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She barged in the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her in one swift movement, not letting the bimbo turn around from her standing at attention pose, staring dumbly at the wall before kneeing her in the back of the leg and dunking her head in the toilet bowl, which she hit with a dull “thunk”. Keeping the now flailing socialite wannabe pinned with a knee on her back and her left hand in her hair, Polly put her unspilled champagne glass down and pulled out a cable out of her purse with her right hand, then brushed of her silky blonde hair, plugging it into a port in her neck. Holding the other end of the cable between her teeth, she pressed down two symmetrical bumps on the bimbo’s neck with her thumb and finger. A click was heard, her luscious black hair rose slightly, and she froze and finally stopped her thrashing. Sliding her fingers under the hair, Polly grabbed onto the wig-like back of the bimbo’s head and pulled it free, revealing a blocky cranium of plastic, cables and computer ports underneath. Carefully discarding the removable part, Polly located a compatible port and plugged the cable in, diving into the bimbot’s systems. As the scans and masked pings she had made during their previous encounters had led her to believe, she was indeed a cybersocialite from the ZN Foundation, and one of their aging model lines as well. An aging line the Jefferson Club had an extensive documentation of backdoors and known issues on, documentation that had been downloaded along with the appropriate tools in Polly’s own plastic head. With millions of operations per second, Polly began rewriting the silicon bimbo’s brain. View past Author's of the Month. |
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