Read chapter 4 of “Robot cops” to get caught up before reading the final installment…
Bryan opened his eyes. His return to consciousness was met with almost debilitating disorientation. He didn’t remember blacking out, nor did he recognize his current location. The last thing he remembered was that he’d gone looking for Jack. He’d found him just off the hoverway where he—
In the haze of Bryan’s mind, his memories didn’t play out continuously, like an old cinefilm. Instead, they developed in asynchronous order in short, still images, like distorted holophotos. He remembered seeing Jack slumped against the wall. He remembered seeing his hands bound in wristcuffs. He remembered the smooth, plastic, hyper-masculine torso of a PX officer. The cold, artificial feeling of PX roboskin against his bound hands. And that low, monotonic voice calling his name.
Citizen Bryan Collins.
The voice was robotic, definitely belonging to a PX officer. Still, as the gaps in Bryan’s memory filled in, he knew that it was also Jake’s. His friend had been captured and converted into a PX officer, and it was all his fault.
Bryan was standing upright in some kind of alcove, but from the neck down, he was completely immobilized. He looked down at his body; it was ignoring the flight-or-fight response his brain was transmitting at full intensity and remained still. His rising panic was eased temporarily by the fact that his body still looked as he remembered. However average or out of shape he thought he’d been, at least he hadn’t been converted into the plastic, almost cartoonishly masculine body of a PX officer. As if reading his mind, a low, hoarse voice rang out from somewhere beyond Bryan’s field of vision.
Bryan craned his head as far as he could, trying to find the source of the voice that had just broken the silence. Two pairs of slow, even footsteps signaled the approach of people behind him. Bryan’s heart raced with pure adrenaline as the unknown figures grew closer, then closed in from his right side and faced him head-on.
“Citizen Bryan Collins. We ought not to expect you at work in the morning.”
Bryan’s blood ran cold. Standing before him was Paul, his boss at the Citizen-Journal, with a man in a lab coat whom Bryan didn’t recognize.
“Paul?” Bryan said, more confused than angry.
Both men smirked arrogantly but said nothing. The long silence grew the tension, and Bryan succumbed.”
“What are you doing here?” he said.
Paul reached into Bryan’s pocket and fished out his ID card. The screen alternated between his photo, vital statistics, and a “LOW BATTERY” warning.
“You really don’t read a damn thing in our paper,” Paul said. “I’m thinking we should have turned you over instead of Jake. Not that it matters now.”
Paul, registering Bryan’s bewilderment, continued: “The Police Revenue Act? The Citizen-Journal is a Schedule II Private Enterprise. Its male employees are subject to conscription into the domestic police force. Your friend Jake was our first volunteer.”
“Volunteer.” Bryan spat. “He didn’t volunteer for anything. I saw him. He was… half-converted into one of those things.”
The man in the lab coat began tapping commands into a computer console at the base of Bryan’s alcove. “We’re ready,” he said.”
Paul nodded and took a step back. “It’ll be a shame to lose you, too,” he said. “Your articles were actually pretty good. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.”
Paul departed, and Bryan heard a series of beeps from the computer console. He suddenly felt very sleepy, unable to keep his eyes open, and within seconds, everything went black.
Bryan’s eyes opened to the sound of his alarm clock going off. He stared at his ceiling for a few moments before reaching over and silencing the alarm with a swift slap. In the back of his mind, he felt troubled, slightly off center. Had he had a nightmare? It was hard to remember. As he swung his legs onto the floor and got out of bed, he tried to put the strange feeling out of his mind.
Beginning his morning routine, Bryan padded into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different and didn’t really feel different, either. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering him. Standing in front of the toilet, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his gym shorts and dropped them to the floor, ready to have his morning piss.
But when he reached down to aim his dick into the bowl, all he got was a handful of hard, smooth metal. Bryan looked down, and in the place of his cock and balls was a giant, shiny, metal bulge, completely nondescript and featureless. His shock disappeared quickly as he ran his fingers over his bulge’s silver surface, feeling a wave of pleasure so strong that he almost lost his balance. Regaining his composure, Bryan again faced the mirror and lifted his shirt. Not only had his manhood been replaced by silver hardware, but his body was entirely metallic from his mid-thighs all the way up to his collarbones and halfway down his biceps. Turning around and looking over his shoulder, his new silver metal back and ass reflected the bathroom lights in the mirror. On his right pec muscle, or whatever muscles were now, he saw PX10 PROTOTYPE 0013 engraved in tiny lettering. He touched the serial number with his human hand, and his entire body went rigid.
Bryan stood at attention and stared at his half-human, half-metallic body in the bathroom mirror as a dialog box appeared directly within his field of vision. A man appeared inside the dialog; Bryan recognized him as the man in the lab coat but immediately knew him as Dr. Campbell, Director of Research and Development for the Institute of Police Sciences. Bryan felt intense pleasure from seeing Dr. Campbell and an immediate desire to obey him.
“Greetings, Bryan Collins,” said Dr. Campbell’s video image. “You are seeing this message because you have activated the PX10 Prototype Orientation Program. The data you collect will provide the Institute with a valuable opportunity to develop new and exciting breakthroughs in the police sciences.”
Bryan’s fear was overruled, packed into the recesses of his mind, by the inescapable desire to obey and the pleasure of serving Dr. Campbell and the Institute.
“Control over your body will be returned to you shortly, and your personality and memories are all intact. You will need to access these to maintain your daily life for the time being. However, you may be contacted occasionally with assignments to complete for us. Once you have completed your assignments, you will regain control over your body. Have a nice day.”
When the dialog disappeared from his vision, Bryan could move again but remained stupefied by the events of the last several minutes and continued to stare at his new reflection. His doughy, unremarkable torso had been completely overhauled. While not nearly as freakishly masculine as the PX9 officers, like his friend Jake had become, he definitely looked quite fit. He’d acquired broad, metallic shoulders, thick and strong silver pecs, and even the beginnings of smooth, reflective abs. His ass had not previously been so full and round, and his new hypersensitive bulge would make him look like he was packing even in the baggiest sweats.
Bryan went back into his bedroom and opened his closet. Picking out his standard attire of jeans and a flannel shirt, he was interrupted by a ringing in his ears.
INCOMING ASSIGNMENT PX10 PROTOTYPE 0013 PROTOCOL 1A STANDARD ATTIRE
Bryan froze in place, awaiting his orders. Completely aware of his surroundings but incapable of disobedience, he placed the jeans and shirt back in his closet and retrieved a new outfit for the day: a pair of tight black slacks, a super slim fit white dress shirt, a black necktie, and a black vest. Bryan didn’t know where the clothes had come from, but they fit his new body perfectly. He returned to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but view his new body and attire favorably as he straightened his necktie around his collar.
His thoughts were short-lived, however, as he received a new message:
INCOMING ASSIGNMENT PX10 PROTOTYPE 0013 PROTOCOL 1B POST TO WORKPLACE
Bryan stood ramrod straight, and his face split into a wide, cheesy smile. Unable to control himself, he spoke in a pleasant, somewhat artificial tone.
“Welcome to The Citizen-Journal. My name is Bryan Collins. How can I assist you?”
The control over his demeanor released, and Bryan was confused by what he’d just said. He had little time to think as he lost himself again to the fake smile and chipper tone.
“I am happy to assist you with that. Absolutely! It is my pleasure!”
Each time he fired off a canned customer service-style sentence, he felt a wave of pleasure in his metallic bulge. They became more accessible and easier to say, and his forced smile grew wider with each utterance. Still speaking to himself, Bryan fetched his keys and ID card and started for his hovercar, his desire to resist fighting a losing battle against the growing pleasure.
“Please let me know if I can assist you with anything. I am happy to do that for you. My name is Bryan Collins. How can I assist you?”
By the time he reached the newspaper offices where he’d been a reporter so recently, Bryan was well prepared for his first day in a new role as the Citizen-Journal‘s doorman.
|Want to read more works like this? Send Me a tip as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.