009: How It Began For 'Porsche'.

Emerson studied every detail he could find on the glacier tabloid. His eyes flicked between the glowing instructions and the two circular modules resting on the floor. 

The words on the screen were clinical, devoid of emotion, yet the implication was monumental. All machine-like talks and strictly artificial intelligence.

“Place the second module on the ground,” Emerson instructed.

Raven arched his brow. “And this is supposed to do what? Summon aliens?”

“Just do it,” Emerson snapped, his fingers twitching as he gripped the tablet tighter.

Raven sighed, crouching to position the second module beside the first one. As it clicked into place, both disks emitted a faint, pulsing light. 

Emerson’s breath hitched. Whatever they were seeing and doing was hard on technology.

“That’s... not normal,” Raven muttered, stepping back.

Emerson ignored him, focused on the next step. “We need to place Porsche in the center of the modules.”

“Porsche?”

Emerson rolled his eyes. “Yes. Named him after my favorite ride. Now, lift him and put him inside then, pull the second module up. It should hang in the air, I think.”

Raven’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Why don’t you lift your boyfriend yourself?”

“Raven, I swear—” Emerson’s voice rang sharply. The undercurrent of urgency in his voice managed to silence Raven’s teasing.

“Fine, fine,” Riven grumbled. He approached the humanoid figure slumped on the chair. The skin glowed so beautifully, Raven almost kissed it. As Raven lifted Porsche, he grunted. “What is this thing made of? Iron and lead?”

Emerson watched as Raven carried Porsche to the modules. The moment Porsche was placed in the center, the modules’ light intensified, casting the room in a surreal blue glow.

“What the hell—” Raven started, but his voice faltered as a translucent barrier began to form. The light solidified into a crystalline dome, encasing Porsche in a cocoon of shimmering blue hue.

“Do you see that?” Raven asked, his voice low but filled with wonder and bewilderment.

“You’re not imagining it,” Emerson replied. His eyes were as well transfixed on the scene.

Raven reached out tentatively, trying to touch the barrier. His hand passed through the barrier effortlessly, but as he pulled back, the surface shimmered like molten glass. “It’s... not real. But it is. How is that possible?”

Emerson didn’t answer. Him too didn't have an answer to that. Rather, he focused his attention on the tablet again. A notification flashed across the screen: Charging: 12%. Red bar.

Raven leaned over his shoulder. “Twelve percent already? That’s fast.”

Emerson skimmed the details with a tight face. “It has a 12-hour operational window. Fully charged, it’ll wake on its own. If the charge is interrupted... it’ll still wake, but at partial capacity.”

“Great. Your robot takes naps like a baby. Can we eat now?” Raven snorted, heading for the door. “Your lover made a mean sandwich downstairs.”

Emerson didn’t respond. His attention was drawn to a video file that had auto-played on the tablet. The grainy footage showed a young man barely out of his teens. His face was sharp, his eyes dark with sleepless determination.

“This is my eleventh attempt,” the boy said with trembling hands. Behind the boy was a cluttered workshop, filled with half-assembled parts and blinking monitors. The boy reached for Porsche (the sex bot), brushing its hair with an almost reverent touch.

“Wake up,” the boy whispered.

The sex bot's body twitched, then collapsed like a marionette that its strings had been cut. The boy’s shoulders slumped as the video cut off.

Another video queued up: Trial 32. The boy was older now, his face gaunt, his voice harder. The sex bot lay on a sterile white bed. 

Emerson recognised the boy now. This was the kid, Leroy, who had come to his company to sell them a wack sex robot with an iron penis that wouldn't definitely injure a woman's hole. He was also the kid who had ‘this’ sex bot, Porsche, delivered.

“Ten... nine... eight...” The boy’s voice in the video counted down. Each number was a whisper of hope.

Unconsciously, Emerson began mouthing the countdown. “Seven… six… five…” His voice was barely audible, but he stopped himself at “three,” shaking his head. “Stop it, Emerson. This is not a countdown for a show.”

The sex bot on the screen didn’t move. The boy exhaled. “S.O.S. core... still unresponsive,” he muttered. “Maybe next time.”

The boy reached for the camera, but before he could turn it off, the robot stirred. The movement was slight—a twitch of a hand, the faintest tilt of the head. The boy froze, his eyes wide.

The video ended abruptly.

Emerson stared at the blank screen, his heart racing. The boy’s desperation, his unwavering drive—it was haunting. The tablet buzzed: Charging: 25%. Orange bar.

A chill ran down Emerson’s spine. Whatever this sex bot was, it wasn’t just a machine. It was something more. And he wasn’t sure he was ready to find out what. All he knew was… he wanted to see more videos of how it all began for ‘Porsche', his sex bot.