Chapter Text
Ramsay was his best customer. This was not a good thing. Most customers were one-time clients. They didn’t need a second visit, let alone a tenth. The man went through Zynths like cigarettes, like they were disposable and cheap.
Robb hadn’t seen him in several months and was beginning to get up his hope that Ramsay had changed his ways, but when he walked into the shop that day, lugging a human-sized box behind him, Robb knew he’d probably been away because he’d finally found a sturdier model. Robb was working on another project in the back workshop, but he acknowledged Ramsay’s entrance with a, “Be right there.” That didn’t stop Ramsay from slamming on the courtesy bell until Robb was forced to set his work tools down and come to the front desk.
Ramsay had already hefted the box onto the counter by himself. Zynths were heavier than an average person of comparable size, and during their inactive state, they were essentially just dead weight. Being able to lift a Zynth with bare hands was impressive. Robb knew several gentle giants, but he suspected that Ramsay was the sort of man who knew his own strength and didn’t hesitate to use it. The state of his Zynths spoke to that.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got—”
Robb reached for the box’s clasps, but Ramsay slammed his hand on the lid to keep it closed. “I don’t need to be standing here when you judge me, Stark.”
“I never judge my customers.” It wasn’t technically true, but Robb tried.
Ramsay sneered. “Just get it fixed up. I don’t want to see it until it’s nice and pretty again.”
“Very well,” Robb said. “I have a few orders ahead of you, so I can get it back to you—”
“You can get it back to me next week,” Ramsay interrupted. “Put a rush on it. I’ll pay extra.”
You mean your father will pay extra.
“Yeah…sure.”
“And I want it as good as new. Better than new. I spent a small fortune on this one, so I don’t want to hear about how this or that was too badly damaged.” He turned to go, but then stopped. “Oh, and don’t wipe the memory. I’ve got it just how I like it, so don’t go messing with it.”
Robb held in a frustrated sigh. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best,” Ramsay grunted. “Make sure it is.” Then he really did turn and go. The bell above the door chimed angrily as he stormed out.
Robb relished the silence and relief in his wake. The man was overbearing. Robb could hold his own, but he imagined a many a person would be easily cowed. Ramsay was a man used to getting his own way, perhaps because he wasn’t afraid to use his muscle. Or perhaps because his father was a wealthy politician. It didn’t matter to Robb. He didn’t help Ramsay because he was scared or impressed, or even because he needed the money. He could easily turn Ramsay down, and had often considered doing so. But, well…he liked Zynths too much. Liked repairing them, fixing them up. And Ramsay’s Zynths were always an interesting challenge.
This project was promising. The other one he’d been working on earlier would have to wait for now. Time to find out what he’d gotten himself in for. He unclasped the box and lifted the lid.
Okay, wow, yeah, he’d need to charge Ramsay extra for this.
The Zynth doll, curled into a fetal position to accommodate the size of the box, was a male model, which was a switch for Ramsay. He didn’t seem to have a preference, since his previous Zynths had all varied wildly in age, color, and shape. Except that they were all female. Again, it didn’t bother Robb. He worked on male Zynths all the time. It was just unexpected from this client.
The model was slender, built for the type of client who preferred a swimmer’s build. He—once Robb knew the Zynth’s sex, he could never call it an “it”—had been hand-crafted with obvious attention to detail. The face was fine-boned and handsome, peaceful in its dormant state. It was eerie, seeing such a tranquil look on a face when the rest of the body was a horror to behold.
Dark hair had been ripped from the Zynth’s head, leaving bald patches everywhere, the skin was pocked with teeth marks, fingernail indentations, cuts, and in some places even pulled away to reveal the smooth metal underneath. And that was just what he could see upon first inspection. He dreaded to think about the state of the Zynth’s…intimate organs. Not to mention the hard drive that Ramsay was so insistent he not wipe.
Well, no point in delaying the inevitable. Robb felt around for the on switch at the back of the head, usually hidden at the base of the skull. This model had particularly well-made hair, thick and dark where it hadn’t been pulled out. Probably real human hair. It was all matted now with things Robb would rather not think about, but he looked forward to rerooting and brushing the hair until it shined. It was, perhaps perversely, one of his favorite parts of doll-making.
He found the switch and flipped it. The motors whirred to life with a distressing sound. The Zynth’s eyes opened, but otherwise it didn’t move. The eyes were also well-made, a sort of bluish color, and the long, dark eyelashes that swept over them had been set with painstaking care. The attention to detail was astounding; Robb could even see the tear ducts. It always amazed him how more and more humanlike these things got every year. Soon there would be virtually no way of telling human from Zynth just by looking at them. As it was, there was something slightly off about this model. Not something Robb could place. Too perfect, maybe. To carefully crafted, not a hair out of place, that sort of thing.
Now that he was awake, Robb could run a full damage assessment, both inside and out. He reached under the counter to where he kept his diagnostic equipment. There was a plug behind the Zynth’s ear that allowed Robb to insert his override system locks. The Zynth would not respond to him otherwise.
A soft beeping from the device told Robb he had bypassed Ramsay’s passwords. Robb looked at the specs and sighed in frustration. Ramsay had frankendolled the hell out of the Zynth’s personality, cobbling something together from several different mods he’d downloaded himself. That was probably what he meant about getting it just right, but as it was, with all these excess programs sending off conflicting data to the Zynth’s personality center, it was a wonder he’d gotten anything out of it.
Robb tsk’d at the sloppy work. He’d promised Ramsay he wouldn’t wipe it, but maybe he could streamline it a little. For now, he kept only the programs necessary for evaluation going. The rest of it went into one of his empty thumb drives so he could tamper with it later. “Can you sit up for me?” he asked as he unplugged.
The Zynth slowly untucked himself and did as he was asked. The metal plates under his skin moved in a perfect imitation of muscle. He even wore a convincing look of confusion on his face, like someone who was uncertain what had woken him. The pupils dilated as they took in the surroundings.
“What’s your name?” Robb asked, then added, “You can call me Robb.” Ramsay usually set the default for “Master.”
The Zynth blinked as he recalled the information from his database. “Reek.”
That was the name Ramsay had chosen? He usually didn’t bother to change the name from the manufacturer’s default. In fact, he’d had no less than three Jeyne models over the years. Robb had given them the nicknames Red Jeyne, Grey Jeyne, and White Jeyne to tell them apart. (Parts of all three were still around here.) He made a note to go online later to track down this model’s factory name. No way was he calling him Reek.
“Are you able to stand?” Robb asked.
The Zynth nodded. He crawled out of the box like a spider, motors whirring and limbs jerking unnaturally. Ramsay had obviously damaged some of the inner mechanisms. He climbed down from the table and stood with his hands at his side, not at all aware of his state of complete undress. He was, of course, anatomically correct. Some Zynths weren’t, the ones who weren’t expected to perform that sort of function.
Robb whistled as he did a once-over visual assessment. The Zynth was a work of art, and Ramsay had really done a number on him. Besides the obvious damage from before, there were missing fingers and toes, cut with enough precision that it couldn’t have been an accident of overly-rough play. The neck was deformed and crushed, a not-uncommon thing to see in clients who liked to choke—at least they took it out on a Zynth and not a real person. The sexual organs had been mutilated to be nearly unrecognizable, and Robb hissed through his teeth at that. That was going to take some time to get back into working order. He would check the…other stuff later. Once the Zynth had been cleaned and sterilized, as was custom operating procedures for all Zynths who passed through his workshop, no matter their intended purpose.
In the meantime, he could do a basic check for damaged infrastructure.
“Raise your arms for me,” he said, stepping back.
The Zynth did, with more whirring of motors.
“Is that difficult for you?” Robb ran his hands along the lean arms to feel for potential damage.
“Yes,” Reek said, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, looks like your arm has been pulled beyond its range of motion.” That was damage typical of most of his clients, not just Ramsay, as they tended to overestimate how far a Zynth’s limbs could actually go, especially since the Zynth would not protest any mistreatment. “Do you have any other difficulties in moving? Back? Hips?”
“Hips.”
Robb ran his hands along Reek’s sides until he got to the hips. Sure enough, they were dislocated as well. “Well, those are both easy fixes.” Relatively easy fixes. “How about your neck? Any interior damage.”
“No.”
“That’s good. How about your jaw?”
“Superficial damage,” he answered with absolutely no inflection in his voice. “It does not interfere with my ability to give oral intercourse.”
At least this sterile, clinical speech kept this all impersonal and detached, but Robb doubted he would ever get used to it. “Is your function strictly sexual?” he asked. “Or do you do other things for him?” It wasn’t any of his business except that it might change the repairs to the musculature, depending on what Ramsay had him doing.
“Model: Pantheon Erotic Companion Series,” Reek answered. “Designated tasks: intimate relations, cooking, cleaning, human socialization, stress relief—”
“Stress relief?”
The Zynth ran through its pre-programmed instructions. “The Pantheon Series is a highly durable model, able to withstand most damage, including but not limited to: blunt force trauma, conditions of extreme heat or cold, tearing, burning, crushing, fall—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.”
The Zynth stopped listing all the abuse it could take.
“That’s disgusting,” Robb muttered to himself. He loved Zynths, he really did. But sometimes he wished they’d show a little more self-preservation.
But then again, maybe that would put him out of a job.
“Step into my workshop,” Robb finally said, leading the way. The Zynth followed. The dislocated hip joint made a popping sound with every step. Robb winced. The infrastructure would need repairing first, but in the meantime… “I’ll start making up a new batch of skin for you.”