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#Writever 2401.4 — Toy [Minor context edits]

(/Toy/, n. An object for an adult to play with, especially a gadget or machine.)

The shop door dinged sharply when I pushed inside. Quaint. A real brass bell, darkly tarnished. I smelled sandalwood incense. Everything was appointed in dark wood, from window frames to crown molding, with scattered green velvet chairs. The floor was oak parquet. Walking by you'd think it was an old-timey bookstore, a pricy one, had it also sold coffee.

It did not.

Dimly and comfortably lit, the illumination diffused unseen from the walls and ceiling. Asian pulps and read-onces stocked walnut bookshelves. Lines of garishly dressed and barely dressed anime figures filled locked glass cases. Some museum pieces reputedly dated back a century or more. You could be forgiven for thinking you entered a super premium anime and manga store.

On closer inspection, there were plenty of circuit cards and hard plastic parts for sale, all used and multiply repaired, securely preserved in vacuum seal bags. Assuming you were a low-res fanatic still into toying with old fashioned electronic compys, this shop fed your addictions, too.

It fed all your addictions, thus the shop's name. Further back, from whence an eldritch neon glow radiated, I spotted what I'd hoped for: The newest in liquid metal and automata.

I stepped in, avoiding an aisle with a sloppy greybeard elder who looked undecided between two stupid looking box fans dangling wires.

(/Toy/, v. To treat without being serious, especially in a superficially or tauntingly amorous way.)

I didn't make it to the rear before an android stepped up at the end of the aisle. /She/ smiled as I approached, liquid skin quickly flicking between various manga costumes worn by unusually voluptuous women, sometimes holding an unclothed bouncy shape in between changes. Once she was instead a fully featured male.

The android touched a palm to my chest, stopping me. "I am the latest model, COSPLAY 7C. I can be anything you desire."

I frowned and shook my head.

"Or /do/ anything you desire."

I rubbed the scraggly beard on my chin, deciding if I wanted to end the amusing show. I'd just left a business lunch and wore my tailored suit.

Maybe that was it? "I'm not here for your hard sell."

She frowned, transforming into a mid-thirties shopkeeper with her red hair in a flip, wearing an /Addictions Shop/ sweatshirt top, in green and brown, but nothing below. Her garment was barely long enough to hide her ample hips.

She said, "We have better priced models, like the 3A, which you can program to be a receptionist, a clerk, or a cutesy executive secretary." She touched her middle finger to her cheek, which dimpled when she grinned toothily.

(/Toy/, n. Denoting a diminutive or specific breed of creature.)

I shook my head. I pushed by her. She scooted around the counter to face me there. The glass case held a selection of the latest eVR games with animations running around the box, as well as helmets, gauntlet controllers, and paint-on liquid metal body suits.

The android noticed where my eyes darted and added, "The 7C can act as a body suit, and can walk with you inside, carrying you through the 3D world, allowing you to be—at first glance only because of Autome laws—anybody, any person, and functionally any gender. With a full sensorium access, even to genitalia—

"I'm a wage runner," I interrupted her. "I don't have that kind of money, and that's not what I'm here for." I reached into my suit jacket and brought out a holo. I placed it on a laser pad, saying, "An article on bugler.automations stated you do budget customs."

Illuminated, Freddy returned to life. A video recollection captured in the holo, anyway. The black and tan toy dachshund jumped up, yipping at the lens, tail spinning like a propeller. I blinked, but my eyes burned as always. The android clerk, of course, caught the sudden tear. I was willing to pay, in any case.

Pursing my lips, I said, "She died last week and, uh, my— son is heartbroken..."

[2hr. Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

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