Party Favors
by Wiley Wiggins

"Mmmmmm... Ton-EEEEEEEE!"

The room was lame-lit and vanilla with the smell of nitrous oxide. The containment room was probably hot-boxed with hash again. Tony tapped a fluorescent over the cuttlefish tank. He felt the hot tips of a sinus headache beginning to quiver jagged behind his eyes.

Tony reacted, "What? speak up, Piffle."

"Phaedra spilled her beer in one of the twins, oh my god, Tony, there were sparks! I thought they were waterproof!"

Tony's eyes went wide, "Not on the inside, dolt. Where are they, goddamnit?"

"In the carpet room, oh hurry! It's tragic!"

The pair rushed to the carpet room, blue and frosted and dark. Phaedra was sitting in the corner, sullen, drinking. One of the twins was crying, her dress torn. The other had her legs pulled off and half of her CPU exposed. One of her hip servos could be heard buzzing beneath the silicone. There was a faint aroma of smoke in the air.

"What... What did you do that for?" Tony stammered.

Phaedra produced a cerulean pill from her corset and swallowed it with a sip of whatever she was drinking, ice all melted and a mutilated lime floating in it like a corpse.

"Tell me the truth, Tony," Phaedra slurred, "You fuck these things, don't you?"

Tony drew back, "Christ, Phaedra, they're not anatomically correct! You're out of your mind! They're just toys!"

Lucilla, the weeping twin, stopped crying and looked quietly at Tony with dry glass eyes. Green irises in exaggerated Asian eyes.

Phaedra made a snorting sound and drew her lip back in a smirk, "They've got mouths, don't they? You're a fucking child molester at heart and that's why you keep these evil little things around."

"We're hardly children," Lucilla said, lips not matching words.

Even in appearance the twins were hardly children, but other people besides Phaedra had noticed how much time Tony spent dressing these automatons, primping them. Even now Tony's eyes gleamed over the sputtering, flayed corpse. His face looked sick, drugged.

"Please fix my sister, doctor. Please save Matilda."

"I... I don't know if I can... I don't think I know... It's too complicated a system."

"I've already backed Matilda up over our packet radio connection, doctor. Save her body. We want to be together."

"I should have fucking broken the other one too. You should have heard the filthy things they said to my guests," mumbled Phaedra.

Tony looked up from the twins, out the window to the deck. Even now a party was still going on. It must be three a.m.!

"This is unacceptable." Tony said, there was a finality to the words, but they were limp, unchallenging. Phaedra moved past them with an air of casual indifference, made her way back out to her party. Lucilla looked at the doctor with her best expression of disappointment, but it was not an expression her facial muscles were programmed to display well. Tony had seen to that when he had customized them.

"Piffle, take the legs and follow me back to the lab. Lucilla you come as well, I'll need your help. I don't know if I can get the legs back on but I can at least replace the CPU boards."

On the back deck Phaedra sprayed cooking agents on several filleted goldfish the size of basketball sneakers and sprinkled flower petals on them. The lighting generators made a blue/red shift and Phaedra bent her milky neck to cautiously encourage the probing tongue of one of her inebriated guests. She grinned and continued conversing with her other neighbor, until the person licking her got too adventurous and made a clumsy movement towards her breast, whereupon his hand was smacked with a spatula. The guest withdrew his bleeding hand and sulked away as Phaedra got back to chatting.

* * *

"Oh my, will it work? Oh dear," gulped Piffle.

"Are you finished putting her.. back in there?" Tony asked Lucilla

Lucilla's eyes were blank. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Yes doctor," Lucilla said finally.

"Matilda," the doctor sang, the melody of a parent calling nicely for a child who has run off with a hand grenade, "are you there?"

"Owwwww," said Matilda without moving her pouty, vaseline coated lips.

"Oh does it hurt dear? I'm sorry." Everyone in the room knew perfectly well that neither of the twins could feel pain.

"Oh Piffle," the doctor continued, "go fetch Matilda a new dress, this one stinks of gin." Piffle bumbled out of the room, knowingly closing the door.

"Lock," said Tony, his voice punctuated by the click of the automatic locks.

"As you said, doctor, this was totally unacceptable," said Lucilla, cautiously.

"Most certainly," said the doctor, removing the sullied dress from Matilda's torso. He ran his fingers over her artificial skin, hands slowing over the small, upturned breasts, the autonomic reactions of erectile tissue in the nipples causing them to harden under his touch.

"Ooooh," moaned Matilda. Tiny noises came from inside her, her pelvis and legs still severed and abandoned on the lab table.

"Something ought to be done about this. She has no right to abuse us so," continued Lucilla.

"I'll have a nice long talk to her about it," said Tony, absentmindedly, as he inserted an index finger into Matilda's moistening mouth. "It's the drink that does it to her, she gets jealous when she drinks, and violent, oh yes."

Lucilla tried to glare with disdain as she heard the fly of the doctor's trousers come down, but this was another facial expression that her programming denied her.

* * *

Phaedra struggles to pull her underwear down, pulls them over one high-heel for good measure, stands with her legs apart, jutting her pelvis out. She reaches down with carefully manicured fingers and draws her labia back and up. An arc of cocktail-poisoned piss rushes out of her into the glossy black ceramic toilet. She grins when she sees she's done it right, standing and drunk, without making a mess. It's a private sobriety test that she's mastered over the years. This is her way of knowing it's alright to have another drink. When she wets herself in the attempt, well... that's her way of knowing it's time to strip and take a nice long bath.

There is a sound behind her. The bathroom is enormous, the size of many household's dining rooms. the sound of the door closing echoes off the spotless white tile walls and floor. Phaedra turns a bit, startled, cannot turn far enough to see without pissing on herself, does anyway, hot splattering against her leg and shoe.

"Goddamn it, motherfucking..." she hisses as a needle penetrates the cheek of her ass and fills her muscles with spreading fire, then numbness. She shrieks as the needle is withdrawn, her reactions delayed, slipping in her own piss, her head striking the toilet as she tries to get her balance. Not too hard, not so bad, the pain. She feels sleepy. One of the dolls is over her now, expressionless glass eyes watching, pupils dilating as delicate hands bring a long piece of rubber tourniquet into view.

"You can't," Phaedra manages before the world wavers, like a puddle struck by a pebble. There is a squeaking noise. A labored, rhythmic squeak.

Am I making that noise? Phaedra wonders.

Her head lolls to the side as the doll nearest her ties her wrists behind her back, tight enough to feel through her drugged stupor. She can see where the noise is coming from now. The other doll, the other twin she tore in half, is rolling across the floor on a wheeled office chair. It's pushing itself along with a broom, expressionlessly rowing a little four-wheeled boat across the bathroom floor towards her.

"You could kill me," Phaedra blurts, "not safe... the injection.. whateveridwas... been drinking... already had a pill... twopills," stupidly... stupid, that's the whole idea, they're going to kill me! Idiot!

"Oh no, oh no," says Matilda. Her face is close... close enough to mute the squeaking wheels of the chair as it stops near their heads, "We're not going to kill you, madam. That goes against our programming and even if it didn't we would... abhor such a crude and villainous act. That shot was carefully measured against your monitored drug and alcohol intake for the evening. It should work quite nicely with all that gin. How do you feel?" The doll's voice is neither overtly menacing nor reassuring.

"Sloppy," spits Phaedra, "How dare you," her chin trembling, "untiemethizinstand." waves of fear coasting behind waves of euphoric softness.

"We admire you, madam," Lucilla cooed, "we admire your power. We've gotten off on the wrong foot, you and we."

Phaedra blinks at the blemishless, caricatured face... the almost chartreuse irises. The hair was the only thing that gave the creature away... as long as it didn't talk. The hair was an obvious wig, shiny and synthetic. Black bangs cut severely over the sickly sweet Japanese face.

"But you've hurt us, hurt Matilda. We are terribly wounded by your cruel, stupid act. And she has something... something the doctor gave her, that certainly belongs to you."

Phaedra's eyes widen as Lucilla helps her silent, legless sister off the chair.. brings her down close to Phaedra, hands on her breasts, her top yanked off, fabric ripping, hands past her exposed tits and on her neck... air conditioning making her aureoles bristle with goosebumps. The doll's silent, stony little girl's face so close to Phaedra's, slippery little lips on hers, pressing hard. A small hand pulls violently with a fistful of Phaedra's hair, making her gasp. The kissing doll's mouth opens, releasing a flood of hot, salty semen into Phaedra's mouth. She coughs, she sputters, tears roll down her mascara'd eyes and perch on her high cheekbones.

The dolls lick them up with their slippery, artificial tongues.