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February evening in Hamburg turned out colder than the forecast had promised, and you could feel it even inside the rented apartment, where the wind from the Elbe still managed to slip through the gaps despite the double-glazed windows.
Ruben Harpen — or just “Ru,” as his friends back in Seattle called him — programmer by day, freelance game designer, and at night the author of a cult transformation series.
He slammed his laptop shut. Closed his eyes.
— Screw this… — he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. — "Why so cruel?! I beg you, let her deal with this mess."
Damn it, it's literally a comic about a guy stuck as a female android! There shouldn't be anything soft in it!
He ran a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion from all the comments, then took a deep breath, stood up, and his neck cracked.
Six-foot-three, the hunched shoulders of a game designer who’d been living on coffee and deadlines for three years straight. A T-shirt with the faded logo of his very first commercial failure.
— Alright, Ru, — he muttered to himself, walking toward the little kitchen corner. — No whiskey tonight. Screw all these stories. Tomorrow I’ll think only about work.
But his mind kept circling back to the comments, again and again, and now they didn’t sound like text on a screen but like real mocking voices, as if someone had turned them on inside his skull at full volume.
‘…too cruel even for your style, dude. She’s literally broken by protocols, it’s not a fetish anymore, it’s sadism.’
‘Why are you making her crawl on her knees and thank for every command? That’s too much.’
‘You really hate your characters, huh?’
‘She can’t even say “no.” That’s not a game anymore, that’s the death of a personality.’
— Are you freaking serious?.. — Ru stopped in the middle of the kitchen, the cup frozen in his hand. — It’s fiction. It’s an android. It’s drama! Damn fetish drama!
The voices wouldn’t stop. They grew louder, like someone was turning up the volume, and then they stopped being just memories — they sounded out loud, from somewhere above, making Ruben lift his head only to confirm there was no one there.
‘What if this happened to you?’
‘Or maybe that’s what you want? You want to become her?’
‘Yeah, he definitely wants that, why are you even… oops, asking her about it?’
— What, did someone put a speaker up there or what?.. — he said, staring at the ceiling where, in his mind, the voices were definitely coming from, even though it was just an ordinary concrete ceiling. — Shit. This is too much.
From the realization that someone in the real world might know that his life and interests weren’t limited to code and game design, but went deep into those dark, damp corners where he allowed himself to be the cruelest author — from that alone something inside him tightened.
‘But Androids don’t even exist in the world yet.’
‘All humans are bio-robots, don’t talk nonsense — you just need to install the right directives.’
He stood there, head thrown back, and suddenly felt the air above him grow heavier, as if the ceiling was rising higher. But it wasn’t. Or not exactly. It was Ruben who was getting smaller.
At first he didn’t even realize it. The familiar ceiling line simply crawled upward, the lamp drifted away, the upper kitchen cabinets suddenly seemed heavier.
— No… no, that’s bullshit, — he laughed nervously. — I’m not shrinking. This… this is just panic.
And at that moment it was like someone pressed down on him from above.
The ceiling shot away. His T-shirt, which had hugged his shoulders a moment ago, sagged. His pants slipped down with a soft rustle along with his boxers, and long hair fell around his face.
He froze.
— No… — he breathed out, afraid to look down, already knowing perfectly well what he’d see.
‘She wants to look normal, right’
‘Yeah, she definitely doesn’t need the old clothes, that looks awful.’
Click
His whole body was suddenly wrapped in tight fabric, squeezing his legs and torso like a second skin.
He gasped sharply and finally looked down.
A purple crop top gripped small but very noticeable boobs on this fragile body, and leggings of the same eggplant shade clung to his—now her—hips and butt, emphasizing the almost complete lack of curves. Between them, even from this angle, her ribs were visible, along with such a thin stomach that it looked like someone could easily wrap a single hand around it if they wanted.
— What… what… — the girl whispered, the words barely escaping her mouth, shocked by the sound of her own voice.
She lifted her arms, stretching them slightly forward — and doubted they could be called arms at all. Thin, like two twigs, the tiny hands spread equally tiny fingers with neatly filed nails covered in clear polish.
‘Yeah, look at her. She really likes it.’
‘Wonder if she’ll be just as cruel with her characters now?’
She swallowed.
— I… I don’t like it, hey! — she shouted, lifting her head up and feeling long hair slide down her back, spilling across her shoulders.
Her voice sounded too bright, too high, so much that even she flinched at how sharp it was.
‘Listen to her making excuses,’ one of the voices drawled, fading quieter and quieter.
‘And look at those eyes. Wide. Staring up — waiting for instructions,’ another added, already sounding like it came from far away.
— I’m not waiting for instructions! I… — she hesitated, squeezing her eyes shut as desperately as Ruben had just minutes ago, even harder, until white sparks flashed under her eyelids, until pain pulsed at her temples, as if that alone could undo everything that had already happened.
But instead of darkness, a cold bluish light lit up behind her eyes. Not bright, not blinding — cold, functional, like the loading screen of an old terminal.
ANDROID UNIT [R-09 “RUBY”]
HEIGHT: 153 cm
PRIMARY USER INTERFACE: NOT ASSIGNED
ENERGY LEVEL: STABLE
PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: RECEIVE INSTRUCTION
— I don’t accept any directives! — she yelled, opening her eyes and immediately noticing how everything had become genuinely huge from her current point of view.
The countertop — at the level of her breasts. The doorknob — barely below eye level. Even the fridge now looked like a massive wall.
Her breathing sped up.
— This is bullshit… total bullshit… a hallucination… — she rattled off quickly, like she was commenting on a bug in code. — Overload. Nervous system glitching. It’ll go away any second.
The bluish text still hung in front of her eyes, semi-transparent, like an augmented-reality overlay but without glasses and without a device. It didn’t flicker. It was waiting.
PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: RECEIVE INSTRUCTION
AWAITING INPUT…
She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. The pain was real. Too real for a hallucination.
— Disable, — she hissed through her teeth. — System. Disable interface. Command: logout. Exit. Shutdown. Abort!
The text trembled. For a second it seemed like it reacted.
But instead of disappearing, a new line appeared, smaller, almost like a footnote at the bottom:
INVALID COMMAND
USER PRIVILEGES: NONE
OVERRIDE LEVEL REQUIRED: MASTER
NO MASTER PRESENT → DEFAULT BEHAVIOR: GOOD WEAK GIRL
— I’m not… — she began firmly.
Her shoulders dropped on their own. Her neck thinned and stretched. Her chin dipped slightly. Her voice softened.
— …not weak…
The words lost their force. They sounded like she needed permission to finish the sentence. And she obviously couldn’t get that permission.
Her fingers loosened, and something in her stomach clenched painfully. Want. Sharp, sudden, like a servo motor kicking on at full power.
‘Someone higher is needed. Someone who tells you what to do. Someone who’ll take responsibility. Someone who’ll call you… correctly.’
— Shut up, — she hissed at herself, at her own thoughts, hitting the countertop with her fist. The hit came out pathetic, almost silent. Her knuckles reddened instantly. — I don’t want any master! I’m… I’m the author! I write the rules!
But the text in her vision responded instantly, updating with a soft, melodic beep, like a notification in an old OS.
RESISTANCE DETECTED → MODERATE
RECOMMENDATION: vocalize submission phrase to reduce internal conflict
SAMPLE: «I'm a good weak girl and I'm waiting for instructions»
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to resist, at least to say something else, at least to—
— I'm… — she began, but the word stuck. Her throat tightened. The word “not” simply refused to come out. Instead:
— I'm… good… weak…
Her voice trembled. She finished the phrase in an almost whisper:
— …girl and I'm waiting for instructions
Instant relief washed down her spine like a warm wave. Her muscles relaxed. Her breathing steadied. Even the cold of the apartment suddenly felt less annoying — just background, something she could, no, should endure if someone stronger told her that she had to.
‘No! No! This isn’t me!’ she screamed internally, but even she already understood perfectly well that it was useless.
Now this was her.