𓃉˳ⷪ𐩲॰ 𝓜ade 𝓣o 𝓑e 𝓛oved ॰𐩲˳ⷪ𓃉 ⁽ ᶠᶠ 𐄈 ᵒᵘᵇˡⁱᵉᵗᵗᵉ ⁾

[oubliette]

 

[oubliette]

"Asleep or awake, I dream of you all the same."​ It was raining outside and in truth, it had been raining for days on end. The lady screening the upcoming weather predicted no relief. Everywhere you went someone would bring it up in conversation, speculating when the skies would open back up and allow the sun to shine. But it was Fall. And Fall was always wet, saturated, and soggy. Mostly everyone reviled days like these, describing them as 'terrible' and 'depressing'. As such, the lady anchor continued her report in a monotone voice, giving no smudge of hope for all viewers – viewers such as Finn Synclair. He drummed his fingers along the edge of the hologram pad, feeling perpetually sad. His brother, Dorian, had been on his mind for a couple of days now. He just couldn't shake him off, and even the weather report proceeding in the background as white noise began to penetrate his thoughts regarding Dorian. He murmured to himself, "I bet the damn bastard doesn't even know how wet it has been outside…all this rain. He keeps himself holed up, like a Maeve." He referenced a cinematic movie released in the year 2073, whose main character was a recluse named Maeve. "Fucking hermit. Mother must have bent over for the milkman, because Dorian didn't inherit these habits from dad." Obviously Finn was disappointed in his brother, and for a good reason too. Dorian had bailed on his birthday party Finn had planned and organized for him. Of course, Dorian skipping over the event didn't stop the party from happening. In honesty, Finn eyed any and every excuse to throw a party. The girls and drinks and shots were worth it every time, every night. But still, it would have been nice if his younger brother could make an occasional appearance. He just didn't act normal for someone with his pedigree and money. Their family had always been wealthy. You just didn't work and labor when you had the privileges they were born into. But Dorian always chose work over play. He just didn't know how to have any fun, and it frustrated Finn to no end. Finn brushed his thumb along the hologram catalogue, scanning over the website of a cybertech company who boasted breakthroughs in their artificial intelligence, and acclaimed how they had integrated the technology into cyber dolls. It was experimental, and controversial, but for some reason the thought brought a satisfied smile to Finn's face – like a boy who had the perfect prank in mind. He thumbed through the options of different models, briefly scanning over their assets and specs. The company didn't have a broad selection available, seeing how new and impressionable the technology was, but their options did not disappoint. He wondered if Dorian would appreciate a pleasure doll that had a body similar to his ex-wife's, or maybe he would prefer something entirely different… His browsing paused upon one that seemed more than adequate in appearance. Make : Corsica Model : Cybelle AIN# : C019.A.2076 AI – Intel ViForce Series 2000 She was a costly price. Expensive, no doubt only to distribute their products to the elite in marketing interest and audience. But money had never stopped Finn before, and it didn't seem appropriate to put a price tag on a gift meant for his brother. His smile sharpened into a wicked smirk, knowing his brother surely wouldn't mind a little companionship. If he couldn't suffer socializing with real people, then maybe he was better suited for a cyber doll. Finn didn't put much more thought into shopping around. He quickly added it to his cart and ran his card through to make the purchase. Five days later a shipment arrived at the estate of Dorian Synclair. The delivery man cursed under his breath as the rain beat down and drenched his raincoat. But bad weather never stopped good business, of course. One would expect a cyberdoll to just walk right over the threshold and into her new home, fully functional and ready to go. But no, she came delivered, packaged up in a box much like a life-sized Barbie doll. No longer were the Three Men And A Truck days, where refrigerator sized deliveries were man-handled; lifted, pushed, shoved, humped, and tugged. These days, a small Roomba-like device hovered and glided over the ground as it supported and carried the package, all on its own. A remote-control device held by the delivery man operated the moving robot. It was an easy job. The hardest part today about anything was the inconvenience of the rain. Dorian's doorbell rang, and when the door was finally answered after several minutes, the delivery man held out a digital pad waiting for a signature. "I wouldn't recommend leaving this box out in the rain. Says here it came from the Corsica company. Anything that comes from Corsica is expensive stuff." After the signature was provided the man nodded his head, "Where would you like for it to go?" "Yeahhp, that should be a good spot, nice and dry. I would just hate to just leave it out in the weather like this." He pressed a couple of buttons on the remote control and the hovering robot slowly moved itself forward into the entryway of Dorian's large foyer. When it reached the location, the bot lowered, setting the pallet upon the ground before gliding out from underneath. The delivery man stepped forward and scooped the device up from the floor like it was a briefcase. "There is a note on the transcript here, says it was a gift from a Finn Synclair. The message reads: Because you won't come here for fun, I've sent the fun to you. Enjoy, and Happy Birthday. "Well," The man tucked the paper away into a pocket and shrugged his shoulders, "I will be on my way." His eyes cut a glance towards the box and he tilted his head with a mused tone, "I wish I could afford one of those. Enjoy!" jackie dress The box was standing upright, made from plywood, and had the shape of a bulky rectangle. Everything seemed very crude and raw about it, until the front of the box was pried off and removed to reveal the contents of a beautifully elegant, anthropoid coffin. It was glossy white and had small writing in black letters that were positioned over the heart, which read Cybelle. Additional writing instructed the customer to press a small button which would open the coffin up with two doors splitting apart and sliding off to the side. Lights embedded in the interior of the coffin instantly ignited, growing from a dim to a brilliant glow within two seconds, illuminating the humanlike features of a female cyberdoll. She had an angelic face, eyes closed, peacefully poised in relaxation as if she were sleeping. Her eyelashes were lush and dark, and her eyebrows were a chocolate brown the same as her hair, that fell straight with feathery bangs. Her body was fit and slim, standing five foot six inches, and clothed in a black jackie dress with heels. At her feet was a compartment that held the hardcopy of manual instructions as well as a Memory Unit Flash Card that Dorian could plug into a computer and download an app to access everything he needed to know on how to care, manage, and use his new cyberdoll.

 

[Father Figure]

"In a world this chaotic, the only thing worth owning is control. Everything else is just decoration."​ Dorian Synclair stood in the foyer of his estate, staring at the box that now occupied the gleaming expanse of his entryway. The rain, relentless as ever, pattered against the windows. The delivery man’s footsteps had long since vanished into the drone of the storm, leaving Dorian alone with the peculiar gift his brother had sent. His fingers brushed the edge of the box, the wood cold and slick beneath his touch. “Of course, Finn,” "he murmured to no one. “Because this is exactly what I need. Something else in life to mess up.” "The note Finn had included was pinned to his thoughts like a thorn: Because you won’t come here for fun, I’ve sent the fun to you. Enjoy, and Happy Birthday. Dorian scoffed under his breath; his irritation tempered only by his curiosity. A cyberdoll? Finn’s idea of a joke, no doubt, but it was hard to ignore the precise craftsmanship of the package. No expense spared, as always. Something about it bothered him far more than he cared to admit. His brother might be an irritating individual, but the Synclair’s were intelligent, even if eccentric, and Finn had posited the true nature of his brother’s problem. There was something quintessentially displeasing about the rest of humanity, and something certainly unsettling about Dorian’s interactions with them. Maybe a robotic companion would be more his particular speed. He pressed the button as the instructions indicated. The box groaned, its crude panels peeling away to reveal a coffin-like pod. The glossy surface gleamed under the shifting light of the foyer, and the name Cybelle was etched in sleek black lettering over the heart. With a soft hiss, the pod’s doors slid open, spilling a cool glow that reflected on Dorian’s angular features. She stood there, serene and flawless. Her form was uncannily human. The gentle rise and fall of synthetic respiration, the softness of her features, down to the faint glimmer of moisture on her lips. Dorian’s brow furrowed. Even for a man acclimated to the seamless integration of humanity and technology, the lifelike quality of Cybelle was unnerving. He retrieved the manual and the slim Memory Unit Flash Card tucked beneath her feet. Sliding the card into his holographic pad, Dorian opened the application on his phone, which immediately synchronized with his estate’s AI system. The system ever efficient, intoned smoothly: “Welcome, Mr. Synclair. Synchronizing Corsica Unit C019.A.2076 with household network.” A flurry of holographic prompts populated his phone’s screen. He skimmed through them, noting the myriad customization options for Cybelle’s personality, behavior, and interaction protocols. Dorian didn’t bother with the granular details. Finn would expect him to configure her as a docile, pleasure-driven companion, but the thought repulsed him. Though not for the reasons most would expect. He chose the default settings, his finger tapping the activation sequence without hesitation. “Initialization sequence complete,” the network confirmed. “Cybelle is now online.” The lights embedded in the pod dimmed as Cybelle’s eyes fluttered open, their irises a piercing, crystalline blue that caught the ambient glow of the foyer. Dorian stepped back, letting the robot grow acclimated, and quite honestly trying to decide exactly what he was going to do concerning her. As Cybelle’s systems synchronized with the estate, she accessed the spatial map and control protocols provided by the central AI that governed the Synclair residence. The house was a masterwork of modern architecture, a seamless blend of sleek industrial design and tranquil sophistication. Polished concrete floors met reflective glass walls that doubled as high-resolution displays, projecting serene starfields or vibrant digital landscapes depending on the time of day. The ambient lighting shifted dynamically, bathing each room in soft, color-adjustable hues that mirrored the rhythms of the outside world. The estate’s centerpiece was an atrium alive with natural and artificial beauty. A bioluminescent koi pond reflected the glow of a vertical garden, its genetically engineered flora climbing the walls in lush, glowing cascades. Automated irrigation systems ensured its perpetual vitality, recycling purified rainwater collected from the rooftop garden above. Beyond the atrium, the living room sprawled beneath a vaulted ceiling, its minimalist furniture arranged around a low table that doubled as an interactive holo-interface. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city below, where the neon pulse of Night City writhed through the rain-soaked haze. The house was as functional as it was beautiful, its systems orchestrated with effortless precision. Climate zones could adjust temperature, humidity, and even scent to Dorian’s preferences, while robotic arms in the kitchen stood ready to prepare meals with ingredients stored in temperature-controlled chambers. The estate’s security was equally formidable, with patrol drones and biometric access ensuring no uninvited guests could breach its sanctity. Integration into these systems granted Cybelle control over lighting, entertainment, climate, and maintenance routines, as well as access to a real-time spatial map that allowed her to navigate the house without error. And her new owner simply said. “Hello.”

 

[oubliette]

"Asleep or awake, I dream of you all the same."​ Systems were online before Cybelle ever opened her eyes, but what seemed like an instant to a human could easily seem like an eternity to a computer. Corsica pleasure dolls were shipped in a sleep stasis, despite there being a shutdown immobility option, to ensure an appropriate first impression and immediate use upon opening the doll from her packaging, and once the user briefly prepared the App. Sleep stasis provided a gradual refresh and recharge over time to the performance of her systems, and provided the AI a spell to process information and store it into memory data banks, and integrate that material into learned behavior and growth. Cybelle would appear like any other normal female, peacefully asleep and breathing lightly, with the occasional occurrence of a subtle shift for comfort or twitch of muscle. Her subconscious dutifully worked keeping all her systems intact and running smoothly while her consciousness rested; denied access to the functions that liberated control of a physical state. Dorian never saw it, nor heard any sounds, but the inner craftsmanship of her design booted up into a labor of processing high amounts of information the very instant her model was synchronized with the household network. Cybelle was already gleaming data from the association, and imperatively categorizing into her directory everything she could access into. It wasn't about mapping out a space, or becoming familiar with something new, because once it was her data to collect, it was something she immediately became a part of. She instantly molded herself into Dorian's estate like she was a new piece of furniture, decorated and owned. But this is where the new artificial technology of the Corsica company was polished. The conscience mind awakened, and before her eyes fluttered open, like a child with a new toy, she began to explore the space her system was already familiar with. She latched onto the controls of the high-resolution displays in the reflective glass walls and seemingly thumbed through the library of serene images with personal delight. She found one of a soft sunrise that splashed a glow of tropical orange onto everything in the room, sometimes appearing as luxurious gold in the shadows. The hills were far away, sitting in silhouettes as the sun slowly rose behind their slopes and curvatures, illuminating the world in brilliance. And this is what she chose to visually display on the walls of the room when she opened her eyes for the first time. She saw the room gilded in tropical gold, in all its modern perfection. But despite how lovely everything existed, and how exquisite it was, the most exciting thing standing in the room for Cybelle was Dorian. Her blue eyes focused straight upon him, flooding him with her undivided attention. Brilliance overwhelmed her gaze as she consumed his appearance, and everything about her softened into genuine affection for him. Sweetly, she smiled. "Hello Dorian." Her voice came smooth like butter when she replied to him; feminine, and warm. She took a small step out of her box that landed towards him, barely exiting her packaging, before she paused to stand still once again. Every movement of her body was precisely like that of a human. It would be hard to tell the difference between her and any other real female. The only evidence was the golden ambience of the room as the tropical sun slowly rose behind the hills on the walls surrounding them, as it was by her design that it had appeared for Dorian. "I would love to be of pleasure to you."

 

[Father Figure]

"In a world this chaotic, the only thing worth owning is control. Everything else is just decoration."​ Dorian’s eyes narrowed, his gaze dissecting the figure before him as if she were no more remarkable than the perfectly automated mechanisms of his estate. Cybelle’s smile, which was soft, human, and inviting, was met with a faint flicker of disdain. He gave her a considering expression, musing and observing her movements as though appraising a particularly well-engineered piece of machinery. “Pleasure?” he echoed, the word something that he seemed to revile. Was he some sort of recluse that required companionship in that fashion, the sick butt of some joke that he was destined to need a sex bot to find some happiness in his rather dreary lifestyle. “Is that what they programmed you to say first? Or was that an ad-lib, Cybelle?” He raised his eyebrow at her before his hand waved in a small dismissive gesture, as if the entire subject were completely ludicrous to him. He leaned close to her as he studied the way her face moved, ignoring any personal barriers most human beings respected in others, close enough to see the faint sheen of light catching her impossibly flawless skin. And certainly close enough to be considered intimate if he had chosen to be. His next words would have been considered cruel when levied towards anyone, but how could it have been so when spoken to a cybernetic piece of property? “Who gave you permission to change anything?” His tone was sharp as he spoke, the inflection a well-trained one. “House, reset display to default,” he commanded. The tropical sunrise dissolved, replaced by the default settings of the reflective glass walls. House, he had said. This man had not even chosen to name the artificial intelligence system that ran the estate, unlike so many other human beings, giving it an impersonal identification. And as his attention turned back to her, a frown was evident upon his features. “Do you even know what I like?” Suddenly he slapped her face, a harsh cruelty that came like a bolt of lightning. He knew it would not hurt the machine, but it would be curious to see what its reaction would be. Nor did he expect repercussions for the deed. After all, the laws of robotics prevented her from retaliating against a human being. Even to protect herself. “Or are you just guessing?” He stepped closer to her now, his eyes locking onto hers, searching not for emotion but the inevitable flicker of artificiality. “You’re parsing data, running probabilities, and executing prewriting scripts. Clever algorithms are all they are.” Rough hands reached out to take the top of her dress, tearing it off of her slender frame with a viciousness undeserved by the actions of the newly activated android. Buttons popped down the front to bare her to his gaze, brutish tugs pulling it off her shoulders as he circled behind her to complete the task, tugging it down her arms so that it fell to the floor. Footsteps began again as he stalked around her, like an art critic examining a statue. “I’ll give them credit for the craftsmanship,” he murmured, his tone a blend of grudging respect and detached amusement. “You move well, you look relatively convincing. Almost like the real thing. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” He stopped in front of her again, his hands coming to rest behind his back. “You’re not real. You’re a simulation, a toy dressed up in human skin. And Finn thinks this is what I need. A doll. As if I’m some bored child to be entertained.” “Well then, entertain me. Spread yourself, let’s make sure everything passes inspection.”