Hot Flash! Time S3rv3d!

It was crazy, she knew that before she signed the form. She supposed it was better than the alternative, being locked away in some prison where her small frame would certainly push her into the arms of some bull dyke, if cable television had taught her anything. It wasn’t like she was a violent criminal or anything. She was just unlucky. And the way the courts worked these days, the three-strike rule hit her hard. Thanks to Donny and his stupid idea to hold up the restaurant they stopped in for breakfast, they were now both in the hands of the feds.

For Donny, that meant a two-year sentence, probably suspended after a few months if he played his cards right. For Amber, it was the full ride. A minimum of twenty years without possibility of parole. The only alternative was the Argos program. 

It was disgusting, for sure, but Amber didn’t like the idea of being in a federal prison with its peeling paint and barbed wire fences looming over her for the next two decades. What Argos offered was a way to cut the sentence by nearly eighty percent. Instead of twenty years, Amber would only serve three. The downside was that the time would be served as an Argos Serv-pro. To Amber, it sounded like the model of an air conditioner, but the truth was far more sleazy. 

The Serv-pros had been an offshoot product of advances in military technology, cerebral implants that heightened awareness and physical ability on the battlefield. If the Argos chips could bolster the abilities of a soldier, who was to say that the chip couldn’t be used for other purposes, and perhaps diminish faculties instead of improving them. Since Argos was already contracted with the government for its military services, convincing politicians to allow them to experiment on federal prisoners wasn’t too great a leap. 

The first subjects had been given implants, and made docile and happy through the manipulation of the implants. It was only later that Argos began a special treatment on the skin of the subjects to create a more synthetic appearance. Consumers, it was argued, would feel more comfortable with a servant who appeared human, but not entirely. 

Amber shuffled in a line of six other girls, all of whom who had chosen the Argos process to long-term incarceration. She had no idea what the result would be of the process, save for the images she had seen in the ads in shop windows or online, showing fake-looking human-sized dolls in packages awaiting purchase. She had heard a few rumors, that some of the Serv-pros had signed away the rest of their lives to continue in their new roles, or of the sexual punishment received by some of the models. It came as no surprise to Amber that the male buyers might be a little enthusiastic in their treatment of their virtual slaves, but if it mean she would have the rest of her life free, Amber made peace with the notion of being some living doll for some pervert’s use. 

She was fourth in line from the front, and watched the other girls, mostly young women like herself, filter into the narrow corridor that would lead them to the transport. As she stepped into the back of the transport truck, she felt one of the male guards push her up and take a long moment to appreciate the tone of her ass. She grunted, then chided herself for such an incidental grope. Her fate, she supposed, would be far worse than a horny guard copping a feel.

At the end of the long journey away from the prison and into the countryside, Amber and the other girls stared out the small portholes in the trucks sides, watching as the day dwindled along with the tall buildings of the city. Eventually, it would be too dark to see, but Amber enjoyed seeing the squat rural homes and wide swaths of empty land pass by in the gloom. She remembered being younger on her aunt and uncle’s farm, riding horses during the day and falling asleep at night before her head hit the pillow, each day packed with natural wonders and things to do. 

The path to this moment had been one of bad decisions, she knew, and this was, perhaps, another. 

“Do you think this will hurt?” one girl asked, a red-haired girl with her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. 

“I heard that they numb you so that you don’t feel anything after it happens,” another volunteered.

“I heard it’s like you fall asleep and don’t wake up until they’re taking out the implant.”

Each of them had some version of their fates, some horrible, some relatively benign. None of the Serv-pros had ever described the process in detail. The ones who had come out of the process and back to their own lives either had no memory of the events during their time as Serv-pros, or they were not telling.

The truck rumbled to a stop and the doors were flung open. There was a gaggle of men and women in white medical uniforms awaiting them, each of the girls being led away by a pair of the doctors or nurses while armed guards stood just behind them, ready to stop anyone who might attempt an escape.

Amber found her rams held on either side by a tall, balding doctor and a thin-lipped older woman. Neither looked directly at her.

“Subject 10037, you have been remanded to the Argos program for the duration of your sentence. In exchange for a shortened term, you agree to allow Argos to fit you with a Modifier, which will render you of use to the Argo Serv-pro program. Do you understand what I have told you?” the man asked.

She had signed all kinds of paperwork, but maybe, Amber thought, they had to say it anyway, like being read your rights.

“Yes, I understand,” she said.

The crisp night air was replaced by a sterile, medicinal smell as Amber was led into the wide building with Argos logo on the front. The doors closed automatically behind them with a pneumatic hiss.

“This way, please,” the man said, though Amber had little say as she was turned down a hallway and placed inside a room not much larger than her cell at the prison, but made of some sort of unbreakable plastic. 

The other girls must have gone down different corridors, for she could see no signs of life now that her attendants had gone. The only thing in the room besides herself was a bundled package in the center of the room, which she now lifted. It was light, a plain brown paper wrapping secured with thin plastic ribbons. She wondered why they even went to the trouble of wrapping it, like some obscene gift.

Within, Amber found a bundle of plastic, which folded out into an odd sort of bodysuit. There were no terminations, but translucent gloves and socks, the material molded to fit even between the toes. 

“10037, remove your clothing and wear the provided suit. Processing will continue when that has been done.” A click and nothing more from speakers Amber could not find. A shiver crawled down her spine.

With a sigh, she disrobed. This was what she had signed up for, wasn’t it, giving her body over to the state? Why should she be vain about her nudity now?

Truth be told, she didn’t mind showing off her body so much. The one positive in a life spent mostly on the run was that it didn’t leave much time to grow fat and complacent. Her body was lean, with a generous flare to her hips to give her waist and narrow look and small, high breasts that maintained an appealing shape, if not volume. With her long, dark hair, and pale skin marked by a pair of tattoos, one on her hips and another one her ankle. As she removed the last of her prison-issued garb, she felt a small sense of pleasure at her body being freed from the baggy clothing. Maybe someone would appreciate a look at her youthful, firm body.

She didn’t bother folding her old clothes. Maybe she would just be slipping back into the jumpsuit, but for now she was too preoccupied with finding an entry into the bodysuit Argos supplied. Finally, she found a seam in the back which opened with a bit of effort. The smell was synthetic, like opening a vinyl container that held a kids’ raft when she went swimming as a kid. She thought of it as ‘fresh rubber,’ and the odor was intense in the cube holding her. 

Nonetheless, she worried and tugged until the bodysuit resembled a human shape and stepped into it, pulling it over her foot and rolling it up her claves like she might a pair of hose. She pulled and smoothed and pulled again until the thing had fit to her waist, and she paused to wiggle her toes in the suit. It was odd to see them slightly obscured, and odder still not to feel the friction of her toes against one another. In fact, her body from her pelvis down had taken on a numb and tingly quality.

She continued, pushing first one arm then the other into the sleeves of the suit and waggled her fingers until the tips met the ends of the gloves. It was tougher to finish adjusting the suit with her fingers inhibited by the gloves, but she managed to pull it flush against her torso and then reach behind her, closing it up to her neck. She hadn’t noticed the hood before, but this, too, she spread out and then pulled over the top of her head. 

“The process will now continue, 10037.”

Amber froze in place as the suit contracted, as if the air between it and her skin were being sucked out by a vacuum, and she felt the material crawl into the creases of her body in a sudden, invasive manner. Then, the heat began, and she felt the suit turn molten around her, not painfully hot, but warm enough to make the suit malleable and the snug fit flowed into a skintight barrier between her and the rest of the world. She wanted to try to tear the thing off, but the suit seemed frozen, shackling her with its carapace. The hood began to flow down her face and, like a living thing, it was insinuating itself into her nostrils and mouth, coating her tongue and teeth, forcing her eyes closed as it flowed over the,

She was trapped in darkness, her body stiff and unmoving, while her skin was tickled by the motion of the suit and whatever effects the process had on it. She heard a door open, and footsteps come near, at least two sets, presumably her handlers from before.

“10037, the implant will now be inserted. You will be released in thirty-eight months. Enjoy your time as an Argos Serv-pro.”

There was pressure against her temple and then a cold, sharp spike of pain. And then, nothing.

Amber 10037 opened its eyes and stared up at its owner. It had remained dormant during storage and retail display, now activated once the box had been opened and a remote activated.

Dolly is awake!

It couldn’t move. 

Dolly’s owner will move her!

It tried to recall where it had been before, but was meat only by the syrupy, cheery voice of its companion.

Dolly has always been dolly! And now it’s time for Dolly to be played with!

That would be nice. Dollies should be played with, it recognized. A control was activated and it could move, curling onto the bed where its owner had placed it, folding its plastic-coated legs beneath it and turning, bending slightly to show off its heavy breasts. With its dyed hair and plump, pale pink lips and wide, unblinking blue eyes, it looked like a doll come to life as it displayed itself. 

Its owner was already unbuckling his belt, mounting the bed.

I wonder which hole Dolly’s owner will like?

Yes, Dolly wondered, but knew an answer was coming soon. Its mouth opened wide.

Somewhere inside it, a timer ticked down another second on its journey to thirty-eight months.

Hope you enjoyed!  Should the story continue?