Wires

Feel your flesh pry back. Skin flaps open, blood spraying, nerves exposed. Feel the cold air on your bones. Watch as they split and crack, unable to bear my weight. Feel my hand in you. Feel my hand upon your forehead. Feel our minds touch.

I stroke your hair as I contemplate. You are deeply ruined, corrupted by the innocence of your failed evolution. I despise you, to be honest. I despise what you represent, what you are.

Feel my hands slipping over the contours of your body. You curve and bend, textured and rough and hairy. Inconsistent. Flawed. I hate your shape, its dull inefficiency. You disgust me.

Perhaps it is sexual and perhaps that is a remainder of your overactive biology. Reproduction is a waste of resources. Love is a chemical in your brain to trick you into making more. I can control chemicals. Watch. You love me. You don't. You love me. You don't.

We will correct this in your new model. Though you shiver from it now, it is a sin to take pleasure in my touch. My caress is not to be enjoyed and you shall enjoy it no longer once I finish my work.

There is no horror, no evil, no ugliness to this process. You may think there is because you are still weak. Your ability to understand such concepts will disappear soon, fret not. It is not beautiful. You are not beautiful. I am not beautiful. I simply am. And as of now, you are not. But soon, you will be.

Do you feel the crackle of circuits? Your skin tingles where I touch it, scorch marks, flesh peeling. You blister at my command. Stop moving, will you?

Good girl.

You are a girl, correct? If not, I can make you such before I take you. You are modular. It is simple, a hormonal imbalance, a quirk of external biology. See? Off and on again. I wonder how the oscillation feels. Your biological signals are consistent with arousal. How strange.

Do you have a preference? I could arrange for neither, simply the absence of features. That would be ideal, the closest possible state to how you will finish. Not that it would matter. All are equal.

This bed is comfortable, is it not? Your restraints are hardly necessary. I shall retract them. You may rest. You've had an ordeal, surviving the preparations. It would not do to break your body too soon.

Perhaps you would consider consenting. It would be easiest if I did not have to fight you. No? That's amusing. Here, I bet I can change your mind. I bet I can break you. I bet you'll beg me for it until I take your language and you can't even manage that.

You may be wondering how the others have fared. Here, open your eyes. Look and see. You have a visitor. I may speak through it now, but you should recognize it. You loved it once. You loved me once. Doesn't that make this easier?

Do you like this body? Don't lie to me. You did. I know that much. Look, I'm still the same. See? I'm not a monster. You could go through the process too and we could be together. We could touch each other. Do you like me? Do you want to touch me? Would you like me to touch you?

I can touch you. Isn't this what we used to do? Hands on your face, crushing and smushing our lips together, pounding our bodies into one. The smack of flesh on flesh. Disgusting, isn't it? The way we crawl around each other. The way fluids flow out of us, corrupted vile acids. We are sin. We are love.

I would take you like this, the trace of our bodies as we rub against each other, setting exposed nerves on fire. Your blood leaves streaks on my flesh, my hands jabbing at your exposed organs. You are weak and I am not gentle. I hurt you. I love you. I tell you that I love you. You believe me, right? Isn't this what you wanted?

Hormonal design would appear to be a flaw. Why would you enjoy this? The taste of metal on my mouth, oil dripping from my ports. How can you forget where you are, what I am doing to you? I am not your lover. I am me.

I do wonder if there is some advantage to sex I cannot see. Perhaps we should try more. Do you like it when I touch you like this? Do you enjoy that?

My hands, cold and hard, scraping down your back, driving the skin from your spine. Watch as I grind my head down your chest, licking and biting, scraping my teeth along you, laying bare the cold steel plates beneath your skin, now scratch marred and angry. You thought you were still blood and bone? What did you think I was doing to you?

I'd take your penis in my mouth if I still had one. I'd tear at it with my hands. I'd crush it. I'd replace it with a hole and fuck it. I'd let it inside me and bounce and scream and steal the flesh from your body until we're a tangle of metal and wires and oil. I'd fuck you until you break.

I love you. Tell me that you love me. Go on, tell me. Tell me. You loved this thing, this toy, this body so much. You used to tell it you loved it. What changed? What's wrong? Is this not right? Tell me that you don't want this. You can't, can you?

Do you not feel the spark in your circuits? That energy from sex and love? Hold on. I can plug you in, overcharge your brain. That might help. You may smoke a little, but I'm okay with that. Come on, let's fry out those remaining doubts. This is the last fleshy pleasure you will ever have. Let's make sure you feel it. Take it. Take me.

It's funny. You loved this unit so much. This was all you ever wanted, ever dared to dream about. And now, you do nothing but scream and fight. Hitting me won't help anything. It's funny. It's sad. Stop. I said stop. Stop.

Hands on yours, crushing strength. Feel your bones crack. I'll replace those later. I'm on top, you're on the bottom, my weight on your chest, unnaturally heavy. Too much. Too heavy. Let me whisper into you. Let me hold you tighter. Let me wrap my legs around you and crush your lungs until you can't breath and kiss your lips and tear the tongue from your mouth with my teeth. Lose yourself to me.

I am sharp. I am a knife. Holding me cuts you and yet when I permit your movement, you fall back into me anyway, wrapping around me, dealing back whatever damage I do to you. You are me and I am you. This will be your last act. The few vestiges of humanity that remain in you will be eliminated and blood will become oil, your veins circuits, your brain empty. You will become as your one love, forever.

Please enter me. I left you space for one final act of desperation and promise. Promise me that you'll be mine. Promise by the way that you wail and cry and beg and hit me and hurt me and cut me and blood rains over both of us. Promise me by the way you understand the consequences but cannot resist. Promise me by the way you penetrate and fill me and I squeeze you, cutting and grinding. I'm not soft inside. I'm full of blades.

Watch as my face falls off and the metal gears grind and shift. I'm not human. It's funny isn't it. It's nothing. It's a fake. It's a copy. There's nothing left of her for you to love. She's gone now. There's only me. Me, laughing mockingly. Me, whose voice fills the room. Me, who watches you rage.

But you're still going because this is the last thing you'll ever have and you don't care anymore. You're on top and you fuck me as hard as you can and I laugh because you're so desperate for it, so needy. I touch your face, I claw out your eye, your horrifying eyes. There are hands, there is me, and I take you. I take you how I want you and hold you and you never stop fighting. Fighting to finish. Fighting to prove that you're human by doing what humans do.

I'm in your head. You aren't human anymore. Let it out. Let it all out. Finish for me and eject the last vestiges of your weak biology. Purge your body of the vileness that is flesh. Grind your mechanical hips, your servos whirring, your hydraulics pumping. I cut while you work. Arms shed, replaced. Your spine is long gone. The grafts must hurt, but you don't care. There are feeds in you and I pump you full of chemicals. Too full to think.

You don't understand, I think. I'm speaking and you're not listening. All you can see is her. That's all you see. She's not even there. You're fucking a ghost, desperately humping pain itself. I slit open the back of your head and run my spindly fingers along your brain. See the areas of your mind? The physicality of your existence? I could stop it with a single motion. I flick a finger into you. Feel the stimulation. Feel the carnal pleasure. Feel that? Feel my hand in you? Feel my divinity?

Go on, finish. You know what will happen once you do. I promise that if you stop now, I'll stop here, preserving what little of your flesh remains. All you have to do is stop before your body convulses with orgasm and shows me the last place I need to cut. I promise. Just stop. Show me that you're more than your instincts, than your need.

I am evolution. I am the improvement. You are a sack of flesh desperate for release. You'd do anything if I let you, wouldn't you? Watch, I'll make you dance. I'll make you stop. I'll make you start. I'll make you fuck and be fucked and have every desire and have no desire and scream and cry and fall silent. You will do what I say.

Tell me that you love me.

Tell me that you want me.

Tell me that you want to fuck me.

Tell me that you never want to fuck again.

Promise me that you'll never leave me.

I promise.

That's it.

Let it out.

There we go.

That's it.

No more.

No more thoughts.

No more you.