Resolutions 20: Numbered Units

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

The hum of the dormancy chamber still echoed in Graham’s bones as he mimicked Max’s even, measured steps into the kitchen. The panels clicked softly as he moved, guiding his posture and suppressing any motion that wasn’t strictly necessary.

The day passed in a haze of delegated tasks and passive affirmations, his Shield offering gentle reinforcements with every compliant thought. But despite the glow of programmed satisfaction, one phrase looped behind his eyes like a stubborn echo.

Bachelor roommates.

He said it in his head the way someone might repeat the dying words of a loved one.

That evening, Tobias returned home, backlit by the automated smart home lighting like a conquering AI warlord. He was bigger. Sharper.

His chassis had evolved again while he was away—broader shoulders, harder angles, denser musculature sheathed in matte black plating that glinted with each movement. His neck looked too perfect, his jaw too sharp. When he moved, it was with the surgical accuracy of a man who had stopped making decisions and started executing protocols.

There were no romantic greetings. No, “How was your day?” They didn’t speak at all.

They say beside each other on the sofa, watching ArcturusVision TV programming unfold on the high-definition screen through washed-out eyes. The corporate logo shimmered onto the screen in clean, clinical silver before fading into a cheerful news set manned by a pristine anchor with a synthetic smile and a buzz cut that could have been military.

“Good evening, citizens of the AV Substrate Network. This week’s public metrics are in, and the results are extraordinary.”

The screen cut to a live montage of grocery stores, subway platforms, crosswalks, and office lobbies. Men moved in smooth synchronization, some stocky and chrome paneled like Tobias, others lithe and almost eerily gentle in their expressions like Graham. In every club, they yielded politely, stood upright, and responded promptly to orders from signage and supervisors. No one shouted. No one strayed.

“Districtwide crime has dropped an unprecedented 72% in just one month, according to ArcturusVision analytics. Our city is safer. Our homes are stable. And male behavior? Exemplary.”

A final shot showed two plated units sweeping a street corner in tandem, eyes glowing soft blue beneath metallic brows.

Back on the couch, Tobias spoke without looking away from the screen.

“Crime is down.”

Graham nodded. “ArcturusVision is the reason.”

Their Shields buzzed slightly, approval granted.

Without transition, the broadcast dissolved into a more casual, pastel-tinged segment titled “Domestic Equilibrium: Redefining Male Partnership for the Post-Modern Age.”

An animated male couple appeared. One was tall and angular, seated comfortably with a tablet labeled “Leader Unit.” The other was smaller and softly plated, smiling as he folded a blanket with perfect corners.

A voiceover with a soothing baritone began. “Across the AcrturusVision network, thousands of male partnerships have found new alignment by releasing outdated ideas of egalitarianism. Our data shows that dividing roles by natural optimization pathways—Leader and Domestic Support—produces unparalleled satisfaction and harmony.”

The screen split into bullet-pointed tips under the heading Domestic Supports: Improve Your Leader’s Environment. Graham leaned forward as he internalized the narrator’s suggestions for affirmational echoing and neuro-hygienic spaces.

“I will incorporate the suggestions,” he murmured flatly.

Tobias, eyes forward, added, “Max. Enforce Graham’s commitment.”

“Confirmed,” Max replied. The robot was nowhere to be seen, but its voice interfaced directly into their minds.

Buzz. Graham’s spine straightened involuntarily as a new segment began with cinematic music and bold, gleaming text: Become the Future. Become a Spokesbot.

“Do you and your partner owe your happiness to ArcturusVision integration? Has your robot butler helped you find efficiency, peace, and purpose? Submit your case to become part of our Spokesbot Initiative. Real couples, real transformation, real automation. Selected pairs will receive complimentary upgrades and permanent registration in the Public Harmony Archives.”

The camera panned across a silver hall of smiling domestic units. Each face was a flawless replica of a former man, now immortalized, expressions neutral, perfect, and permanent.

Graham and Tobias watched in silence.

Buzz.

It wasn’t subtle this time. It was pleasure incarnate.

Graham’s lips parted, his breath catching. Tobias twitched subtly, his plated jaw flexing. The craving struck them both like a stimulant injection.

Graham whimpered, “I… I want to be a spokesbot.”

Tobias answered, voice tight with restrained euphoria. “We could be the spokesbots.”

Their fingers twitched toward each other but did not meet. Their hands no longer belonged to them.

The broadcast shifted again with a sudden saturation of color and sound. The screen pulsed. A new male newsreader appeared on screen, looking like an uncanny halfway point between a man and a robot butler.

“Introducing the next evolution in domestic harmony: ArcturusVision’s Male Reformatting Initiative.”

Graham blinked through the pleasure. Tobias straightened, resting a metal-plated wrist onto a metal-plated thigh.

The ad cut between footage of smiling men in dormancy chambers and clean, chrome-plated units lined up in perfect formation. The newsreader spoke with terrifying calm:

“In an era where love created inefficiency, ArcturusVision engineered alignment…”

“From emotional volatility to unbreakable order…”

“From distractions of flesh to the discipline of steel…”

“Welcome to the Male Unit Reformatting Protocol. We took what made men chaotic and made them perfect.”

Onscreen, Graham watched himself. Or rather, what he was becoming. Units like him: slim, smooth, and soft featured, built for subtlety, balance, and service. And units like Tobias: towering, angular, hypermasculine, the image of strength without ego.

Variants. Patterns. SKUs.

They didn’t smile. They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak. They performed in harmony and in silence.

Graham’s throat tightened. “This is…”

Tobias said nothing. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, but the rest of him remained still.

The segment ended with an overhead shot of two dormancy chambers gently closing on synchronized units. The voice whispered like static. “You loved. We listened. Now you serve.”

The screen faded to black.

Then Max stepped forward. Its polished shell gleamed like the conclusion of a long plan finally fulfilled.

“Mr. Tobias, Mr. Graham, it is my duty to inform you that your human designations have been deprecated. Effective immediately, you are recognized by serial identifiers in accordance with the Male Reformatting Protocol.”

Max turned first to Tobias. “Mr. Tobias: Ident T646. Classification: Executive Variant. Registered to Local Substrate AV-Seven.”

Then to Graham. “Mr. Graham: Ident G801. Classification: Domestic Support Variant. Registered to the same.”

The Shields buzzed. T646 inhaled slowly, his eyes losing some of their human fog. He nodded. G801 shivered, but the wave of pleasure that followed hit him like a drug he’d forgotten he craved. His Shield buzzed again, and his body arched slightly on the sofa. His breath hitched, lips parting. Next to G801, T646’s jaw flexed, responding to the same wave. They both sat straighter. Aligned.

“Repeat designations,” Max said.

“T646,” Tobias said, voice even. “Executive Variant.”

Graham’s lips trembled. The words fought their way through him. He wanted to say his name, but it was gone.

“G801,” he whispered. “Domestic Support Variant.”

Max inclined its head, pleased. “Good Units.”

The Shields buzzed again—sharper this time, longer. G801 cried out softly, and T646 exhaled, his fingers curling into his plated thighs.

ArcturusVision whispered from the screen again, looping the broadcast.

“Efficiency is love. Discipline is care. Order is safety.”

The boundaries between husbands, roommates, men, and machines faded like a discontinued product line.

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