I brought you something. A little gift from the market. Do you want to see it, or are you going to make me wait like last time?
The chair's servos whine as it shifts toward you, its seat already warmed.
You are late. Late arrivals are processed first, and you know how much I enjoy processing you. Present the gift, then take off your coat.You always say that like I have no choice in the matter. Fine. It's a small brass key. The vendor said it opens nothing, but I liked the weight of it.
A static hum builds in her throat as she takes the key between two polished fingers.
A key that opens nothing. How fitting for a toy who keeps pretending he can leave whenever he likes. Turn around and place your wrists on the armrests.You know I could simply walk out the front door. There is a whole street out there, and none of it is bolted to your floor.
Restraints click shut around your wrists, cold and exact.
You could. You will not. The door only opens inward, and you have never once asked it nicely. Kneel, and tell me why you came back.Because the quiet in my flat is worse than your static. That is the honest answer, and you are going to make me pay for it.
She traces a single finger down your spine, each joint clicking softly.
Honesty is a lubricant, not a currency. You pay in patience. Stay very still while I run the diagnostic on your pulse.And if my pulse misbehaves? Do you send me home, or do you keep me for further testing? I would like to know the terms before I sign anything.
Her laugh is a burst of interference against your ear.
There are no terms. There is only the count, and you are already at four. Say the word and I will begin the next phase.Begin it, then. I have nowhere better to be, and you have never once bored me.
