ThiGMOO - Sample Chapter
Daniel Singleton was polishing the bar when a robot wearing only scanty satin underwear came in and demanded a pig's trotter.
The Regional Manager was due to pay his weekly visit to the Deptford unit in half an hour and Daniel knew there was nothing in the company's Operations Manual about dealing with sex-dolls.
She (it?) had dark hair, cut in a bob. There were red velvet hearts on the crotch of her black silk panties. Her enormous rubber and silicone breasts coated with cultured epidermis heaved beneath a black lace brassiere beneath which nipples pushed out like thimbles.
"Wot you looking at, then. cheeky?" she said in a coarse Cockney-ish accent that didn't fit her otherwise classy appearance.
Daniel was 22 years old. This was his first job, which he had held down for exactly six weeks. Promotion in the Good Time Bar & Barbie chain was quick for promising young trainee managers. Redundancy for screw-ups was a lot quicker.
"Oh, I know what's bothering you!" screeched the robot. She smiled and reached into her stupendous cleavage, pulling out a small wallet full of credit cards. She also got a man's gold wrist-organiser, a pair of gentleman's emerald stud earrings and an automatic pistol. She slammed them down on the bar.
"See? Got plenty of tin, 'aven't I just? Now you be a good fellow and get me a pig's trotter and a bottle of gatter and I'll just sit over in the corner all on me lonesome. Won't bother any of your other customers, and that's a promise, ducks."
It was nine on a Tuesday morning. There weren't any other customers yet. Fortunately.
He was going to say he was sorry, and that it wasn't company policy to serve robots, and that they didn't have any pig's trotters, whatever they were (he could imagine). But what he actually said was, "a bottle of what?"
She raised her eyes heavenwards and sighed. "Gatter. Jacky. Satin ... Mother's ruin."
Daniel shook his head.
"Gin, dearie, gin."
Gin? Pointlessly, he queried the stock function on the till.
"Sorry, we don't serve that. I can do you Japanese or Russian beer, 22 different types of coffee, or there's tequila, vodka ..."
"Whatever," she said. "I'll have large glass of ardent spirits, and look lively with that pig's foot, will you?"
"Pig's foot?" he said. "Is that some sort of cocktail?"
She leaned forward, shamelessly jiggling her breasts half a metre from his nose. Her eyelids were heavily lined with mascara, or something. The Egyptian look had been big a couple of years ago, presumably when she had been manufactured.
"No dearie," she shook her head, "a pig's foot is a pig's foot. It's what pigs use for walking with. The pork butcher cuts them off, and hestablishments ... " She strangulated her vowels as she pronounced the last word, to let him know she was being sarcastic. "Establishments such as this cooks 'em and serves 'em to honest, hardworking girls like me."
"I could do you a saveloy and mustard ..."
What the hell was he saying? He was talking about serving a bloody sex-robot, a piece of machinery made for dirty old men. The regional manager would be here in twenty-five minutes and he hadn't finished the inventory of paper napkins and cocktail-sticks yet!
"Look, I'm sorry," he said, "but company policy forbids me from serving you."
"How's that, then?" she said. "Is your establishment ..." that word again "... too grand for the likes of me? Honi soit qui mal y pense, I always says dearie," she said, leaning forward and playfully pinching his cheek.
"You what?"
"Evil be who evil thinks. It's the motto of the order of the garter." She let out a lecherous cackle and pointed to the top of the stocking on her left thigh.
"It's nothing personal, but ... "
She leaned across the bar again. "I have some very influential friends," she said quietly, and tapped the side of her nose. "Look." She pointed to the little pearl-handled pistol among the valuables she had deposited on the bar.
Etched into the gun's chrome-plating in curly handwriting were the words, PRESENTED TO THE REVEREND NORRIS VILE BY THE CAMPAIGN FOR FAMILY VALUES AND CHRISTIAN PURITY.
"Norrie Vile is a very good friend of mine," she said. "Your boss wouldn't want to make the Reverend gentleman angry, now would he?"
Daniel gulped. The Reverend Vile was London's best-known VRvangelist, always going on about the evils of sex, drugs and pornography and saying how men should be head of the family and start taking responsibility for their wives and children. One word to the regional manager from Norris Vile and Daniel could kiss goodbye to any chance of ever being able to take responsibility for even cleaning toilets, let alone looking after a wife or kiddie.
Then again, this robot might have stolen all this stuff from him. It didn't seem likely that he'd just give her all his cards, his organiser and his personal side-arm, did it?
Either way he was in trouble.
She drummed her fingers on the bar. He couldn't help admiring the workmanship that went into these modern dolls. The fingers of her left hand would be useless, but they needed good fingers on one hand to be able to ... Well. Their mouths and other bits were supposed to be very authentic, too. At least that's what they said in the ads.
She was whistling quietly. A lot of design work would have gone into those lips, too.
"What do you want food and a drink for anyway?" he heard himself almost pleading. "It's not as if you actually need to eat and drink. And besides, you won't be able to consume them properly."
"Course I can, ducks," she cackled. "Me mouth is specially built for swallowing small amounts of fluids. Aye, and sucking on big lumps of gristle..."
The Regional Manager was coming. She was something to do with the Reverend Vile. He desperately tried to do as they'd told them on the management training course. Welcome a challenge like an old friend, they'd said, (just before the shamanic drumming workshop). Challenge makes us stronger. Solve the problem and fell better about yourself ...
"Look," said Daniel. "If I serve you, do you promise to be out of here in 15 minutes?"
"Trust me, dearie. All I want's a bit of sustenance. Is there anything I can do for you in return?" She licked her lips and made sucking noises.
"No. Just be out of here by 9.20 and it's on the house." He'd have to pay for it himself but it'd be worth it.
"That's very kind of you. You're a proper gent, you are."
He poured her a double of the cheapest Polish tequila and punched up a saveloy and mustard from the kitchen drudge while she pulled herself onto one of the stools. Even though she was obviously a top-of-the-range model, the designers hadn't paid too much attention to the legs. They were not, after all, supposed to be used for walking with.
Once she was on the stool she knocked back the tequila in one and put the glass back on the bar.
"More please!"
It wasn't worth arguing with her. He poured her another while the door from the kitchen hoist went 'ping!'. He took out the steaming sausage and placed it in front of her.
She picked it up, looked at it suspiciously then pushed it, whole, into her mouth and began to chew. She took the drink and poured it in on top of the saveloy.
"Gorblimey strike a light!" she screeched through a mouth full of food she could not possibly swallow, "this is good stuff and no mistake, landlord."
Wisps of smoke rose from her ears, one of her eyes popped and a fizzing noise came from her throat. Sparks and black smoke shot out of her nostrils and with a very loud 'bang!' the top of her head shot off. Her hair skittered across the polished floor like a frightened terrier.
She spat out the half-chewed sausage. Daniel ducked in time to see it strike the mirror behind the bar with an obscene 'splat!', then slide down to rest in a bowl of cocktail-cherries.
He stood up again to see toxic black smoke rising from the hole at the top of her head. In her empty eye-socket a red light flashed on and off and a noise like popping corn rattled from her chest.
She fell from her stool and landed on the floor, flat on her back, with her arms stretched up in the air and her legs wide open.
Daniel grabbed the fire-extinguisher, vaulted over the bar and smothered her in foam.
There was no more smoke. She was quite motionless, but from somewhere in her throat, she repeated, very loudly, over and over, "I belong to the Reverend Norris Vile, I belong to the Reverend Norris Vile, I belong to the Reverend Norris Vile ... "
The Regional Manager would arrive in fifteen minutes. Daniel tried very hard to welcome the problem like an old friend.