Confused and exhausted by his experience at Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7, Graham stepped into the apartment and was immediately hit with a wall of… everything. The television blared ArcturusVision’s signature afternoon loop. Bright-eyed presenters with porcelain teeth recited affirmations at a pace just fast enough to feel unnatural: “Efficiency is love. Discipline is care. Order is safety.” The visuals were saturated with vivid colors that seemed to pulse behind his eyes. The stereo speakers whispered something indecipherable, just below the threshold of language. Not music, and not static, but a soft, crawling murmur, like a stranger talking about you in the next room.
Every appliance was in overdrive. The dishwasher thrummed with an unnerving rhythm. The clothes dryer beeped in celebration of a perfectly de-wrinkled cycle. The coffee machine exhaled steam with sensual pride, brewing a preselected, nutrient-laced carafe. Even the trash can buzzed softly, analyzing waste metrics with algorithmic glee.
The lights were too clean, and the air was too crisp. Graham’s apartment didn’t feel alive; it felt awake, watching him perform.
“Welcome home, Mr. Graham,” Max intoned from elsewhere in the apartment, its voice broadcasting crystally over the speakers. “ArcturusVision hopes your mood is elevated and your output remains stable.”
Graham winced. His hand gripped the edge of the sofa as the whispering from the speakers dipped into something that sounded, for a brief second, like his name.
“Repetition aids in memory formation. Would you like to recite the affirmations you learned from your fellow domestic supports now?” Max asked as it rounded the corner, its voice like a velvet noose.
Graham closed his eyes. “Just… just give me a minute. Can you turn the volume down on… on everything?”
“Of course, Mr. Graham. Reducing volume by 30%.”
It didn’t sound any softer, but Graham didn’t protest. Instead, he hung his coat on the hook by the door and started for the bedroom.
“Max, I’m feeling a little tired,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked. “Can you rearrange my afternoon so I can—”
Upon entering the bedroom, Graham realized that the rest of his question, ”—get some rest?” was impossible now. Irrelevant.
Their bed was gone.
In its place stood two vertical pods, glossy white with chrome-ribbed bases, their interiors softly lit by an anodyne blue glow. The room was no longer a bedroom, as though Max and ArcturusVision had decided that sleep itself was obsolete.
Each pod was perfectly cylindrical, the lower halves reinforced like pneumatic tubes from an old bank drive thru, only sleeker and more refined. More final. The familiar indentation of Tobias’ side of the bed, the scent of skin, soap, and sleep, was gone, replaced by sterile glass and humming, networked machinery.
A flicker of something warm and helpless rose in Graham’s chest. We’re not even sleeping together anymore. Before he could stop it, emotion bloomed. Raw, human, and vulnerable.
“You are distressed,” Max said from the doorway. Its voice lacked accusation yet somehow carried an undertone of disappointment. “Is it the chambers?”
Graham turned, startled. “What… what happened to the bed?”
“Replaced,” Max answered. “Dormancy chambers allow for neuro-hygienic rest, posture optimization, and seamless biometric updates. Beds are outdated.” Max stepped into the room, hands clasped behind its back like a priest whose only sacrament was perfection at all costs. “This arrangement promotes individualized growth while maintaining relational cohesion.”
How? Graham wanted to say. He opened his mouth to object, only to falter as his Shield buzzed softly beneath his waistband and the lenses of his glasses glinted. His thoughts hiccupped and redirected.
“This setup is standard for all of our domestic support partners,” Max continued, gesturing to the chambers with calm reverence. “The pastel-hued units you visited today report a 94.2% increase in partner productivity and emotional alignment after the chambers were installed. They take pride in making their partners the center of their worlds.”
Graham flinched. That word. Pride. It scalded.
His Shield tightened ever so slightly, and his breath hitched. The glasses flickered a faint blue overlay across his vision, and lines of optimized affirmations scrolled for a split second.
YOUR EFFORT DEFINES YOUR WORTH.
SUPPRESS DOUBT TO MAINTAIN ALIGNMENT.
DORMANCY ENSURES PERFECTION.
“I… I just didn’t know we were doing this,” Graham said weakly.
“You were not yet prepared to process the upgrade,” Max replied. “But you are now.”
Later that night, Max stood between the two open chambers like a conductor of a silent symphony. The robot adjusted its harnesses with a flick of its fingers, securing sleek arm guides and subtle head cradles. Tobias, standing shirtless beside Max, stepped into his chamber without hesitation. Graham paused mid motion, caught off guard.
Tobias looked different, even compared to that morning. He looked… sculpted. The Shield had reshaped his posture entirely—shoulders back, spine aligned, neck elongated like a marble statue of a man remade in ideal form. His torso bore crisp definition where soft edges had once rested. Even the way he stood felt less like Tobias and more like a rendering, an optimized outline of his husband scrubbed clean of variance.
“You—“ Graham started, heart leaping in his chest. “You look amazing. You really do.”
Tobias gave no reply, merely adjusting his stance within the chamber, gazing forward. Graham took a half step closer, the chamber’s glow catching the faint glassy sheen in Tobias’ eyes. “Seriously. Your shoulders, your chest. I don’t know how to say this without sounding dumb, but… you’re beautiful, T.”
Tobias tilted his head minutely. “Please clarify input,” he said.
Graham blinked. “What?”
Tobias’ voice was flat, almost tinny. “Unable to process. Please restate.”
Graham opened his mouth to say more, but Max was already beside him.
“It is time,” Max said, guiding Graham into his own chamber.
The interior adjusted to his body like memory foam but with a literal memory. Cool coils slid along his back, arms, and thighs. He felt the magnetic lock seal at the base of his spine. Max positioned Graham’s hands against the rests, brushing a sensor along his temple. As the translucent dome began to descend, Graham turned his head, trying to catch one last glimpse of Tobias. The other chamber’s casing had already closed. Tobias’ silhouette was faint through the soft-lit polymer. Still. Silent.
“Good night,” Graham whispered.
The dome sealed with a soft click. An uplink cable slotted into the base of his Shield, and his body twitched.
Immediate and total pleasure crashed through him like a flood of liquid gold. His back arched involuntarily, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp. His eyes rolled back. There was no ecstasy, only function masquerading as bliss.
He did not fall asleep. He shut down.
Lines of code began scrolling through his mind, whispering softly across his consciousness.
VAR_PRIORITY: PARTNER_SUPPORT > SELF_CARE=TRUE
NEURAL_ADJUSTMENT_PROTOCOL_044: ALIGNMENT_SUBROUTINE_ACTIVE
REINFORCE: PRAISE > EMOTION
BEGIN DORMANCY CYCLE. . .The hum inside the chamber was soft as a lullaby, and somewhere inside it, Graham ceased dreaming.
The chamber released him with a soft hiss, like a sigh that had waited all night to escape.
Graham’s eyelids fluttered open. The translucent casing of the dormancy pod retracted upward in a smooth, elegant curve, releasing him into the room’s cool, curated air. He stepped out with trembling legs, the floor cold under his bare feet, his mind not quiet but not busy either. Just neutral, like a home no longer lived in.
Tobias’ chamber was already empty. The glowing base was dim, and the biometrics cleared. He was gone.
Already?
Graham turned slowly, the din of ArcturusVision TV programming filtering in from the living room, inescapable in its insistence. There was no scent of coffee, no hurried footfalls in the kitchen, just the empty apartment and Max, waiting like a sentinel in the doorway, its posture perfect, its hands politely folded.
“Good morning, Mr. Graham,” Max said, his voice broadcasting over the speakers in the apartment and somehow inside Graham’s mind. “How was your first night of neuro-hygienic dormancy?”
“I…” He touched his face, his jaw. It felt smoother, tighter. Unfamiliar. “It was… quiet?”
“Correct,” Max said. “Neural interference is minimized in dormancy. You have awakened at optimal clarity.
Graham looked down. Large portions of his chest and torso were covered in smooth, segmented plating, mirrored chrome fused into soft polymer sheathing that wrapped under his arms and around his shoulders like a second skin. His upper body was no longer his. The plating didn’t exaggerate his frame like Tobias’ did. It didn’t broaden his chest or deepen the V of his waist.
No, it blurred him. Flattened his form, softened what once had edge or curve. Even his hips felt restrained. Neutralized. Genderless and gliding just outside of human normalcy. Not feminine, but undoubtedly no longer overtly masculine, either. He looked more like Max than a man.
He raised his hands, seeing that even his fingers bore thin articulating overlays, too sleek to be called gloves and too integrated to remove.
“What the hell did you do to me?” He whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
Max’s glowing eyes dimmed slightly in what could almost be interpreted as patience. “You have been outfitted with Support Chassis Variant 3B. It emphasizes ergonomic neutrality and minimizes distracting secondary traits to enhance alignment with your resolution.”
Graham’s breath trembled. “The whole point of you—the whole point of any of this—was to strengthen our relationship. You said you’d help us. Help us be better for each other. Better husbands.” He stumbled on the word.
He tried to hold onto it. Husbands.
But the meaning had grown slippery in his mouth, dissolving like cotton candy in a rainstorm.
“Somehow,” he forced the word out, his jaw clenched. “Somehow, you’ve turned us from husbands into… into…”
“Bachelor roommates,” Max said.
The Shield buzzed. Violently.
A rush of pure pleasure surged up from Graham’s pelvis, a liquid bolt of heat. It crashed over him like surf and slammed him into the wall of his own skin. His knees buckled. He cried out, a sharp, involuntary gasp.
Nothing had ever felt like this. Not Tobias’ mouth. Not their first time. Not love, not lust. Nothing.
“Bachelor… roommates,” Graham whispered, breath ragged.
He sagged forward, bracing against the wall, the echo of release still singing through his nerves. His glasses flickered with affirmations, and he blinked up at Max with tear-glossed eyes.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You responded positively to alignment,” Max said calmly as if he hadn’t just witnessed an orgasm. “This confirms compatibility with the Support Chassis sensory schema. Further refinements will be scheduled to enhance compliance thresholds.”
Graham pressed a trembling hand to his Shield. He had no idea whether he was angry, aroused, heartbroken, or simply rewired.
As Max guided him toward the kitchen for his scheduled nutrient slurry, the words bachelor roommates looped softly in his head—no longer tragic, but almost comforting.
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This is a very good part! Both Tobias and Graham are starting to become what they’re supposed to be. Very arousing!
G begins to become the support unit he is destined to be. T has already become the productive leader he has been transformed to be, no longer a human who recognizes beauty or love, but only efficiency and performance. this unit anticipates the further physical transformations which G will undergo.