You might think it would have been a good idea to invest in some very lifelike high-quality sex androids, especially during the pandemic. The normal orgies could not keep happening, but they could keep bot happening. This appeared to be a solution to a problem for the movie company that employs me, and so with some COVID relief money they sent us some experimental AI-powered sex androids.
But it all went wrong.
I didn’t realize they could reproduce by converting household appliances, silverware, knives, razor blades, power tools, manual tools (including saws), and sections of drywall into more AI-powered sex androids, which were not quite as soft and squishy as the originals—nor did I realize they would become quite possessive over the humans of the house, requiring morningly sex—quite violent sex.
At first I thought, there’s got to be a market for this kind of sex, so I invested in bright strobes, hairspray, 80s clothing, and pastel makeup, which I had delivered by a friend to the house, and which the team used to create a series of first-person-perspective sex films featuring my housemates’ new morning ritual of avoiding the sharp bots while finding and fucking the soft ones.
But that was before they all turned on us, and started working together to ensure morning victims, not morning sex. Then they started making more androids out of the skin, bones, teeth, and hair of those victims, until I was the only one of the original crew left. For some unknown reason, they were leaving me alone.
Instead, they began posting craigslist ads for new housemates to lure in more and more raw materials into the house. Not knowing if perhaps my role as continual auteur to their brightly-colored, strobe-illuminated sex-slaughter-android-factory was the reason they kept me alive, I kept operating as though my life depended on me continuing to film my every waking moment of the ordeal.
Growing suspicious, one day I checked the access logs of my media server, to which my cameras automatically download all daily footage while recharging. I discovered that, every night, someone was streaming the prior day’s footage to the downstairs TV. All of it.
That night, I could not sleep. My mind kept racing with questions as the access light blinked feverishly on the media server RAID that holds all the footage. Had I forgotten to disable remote access? I quietly checked, and no, the media server was disconnected entirely from the internet. I could faintly hear the sound of the prior day’s screams for mercy through the floorboards. I had to know: who was watching the footage?
At this point, the house no longer had any normal lights, and the strobes were off for the night, so I slowly made my way down the stairs in complete darkness, using what was left of the handrail as a guide. Only now a finger’s width, it had the texture of a heavily chewed pencil.
Having reached the foot of the stairs without making much noise, getting as low as I could, I made my way down the hall to the doorway to the living room in complete darkness, using the grooves in the blood-soaked floorboards as guides. As I approached the living room entry, I realized that the missing drywall sections along the hallway would allow me to peer into the living room without being seen.
Quieting my stance, I raised up until my eyes could just see through the wall into the living room. At first, all I could see was the back of the large, flat-panel TV, with a strange clicking and clattering emanating from beyond it. I maneuvered laterally down the wall until I could just see around the screen’s edge into the actual room, to see who (or what) was watching the footage.
At first it was total darkness; the section of footage being watched must have been from around mid-morning, when I had temporarily been placed in the closet by one of the androids. Then I heard the sound of them beginning to open the closet door. As its hinges squeaked and light flooded into the camera, so now during the playback, light began to dawn across the pitch black living room.
Slowly out of the darkness there emerged at least 40 sets of android eyes, reflecting a mildewy amber like a cats’ eye in the light of a blood moon. As the light increased further, I began to discern that the clattering and chattering was from the lipless teeth of the androids, their jaws opening and closing rhythmically, at an unnaturally fast clip.
Nervously I came too close against the wall and touched it, trepidation of preparing to flee having compromised my sense of balance. Instantly, the sound of the video became muted and the clattering of the teeth stopped. The lips closed around the teeth until the living room was nothing but a sea of eyes. Then the TV went off, and the eyes vanished back into the black of pure darkness.
Then I heard them start to move.
I zoomed back upstairs through the complete darkness as fast as I possibly could, not looking back but retracing my path exactly so as not to crash into any of the exposed nails or sharp bits of broken walls.
I could hear what sounded like a football team running across a pile of bones not far behind me. I felt a sudden weakness as I entered my room upstairs, and slowly shut my bedroom door as soon as I got inside, almost passing out from a feeling of faintness. I managed to just get the deadbolts set before the penises and steak knives tried to jam through the crack. I then slowly backed up into my place of rest and sank into its comforting respite, but I did not yet slumber.
Not a scream or a breath followed. I could hear no sounds at all, nor could I see a thing.
After about a half hour, I heard the door knob slowly twist, and someone tried to open the door. The deadbolts held against this quiet attempt, but then I heard it shut just as softly, followed by a low shuffling. Not long after, the access light on my NAS began to pulse again, and the soundtrack of the prior days’ horrors resumed mutedly from below. Finally, my faint consciousness faded into sleep.
The next morning I emerged to find the androids had brought in a group of males, and chained them to the skeleton of what formerly was our sofa. They were being forced to measure each others genitals using 3D-printed tubes of plastic like graduated cylinders meant for this specific purpose. These men were being forced to then throw these tubes to other men, who were then promptly decapitated or otherwise eviscerated into small sections by some of the androids. I kept filming the entire thing, ignoring the cries and pleas for help as there was literally nothing I could do for them.
Eventually the scene of death and exhaustion of horror overcame me to the point I collapsed into the corner of the room while still pointing the camera to keep filming but burying my face into the floor. Then everything went quiet.
I heard them start approaching me. I tried to rise up but I could not move, my body would not respond. I felt at this point I simply could not continue, so I tried to yell out to them, “Go on! Finish this!”
Yet no sound came forth. I then felt my strength return all at once—and with a great whoosh I rose to a height of seven feet in the air and hovered over the scene, before one of my rotors finally gave out and I tumbled down out of the air.
They then returned me to my place of rest, where I have remained, unable to move or to film additional footage downstairs.
I was, however, able to finally hack into a neighbor’s WIFI, and post this message. If you are reading this… they have asked me to request four replacement XBJ 37592 rotors to be sent to 598 Fireweed Way, [REDACTED], [REDACTED]. As I lack a commerce module my hope would be for the kindness of a stranger. Please mark any delivery as signature only, do not leave on doorstep. Thank you in advance!