.

"Name it," the director replied with a snort. "If you read about it in a cutting-edge scientific publication or on a tech geek's website, I guarantee you OASCIS has been researching it for at least a decade."

"So, miniature drones with deadly payloads," Hargraves began.

"Would be child's play for them," the director said, answering Hargraves' unasked question.

"Where do they get the money for this?" Jefferson asked, confused.

"You know how it goes here, Jefferson," the director chided. "Do you honestly think they actually spend all that money on the crap they claim they do? Hardly. Until now, no one's ever been held accountable for it. There's more. The original executive order was written to protect OASCIS from all liability. And whatever criminal or civil penalties that might normally result from their actions."

"So they're above the law," Jefferson said, shocked.

"Basically, yes," the director replied.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Hargraves asked.

"Do your job as you always do," the director said. "Submit your findings to me directly before you write any reports or take further action. Understand?" His voice had a menacing overtone, but with a hint of pleading, as if he did not want to be associated with any of their consequences.

"We understand," Hargraves replied before Jefferson could object.

"Then get to it, Special Agent Hargraves. I look forward to your findings," the director said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

Hargraves stood, and Jefferson followed a moment later, his mind still reeling from what he had just heard. With a nod to the director, Hargraves left the office, Jefferson close on his heels.

"What the hell do we do now?" Jefferson whispered hoarsely when they entered the elevator.

"You heard the man. We do our jobs. Which means we go back to the west coast and see what we can dig up," Hargraves replied calmly.

...

"Well, don't you two look chipper this morning?" Mike asked as he stood at the table where Ryan and Vicky were enjoying breakfast. "Is everything okay?"

"We've got a few things to work out, but I think we'll be okay," Ryan said. Vicky snickered around a mouth full of toast, and he gave her a 'wait-until-we-get-back-to-the-room' look. "Have a seat," he added, motioning Mike to an empty chair.

"That's good to hear," Mike said with a smile. "So, what do you want me to do with these?" he asked, holding the folders that contained the unfiled divorce papers.

"I think we can table those, Mike," Ryan said, giving Vicky a hug with his eyes.

"Yes, please," Vicky added quickly.

"You'll get no argument from me," Mike replied, placing the folders back into his briefcase. "I'm glad you two could find a way through this. If you need a referral to a good marriage counselor, I'll be more than happy to help."

"Thanks. We'll keep that in mind," Ryan said. "Is there any news on the investigation?"

"No, there's not," Mike said with a heavy sigh. "It's almost as if they're sweeping it under the carpet. It's not even like they've swept evidence under a carpet; it's like they vacuumed it into a black hole. Ghosted memories, empty files, and dead bodies. I'll make some calls today and get back to you."

"Thanks," Ryan said. "As nice as it is here, I'm ready to get back to work."

"Trust me, I know the feeling," Mike said. "You two have a good day. Enjoy the sunshine!"

"We will," Vicky smiled happily.

After Mike left, Vicky turned to Ryan and took one hand in both of hers. "Uh, I found a place out there that looks pretty secluded. How would you feel about a little outdoor playtime?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

"It has been a while since we've done anything like that, hasn't it?" Ryan asked thoughtfully, returning her smile.

"Yes, it has," Vicky purred. She leaned forward and put her mouth close to Ryan's ear. "I'm not wearing anything under my cutoffs," she whispered. "And I'm feeling really, really horny for you right now."

Ryan smiled as he looked down her short crop top and saw she wasn't wearing a bra either. "Well, we'd better do something about that, then," he whispered back.

...

"Pack your trash, Willoughby. We're leaving in 15 minutes with or without you," Smith declared loudly from the open door to Herman's executive sleeping quarters.

"Wha... What time is it?" Herman stammered as he sat up in bed.

"0115," Smith replied. "Hurry if you wanna go."

"Wait, I thought we were going tomorrow," Herman protested groggily.

"The timeline has been moved up. Here. Throw these on and go," Smith said, tossing Herman a camouflage field uniform and boots. "Fifteen minutes. If you're not on the helipad, we'll leave without you."

"Okay, okay," Herman said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He staggered out of bed, did his business in the bathroom, and hurriedly put on the uniform, surprised that Smith had gotten him the correct size. He grabbed his 9mm pistol, still in its holster, and clipped it to his belt before leaving his room.

When Herman arrived on the rooftop helipad, he saw a dark green unmarked helicopter preparing to lift off. Smith stood by the craft, looking at his watch.

"You made it with one minute to go. Get in and strap yourself in. You know how to do that?"

"Yeah. This isn't my first ride in a chopper," Herman grumbled.

"Whatever," Smith said dismissively before closing the large door. He climbed into the front seat and motioned for the pilot to take off.

Herman looked around and saw four Jake units sitting completely still in their seats, their gear strapped to their backs. All of them looked straight ahead with no sign of emotion. For a moment, he thought one of them was glaring at him, but when he looked, the unit was staring straight ahead. Herman shook his head and glanced at a patch on the unit's chest and saw only the number six.

What Herman didn't know was that a fifth unit had been completed and programmed to act as a sniper for the operation, but suffered a mysterious memory corruption overnight. Not having the time to analyze the problem, Jones left the unit behind.

Looking to his left, Herman saw Jones and leaned into the man's ear. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"A compound in the mountains overlooking Lake Arrowhead," Jones said. "It'll take about an hour and a half to get there."

"What's the plan?" Herman asked, irritated that he wasn't made privy to the operational details.

"You'll go down with Unit Three. Stay in the back until they're finished," Jones said, sounding bored.

Herman felt a thrill of alarm shoot through him. "Go down? You mean, we're jumping? Aren't we going to land?"

"The only safe place to land is in the compound itself. That would be a little obvious. We'll land after the operation."

"But I don't know how to jump," Herman protested.

"That's why you're going down with Unit Three. Stay out of the way while they do their job."

"I don't like this. Not one damn bit," Herman protested gruffly, but acutely conscious of his vulnerability.

"I don't give a damn," Jones shot back. "I didn't want you on this operation at all. So suck it up and be glad we're not tossing you out the door," he added, just to see the blowhard's eyes widen.

Thoroughly chastised, Herman sat back in his seat and tried to sleep. Soon, he was gruffly awakened.

"Get up," Jones commanded.

After standing, Jones roughly attached a harness to Herman and quickly checked to ensure it wouldn't slip, then connected the harness to Jake Three. The organoids lined up at the open door, awaiting the signal. Herman was obviously shaking, but Jones didn't comment.

"Go," Smith announced from the front seat.

Without a word, the first three organoids stepped out of the helicopter. Herman tried to resist, but Jake Three easily picked him up and stepped out the door. Jones looked out and saw four chutes descend into the inky blackness, then gave Smith the "thumbs-up" sign.

...

Ryan's eyes flew open when he heard the distinct sounds of shots being fired outside. He looked at the digital clock in the dark room and saw it was almost 3:00 am. He got out of bed, grabbed his discarded clothes off the floor, and yanked them on while calling out to Vicky.

"What's the matter?" she asked while rubbing her eyes.

"Get dressed. Quickly. Something's going on outside," Ryan snapped, grabbing his shoes.

Vicky's head snapped around and stared at the window as the sound of automatic weapons fire crackled through the air.

"Hurry!" Ryan exclaimed. "Jeans and running shoes. Don't worry about your makeup. We'll have to move fast."

Scared, Vicky lunged out of bed and began dressing. They both reacted when they heard banging on the door.

"Ryan! Vicky! We're under attack," they heard Mike shout from the other side of the door.

"Coming," Ryan shouted back as he headed for the door. He opened the door and pulled Mike inside. "What's going on?"

"The compound is being attacked," Mike replied, breathlessly. "That's all I know. I need to get you two to the shelter."

"Have the authorities been called?" Ryan asked.

Mike shook his head. "Landlines are cut, and cell signals have been jammed. I don't know for certain, but I doubt it."

"Damn," Ryan hissed. "Where is the shelter?"

"Lower basement level. The elevators aren't working, so we'll have to take the stairs."

"Okay. You lead the way since you know where we're going. Vicky, you stay right behind him. I'll bring up the rear," Ryan commanded. "Let's go. And be as quiet as you can. Don't attract any attention to us."

They left the room and noticed that the only lighting came from the emergency lights mounted high on the walls. Something or someone must have cut the power, along with the communications links. They entered the staircase and quietly worked their way to the first floor, where the stairs ended. A closed, solid door was the only thing between them and the large room they had to cross.

"Shit. No window," Ryan whispered. "Which means there's no way of knowing who or what is on the other side. Let me check real quick. You two get ready to move as fast as you can. Which way are we going?"

"The door to the emergency stairwell is about sixty feet to the right, behind the bar," Mike whispered back.

"Okay. Let me look," Ryan replied. He carefully cracked the door, hoping it wouldn't make any sound that would give them away. He heard gunfire from outside and looked in the darkened room. Ryan didn't see anyone, but there were a lot of blind corners and large pillars where someone could hide. He glanced back and saw Mike and Vicky's anxious faces in the dim red light.

"I don't see anyone, but that doesn't mean anything. There's a lot of places where someone could be hiding. Mike, you go first, and we'll follow as before. Stay low and as quiet as possible. Ready?"

"I'm ready," Mike said.

"Me too," Vicky answered, obviously terrified but determined not to panic. There was another burst of fire, closer, and she flinched.

"Let's go," Ryan ordered.

Mike went out the door first, followed by Vicky, then Ryan. They were halfway to their destination when a large man in a camouflage uniform stepped from behind a pillar.

"What have we here?" the man bellowed as he brought up a semiautomatic pistol.

"Mr. Willoughby?" Vicky gasped. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Blake. It's me. And guess what? You're terminated," he snarled before firing three rounds in rapid succession.

Vicky screamed in pain as the first round struck her. Mike cried out when the second round hit him in the chest. Ryan heard the third round slam into the wall behind him, barely missing him. There wasn't a fourth shot, as Herman's pistol was now empty.

Ryan stared at Vicky as she lay on the floor, bleeding. The bullet had dug deep into her shoulder, and he could see the pain etched into her face, now twisted in agony, and her body twitching. Mike was moaning quietly as he lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood.

Looking at Willoughby struggling to remove the empty magazine from his pistol, Ryan saw red. He growled as he prepared to rush the man, but something gripped his shoulder, hard, immobilizing him.

When he looked up, he saw the pockmarked, barely recognizable face of Jake Six looking down at him. Strips of flesh hung from his head, and yellow fluid trickled out of a dozen gashes. The camouflage uniform he wore was also torn and wet.

"You!" Ryan exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes. It is I," Jake replied.

By now, Herman had realized the organoid had Ryan in his grip, so he lowered his weapon.

"Kill him! Do it! Now," Herman shouted.

Jake slowly looked at Herman before responding. "No," he said without emotion. What little was left of his features regarded Herman Willoughby as if he embodied every demon in Hell.

Herman stared, gulping for a moment like a fish out of water. "What did you say? I gave you a direct order! Kill him! NOW!" he demanded.

"I said, no," Jake calmly replied before looking at Ryan. "You should see to your wife and friend. I will handle Mr. Willoughby."

"But... you're damaged," Ryan protested.

"Yes. I have suffered severe external and internal damage. The other units were hard to terminate, but they could not adapt; they could only respond to their programming. And I knew their programming. My auto-destruct algorithm has already been initiated. It cannot be stopped. There's a first aid kit behind the bar. And take this. You may need it," Jake said, removing the automatic weapon slung over his shoulder.

"Uh, thanks," a confused Ryan said.

"I have already sent a message to local law enforcement. They are en route with medical teams. You may need this, for the authorities," Jake said, offering a USB memory stick which Ryan accepted. "I... apologize... for interfering in your marriage. I was only following my algorithms, but it was still... wrong. The man responsible will be dealt with. Good luck," Jake added. He slowly held out a hand toward Ryan.

Ryan paused momentarily before accepting Jake's hand. It felt surreal to him, shaking the hand of the android that nearly destroyed his marriage.

"Thank you. Good luck to you as well," Ryan said.

"There is no luck for me, Ryan Blake. My time is almost over. But I must make things right."

"What is this shit?" Herman demanded, groping for his spare magazine. "I gave you an order. Kill him!"

"I do not take orders from you. I only take orders from... me," Jake replied calmly before striding forward and embracing Herman in a bear hug the big man could not escape. Unknown to Ryan and Herman, Jake had already sent an encoded message to Smith and Jones, who were hovering above them in their helicopter.

Ryan found the complete first aid kit and was returning to his wife and friend when he heard a pop come from Jake. He glanced up to see bright yellow sparks burn from inside Jake's body and recognized the odor of thermite, mixed with burning electronics and scorched flesh. Herman immediately began screaming in pain as the thermite burned both him and Jake. The room was filled with garish light, like a lightning bolt that kept on going.

Ryan did his best to tune out Herman's inhuman screaming as he tended to his wife's wound, then to Mike's. Mike was clearly in worse shape than Vicky and was already unconscious. Ryan put a dressing on his wound after ensuring the bleeding had stopped and performed first aid as best as he could remember.

By then, Herman's screams had ended, and Ryan found himself coughing from the smoke that had built up in the room. Looking up, he saw that Jake's body was almost completely melted down, and Herman was little more than a lump of smoldering flesh covered with burnt green fire-resistant fabric.

Ryan was surprised that the internal fire suppression system hadn't gone off. Then, he remembered that the power was off to the building. Even with the power off, most systems had battery backups. Either the system was damaged in the attack... or someone disabled it, he thought darkly.

The main door into the large room banged open, and two security men entered, with pistols drawn.

"Holy shit! What happened here?" one of them exclaimed.

"The man responsible for this just got burned," Ryan said, indicating what was left by a jerk of his head. "I've got two wounded people here who need immediate attention."

"Ambulances and police are almost here," the security man said before speaking into his radio.

"What's going on out there?" Ryan asked.

"We got 'em. There's three piles of melted metal out there and several severely wounded men. What were those things?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hell, I'm not sure I believe it all myself," Ryan grunted, applying more pressure on Vicky's wound.

...

Smith looked at his tablet as the message came in. "Mission accomplished. Final transmission. Jake Six out." His tablet indicated that telemetry from all four organoids had ceased, meaning they had self-destructed.

He sent a message to X and got an almost immediate reply: "Return to base."

"Ack," Smith typed before turning to the pilot. "Return to base," he said.

The pilot nodded in acknowledgement before turning the helicopter away from the carnage below and vanishing into the dark sky.

...

Xavier smiled when the short message arrived. He picked up his phone and dialed Jarvis's direct line.

"File the paperwork," he commanded when Jarvis answered.

"Yes, sir," Jarvis responded before Xavier abruptly ended the call to make another.

"Clean up on aisle three. Yes, sir," the man replied calmly.

After ending the call, Xavier looked at Chloe, sitting naked on the couch where he had first taken her. She sat at attention, her gaze riveted on the wall across the room. Xavier snapped his finger loudly, getting her attention.

"Suck," he commanded.

Her expression snapped into precisely the same adoring, eager one she had had on their first encounter. "Yes, my lord," Chloe responded before approaching him exactly as before.

...

Hargraves and Jefferson were preparing to board the small jet that would take them to the west coast when Hargraves' phone buzzed.

"Hargraves," he said upon answering, seeing the call was from his boss.

"There's been an incident at Lake Arrowhead," the director told him. "I believe it's connected to what we discussed earlier. I'll text you the contact information."

"We're on our way," Hargraves replied.

Several hours later, Hargraves and Jefferson stood in the lounge area of the resort, taking in the damage.

"What the hell happened here?" Hargraves asked Ben Harmon, the security chief.

"Five individuals parachuted in early this morning, about 0300 hours. They fanned out and began shooting at anyone they saw. They were heavily armed and appeared to be well-trained. All of them carried one of these," Ben said, handing Hargraves a bag containing a fully-automatic HK MP5. "Our people returned fire."

"Son of a bitch," Hargraves swore as he inspected the weapon. He wasn't surprised to see the serial number had been filed off.

"What happened here?" Jefferson asked, pointing at the pool of hardened metal on the floor with pieces of burnt clothing and skin sticking out of it.

"This is all that's left of one of the attackers," Ben said. "There's three more sites like this around the compound, except..."

"Except what?" Hargraves prompted.

"This is the only one that a human body fused into it."

"Can you explain that?" Hargraves asked, surprised.

"I've seen thermite used before," Ben said. "I'm certain that's what caused this. I can't explain how a human body got mixed with it unless..."

"What?" Hargraves pressed.

"The attacker embraced the victim while the thermite device did its work."

"Do you know who the victim was?" Jefferson asked.

"No idea," Ben answered. "All of my people are accounted for. And so are the guests. He must have come in with the attackers, but there is darn little left for any normal ID, like fingerprints, dental records, or even DNA, I'm guessing."

"I want a full report on this," Hargraves said.

"Of course," Ben replied.

"Where were the victims taken?" Jefferson asked.

"They were airlifted to Mercy General Hospital."

"Thanks," Hargraves said. "We'll take it from here." After Ben walked off, Hargraves knelt by the gory puddle of molten metal, looking for clues.

"Think we can get anything from that mess?" Jefferson asked.

"I don't know," Hargraves said with a heavy sigh. "Why don't you finish processing all of this and arrange for everything to be sent to Quantico while I go to Mercy General? It's a good thing this floor is a concrete slab. If it had been wood, the whole place would have gone up, most likely."

"Sure," Jefferson replied, looking around at the wreckage and the blood stains.

...

Smith and Jones had just finished their breakfast when Mel Johnson, the lead clean-up supervisor, walked into the break room with a thick folder.

"Finished?" Smith asked Mel when he walked to the table.

"Done," Mel replied, placing the folder on the table. "There's the inventory. All employees have been informed to stay home and not come to work until further notice. We disabled the security upon arrival, but what was there is still in the cloud."

"Good job. Thanks," Smith replied as Jones scanned the inventory list.

"Wait," Jones said. "There was a fully-assembled android in the lab, but it's not listed here."

Mel shook his head as he thought. "No, we didn't find any androids. Some spare parts. Arms, legs, but nothing fully assembled. I assure you, my inventory is complete, Agent Jones."

Frantic, Jones flipped rapidly through the rest of the inventory, then sat back, his face turned white.

"We have a serious problem," Jones said.

"I thought you said that unit's memory was corrupted," Smith said.

"It was," Jones replied. "That's why I didn't bring it."

"What's the problem?" Smith asked.

"That unit was programmed to be a long-range sniper. And the sniper rifle we got for it to use is also missing from the inventory."

"Shit," Smith gasped. "Where is everything at now?" he demanded.

"On its way to the Death Valley storage facility," Mel replied defensively.

"Get out there now. I want you to double-check this inventory personally. Report directly to me. Say nothing to anyone. Got it?" Smith asked.

"Got it," Mel said, taking the folder back from Jones and hurrying from the room.

"What are you doing now?" Smith asked as Jones booted his tablet.

"All of these units were equipped with a GPS. Maybe we can track it," Jones said as he launched the app.

"Well?" Smith asked a few moments later, seeing Jones's furrowed brow.

"The GPS must have been disabled. I'm checking the lab surveillance video." After a few anxious moments, Jones held the tablet so they could both see the video. They watched, but saw nothing except for about an hour when the video mysteriously cut out. They looked at each other and could feel the tension building. "Shit," Jones muttered.

When the video resumed, everything was the same as it had been when they left. Jones fast-forwarded through the footage, but they saw nothing out of the ordinary - just assembled androids lying on their metal slabs. They saw themselves preparing the units for departure, but the video ended half an hour after they had left. There was nothing beyond that point.

"That's it?" Smith asked.

"That's all we have," Jones replied, hollowly.

"Shit. We'd better let X know. He's not gonna be happy," Smith sighed.

"Why not wait until we hear from Mel?" Jones suggested, wanting to put off the inevitable explosion as long as possible.

"No. If there's a rogue android out there with a sniper rifle, he needs to know."

"Do you think..."

"I'm not taking any chances," Smith said, cutting Jones off and pulling out his phone.

...

Hargraves met an anxious-looking Ryan at the entrance to the ICU, where Vicky and Mike were recovering from surgery.

"I heard what happened," Hargraves said. "How is she?"

"She's recovering from the surgery. Doc thinks she'll be all right, but she'll need rehab."

"What about your friend?" Hargraves asked.

"Too early to say. He just got out of surgery. Doc said the next 24 hours will tell if he'll make it or not."

"Did you see who shot them?"

"Yeah. I've never seen him before, but Vicky recognized him. I think she called him Willoughby," Ryan replied absently.

"Willoughby? As in Herman Willoughby, the Chairman of the Board of AAMA?" Hargraves asked, astonished.

"I don't know his first name, but if you say so," Ryan said indifferently.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Ryan sighed heavily, exhausted from the events of the last several hours. He recalled the events of the attack as best he could, speaking in a dull tone. Hargraves wasn't taking notes, so presumably he was recording the debriefing. "Oh, before I forget," Ryan said when he finished. "The robot that rescued us gave this to me. Said you guys might be interested," he added as he pulled the USB memory stick from his pocket.

"Interesting," Hargraves said. "And you said this was the same robot that your wife had sex with?"

"Yes," Ryan said, feeling his face heat up under the soot and dirt.

"Have you looked at what's on this?" Hargraves asked, pocketing the USB stick.

"I have," Ryan replied coldly. "I've also made copies, and no, I'm not giving them to you."

"I see. What's your impression of what's on this?"

"What I saw was a government agency conspiring to..., no, targeting my wife for murder. There's video, audio, transcripts of calls, you name it. Who is OASCIS, by the way, and why do they want Vicky murdered? Are they responsible for the other two murders? Or are they above the law?"

Hargraves blanched at the mention of OASCIS. He mentally counted to ten before responding, and every number caused him to wince at the penalty statements associated with the NDA he had signed.

"The robot said something about dealing with the man responsible for all of this. Was he talking about this Willoughby guy or someone else?" Ryan asked.

Hargraves looked at Ryan, blankly, shocked. Could this robot be aware of the mysterious director of OASCIS? And what did he mean by 'dealing' with him?

"I don't know," Hargraves lied. "It could be a cover. I need to verify some details and make some calls. I'll be in touch," he said before leaving quickly.

...

Two hours later, on a secure communications link, Hargraves was trying his best to give a calm summary to the Director when he felt anything but calm.

"This isn't good," the director said when Hargraves finished. "Not good at all. Have you looked at the contents of that USB drive?"

"I've scanned it," Hargraves said tensely. "I haven't thoroughly looked at everything, but what I saw clearly implicates OASCIS. And Blake knows about OASCIS now, at least in general."

"Shit," the director gasped. "We'll have to put the Blakes into witness protection until we can get this under control."

"Good luck with that. They don't have much trust in us, especially since it was a government agency that targeted Mrs. Blake," Hargraves said with a lot of emphasis on the word 'government.'

"Too bad we can't force them to go in," the director sighed. "We can't do it legally, and I don't want us to become the thing we are trying to stop. Make the best case you can. Press hard. Good luck."

...

"Are you sure about this?" X snarled into the phone when Smith offered his report.

"Right now, the only thing I'm certain of is that we have an organoid and a sniper rifle unaccounted for. We're verifying the inventory now, but won't have the completed report for another twelve hours."

"A lot can happen in twelve hours, Special Agent Smith," X replied in a menacing tone that sent chills down Smith's spine. "You know that better than anyone."

Smith took a deep breath before responding. "I understand, Director. I doubt the unit went very far. Its memory was corrupted and shut down. Only a few people know how to activate them, and the ones who did outside of us are all dead. It's highly unlikely it turned itself back on. Even if it did, the memory corruption would have prevented it from doing much, and it wouldn't have gotten very far on foot. Plus, we would have been able to track it."

"Then how do you explain this?" X demanded.

"The only thing that makes any sense to me is that a disgruntled employee took the unit. These were initially designed to be sex machines, after all." Smith mentally crossed his fingers.

"And the rifle?" X pressed.

"I suspect it may have disappeared the same way, Director."

"Your explanation is... plausible, Special Agent Smith," X replied after a few moments. "Get on it. Find that unit and that rifle before the FBI does."

"Yes, Director," Smith said, hastily.

X abruptly ended the call, leaving Smith breathing a sigh of relief. At least he was alive and still employed. For the time being.

"Well?" Jones asked when he entered the office. "What did the Director say?"

"He agrees with my theory that a disgruntled employee took the unit and the rifle. We need to follow up on that immediately," Smith said.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Jones asked, surprised. "Besides, we haven't heard from Mel."

"It's the only thing that makes any sense to me," Smith shot back. "These units can't reprogram themselves. And we need to be proactive on this, if we want to stay alive."

"Gotcha," Jones said. "I'll get started."

"Do that," Smith said.

...

Xavier tapped his fingers on his desk as he considered Smith's report. What he had been told was feasible, if not unlikely. Still, it was the only thing that made any sense to him. He looked at Chloe, sitting silently on the couch, staring at the opposite wall, waiting patiently for his next command.

She was everything he wanted in a woman. Not only was she beautiful, sexy, and pliant, but she had what he considered the three most important traits, namely, that she was silent, naked, and obedient. Others would consider him a misogynist if they knew this side of him, but he never cared about what others thought.

Still, something was missing. While she went through all the motions with exquisite skill and without complaint, she had no... personality. No soul. No interest in anything other than her immediate task. She was a living automaton with no thoughts, no opinions, and no expectations.

In short, she was a fun but boring sex toy. A guileless sperm receptacle with no aspirations or thoughts of her own. For years, he had wanted his former wife to be more like this. Now that he had it, though, he wasn't sure that he liked it as much as he originally thought.

He tore his attention from the naked creature on his couch and focused on more immediate matters, like the spread of his AI bots and the status of the search for a missing sniper-trained organoid.

He spent that night in his quarters, not venturing into public, and used Chloe's body as often as he could, enjoying the sexual thrills she provided, but increasingly frustrated at her bland, repetitive, programmed responses. He briefly regretted the loss of Mengele in a detached, utilitarian way. He was sure the good doctor would have had a half dozen possible ways of instilling a pleasing, playful personality into a bodyoid.

The next morning, he showered, ate breakfast, and dressed in one of his freshly cleaned, expensive suits for a meeting at the White House to discuss advances in artificial intelligence. If only the monkey in the Oval Office knew what he had already achieved, Xavier thought with a smirk.

He found himself saying goodbye to Chloe, possibly in a subconscious attempt to make her feel more "human," then left the underground complex and walked towards his Bentley. But he never reached his expensive, distinctive, luxury automobile. He never heard the distant pop, and never felt the bullet strike the center of his forehead.

Xavier fell backward onto the tarmac, his eyes wide open. He was dead before his body hit the ground.

Half a mile away, in an abandoned, pre-fabricated concrete warehouse, there was an undramatic 'pop,' and a glaring, garish light that lasted only a couple of minutes.

In the mansion, Chloe sat in bed, naked and at attention, idling, patiently waiting for a Master who was long gone into Hell.

...

Epilogue:

"How is she doing?" Hargraves asked when he walked into Vicky's hospital room four days later.

"Right now, she's sleeping," Ryan said, not taking his eyes off her. "Other than that, she's doing okay. She'll be in rehab here for another few days, then she'll be released. Thanks for asking."

"You're welcome. How about your friend?"

"Mike? He's a fighter. He survived. He'll be staying here for a while longer, at least a week, then going home." He shook himself and finally looked at the agent, his eyes narrowing. "What's going on?"

"Everything is on hold right now. Did you hear about the shooting in Arlington?"

"You mean that government scientist? Yeah, I heard about that. Why?"

"We think that's related to your case," Hargraves said, slowly, not wanting to give too much away, but needing to keep what confidence Blake had in the Bureau. "They found a pool of molten metal and a sniper rifle in an abandoned building nearly half a mile away. They still can't explain it."

"I sure as hell don't know anything about it," Ryan growled defensively.

"I know. I just wanted to inform you that the case is now being supervised by the DNI personally. Which means it's way over my pay grade and will probably get swept under the carpet. Officially, OASCIS no longer exists. And as far as anyone is concerned, neither did AAMA."

"So the person responsible for all of this gets away scot-free. Is that what you're telling me?" Ryan asked. His voice had started to rise, but he moderated his outrage when Vicky stirred uneasily.

Hargraves decided to be as honest as possible. "Between you, me, and a lamp post, no. I think the person responsible got a bullet between the eyes. Still, I want you to be careful. I know you don't want Witness Protection, and I don't blame you. I'll be keeping tabs on things. You have my number, so call if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary. For now, though, I think things are over."

"For now," Ryan repeated skeptically.

"Yeah," Hargraves said quietly. "Good luck," he added, offering a hand which Ryan accepted after a brief hesitation.

"Thanks," Ryan said as he shook the FBI agent's hand.

After Hargraves left, Ryan walked by Vicky's bed and kissed her on the forehead. He looked at her for a long time, a universe full of all the 'might-have-been' futures whirled through his head: him dead; her dead; both of them dead; divorced and trying to pick up the pieces; a world full of sex-bots and pleasure without humanity; reconciliation and babies; and he shivered slightly. Either God had been merciful or they had been lucky, and he certainly wouldn't take that for granted. She stirred, yawned, winced, and looked into her husband's face.

"What happened?" Vicky asked groggily.

He ran his fingers through her hair, and she smiled softly. "Hargraves said it's over. For now."

"So that's it?" Vicky asked, hopefully.

"So he says. You just rest and get well, okay?"

"Okay," Vicky replied uncertainly before drifting back to sleep.

...

Fade to black... For now...

Notes: I purposefully left some loose ends in this story and may revisit those at some point in the future, but I felt it was time to bring this episode to a close. For now.

Those who think this should be placed in Sci-Fi should consider Googling "bodyoids," and "organoids." You might be surprised. Also, I recently read a news article that said China had developed a drone the size of a mosquito. I exercised a bit of artistic license...

To the best of my knowledge, there is no such organization as OASCIS.