Soviet Doll

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Valentina took a long drag from the cigarette perched between her delicate fingers. She exhaled, the wispy trails of smoke drifting through her flowing brown hair and out the open window of the taxi-cab. In the back seat she sat relaxed, exuding a glow of confidence. She noticed the driver taking long glances at her through the rear-view mirror. She didn't mind, paying him little attention as her eyes took in the moving snowy city streets. Another pull from her cigarette had it down to the filter. She flicked it out the window and watched it extinguish against the frozen pavement.

Her bright, forest green eyes wandered and she again met the gaze of the driver who was now staring through the rear-view mirror. She smiled politely and wiggled in her seat, her buoyant breasts gently swaying behind the burgundy fabric of her form-fitting pencil dress. The driver had earlier noticed his customer wasn't wearing a bra, it was obvious she did not require the support.

Desperate to get her attention the driver cleared his throat and spoke, "Pretty cold out. Surprised you still have the window down."

Valentina blinked, her long, dark eyelashes slightly disturbing the surrounding air. "I am unaffected by the cold. It does not bother me." Her voice was sweet and light, tinged with a Slavic accent.

The driver shivered, a response to both the taxi-cab's cabin temperature and the allure of her un-placeable accent. Was it Ukrainian? Latvian? Russian?

His thoughts quickly shifted as he realized he had passed their destination. He slammed on the brakes. They didn't catch and the car slid forward on a patch of ice. The cab careened uncontrollably forward. The tires finally caught traction, only a few meters behind a parked truck. Their rubber treads dug into the cement and the sliding abruptly ceased as he and his passenger lurched forward violently.

Hearing a great THUMP from behind him, the driver un-braced his hands from against the steering wheel. He turned and found his occupant had fallen forward and collided with the hard plastic backing of the passenger seat. She sat there in a disheveled heap, un-moving, her glossy eyes crossed and vacant underneath her mane of chestnut brown hair.

The driver swore he heard a metallic humming coming from her direction, but after a few sharp clicks it stopped. His occupant blinked several times in succession and carefully pushed back into her seat.

She turned and faced the driver with an absent-minded expression written on her face and in her eyes. She stared at him idly, her meticulously styled bangs from before now tousled and in disarray.

"I am unaffected by the cold. It does not bother me."

Her eyes frantically blinked again.

"I am unaffected by the cold. It does not bother me."

The movement of her mouth lagged behind the words she spoke.

"I am unaffected by the cold. It does not bother me."

The audio of her speech fell even further out of sync with the movement of her soft, glossy lips.

She shook violently before pausing completely.

Then, her disposition pivoted on a dime; her disgusted expression visually communicating her distaste towards the driver. She hastily unbuckled, threw several Deutsche Marks into his hands, exited the car, and slammed the door shut.

Holding her fare in his hands, the driver watched Valentina walk away through his passenger-side mirror. Her every step a stilted, provocative, sway of her inviting hips.

He slapped the stearing wheel several times, upset he had ruined his only chance with the otherworldly beauty. "Dammit! Next time!"

___ ___ ___

Miles of carefully threaded magnetic tape spooled and un-spooled within Valentina's plastic chest as she walked through the lobby of her apartment building. The heels of her shiny, black PVC boots clicked against the polished tile floor. She strode past the front desk, giving a calculated yet polite smile to the pretty concierge behind it. Around a corner, down a short flight of stairs, and through a dark hallway, Valentina found herself in front of a large steel door.

She stopped, a miniature electrode embedded just underneath the plastic and silicone synth-skin of her scalp sent several electrical pulses through her luxurious brunette mane that straightened it back and perfectly re-aligned her bangs, the tips of her hair ending level with her well defined eyebrows. Then, two independent brushless motors installed just beneath her shoulders activated, pulling at a series of elastomer fibers embedded within her impressive plastic chest. Her already perky breasts lifted slightly upwards and together, straining against the linen of her tight pencil dress.

A Soviet spy must always look her best when entering a space with potential targets and peoples of interest. Satisfied with her appearance, Valentina pushed through the heavy steel door and found herself within the building's basement executive lounge.

The bar was quiet and mostly empty. Christmas lights draped around the room dully illuminated the secluded windowless space. A small tree sat lonely in the far corner, decorated with a few strings of lights and a handful of ornaments. There were no presents underneath its branches, only a small pile of dried needles.

As Valentina approached a vacant bar-stool, her complex movement transistor circuit sub-rack queried instantaneous electrical data impulses from her two visual, two auditory, and 122 embedded tactile sensors. This sub-rack of transistors and diodes chugged through the data with ruthless efficiency and immediately guided her hundreds of magnetically charged read/write heads to simultaneously interpret, erase, alter, and re-write information on her fast-moving magnetic tape volatile memory processing bank.

The process resulted in the shapely brunette woman pausing briefly in front of the stool before pushing off the bar top and hopping on in one single smooth motion. A quick data pull from several gyroscopes embedded strategically throughout her precision-engineered body confirmed the metallic stool was bearing all of her weight. This allowed her complex movement transistor circuit sub-rack to shut off, freeing up processing capacity for her social interaction subsystems to boot into operation.

Valentina smoothed the fabric of her dress against her picturesque plastic frame. She fixed her large round eyes on the bartender and raised a hand towards him.

He put down the glass he had been polishing and walked over. He had noticed her walk in. It would have been difficult to miss someone like Valentina enter a room, even if she wasn't the main reason the CIA had planted him here in West Berlin as an intelligence agent.

He put his hands down on the counter and grinned, a look of sly confidence appearing at the corners of his friendly smile. "Let me guess Val, Vodka Tonic?"

Valentina stared back blankly for a moment, her expertly made-up faceplate un-moving. The bartender's question, although simple, had interrupted a pre-programmed subroutine she usually relied upon for vocalizing her order.

Dozens of independent tape drives kicked on at a frenzied pace as her systems quickly pivoted computational priority. A keen observer may have been able to hear the whiz of tape emanating from within her. Her social interaction subsystems quickly determined his question was a friendly jab at the fact that she always ordered the same thing. It quickly formulated a response, stamped its magnetic signature on its associated data spool which was almost immediately decoded at her vocal synthesis processing transistor board. The board sent discrete measured voltage pulses through a series of side-chained oscillators which generated the raw audio of her response. From there it was sent through a tube amplifier and hard-piped to a speaker discretely placed at the back of her mouth cavity. Several diaphragm valves opened and closed in programmed response to shape the volume and delivery of her words. Simultaneously to all of this happening, the raw audio had been digitized and stamped onto more tape that traveled through an independent lip-syncing performance bus. This bus analyzed the raw audio file and expertly directed the dozens of actuators and servo-motors embedded behind her shiny, soft lips to open and close her mouth in perfect unison with the words emerging from her throat speaker.

This entire process had executed in just 0.9 seconds.

Abruptly exiting her frozen state, Valentina responded with a gleam in her large green eyes and a smile designed to showcase her ivory white teeth. "Yes. That would be wonderful. Thanks Peter!"

"You got it."

Peter walked away to make Valentina's drink thinking just how peculiar this specific customer was. He had been observing her for months at the behest of the CIA, and only a few days prior had been made aware of her robotic nature after his most recent intelligence update from an encrypted Radio Free Europe station.

He had been quite happy keeping tabs on her for the past several months, becoming quite enamored with her perfect body, peculiar personality, and unwavering beauty. He marveled at her design, knowing he would have never guessed she was constructed almost entirely of plastics, silicas, and metals. But, now that he knew the truth it was much easier to spot her artificial tells. He had recently gotten a kick out of toying with her socially, always curious to see how her systems would respond.

The story she had originally given to him was similar to many of the well-to-do widows who occupied the apartment complex. Her husband had apparently died young and left her a small fortune.

He had seen her bring dozens up men upstairs with her throughout his time observing her. A few times he pondered the idea of breaking with his mission to join her for one night in her apartment. However, he was deeply loyal to the CIA and instead decided to only observe her closely as he was tasked with doing, always yearning to see what lay beneath her silhouette-hugging attire.

Valentina sat sipping her drink. The liquid ran down a pliable rubber tube to a small waste tank that she would privately expel through the delicate waste port in her anus later that night. She couldn't feel the effects of alcohol, only simulate them. This was one of her most reliable assets for information retrieval and subterfuge. Seduce men with her perfect synthetic curves and then get them intoxicated while faking her own 'drunken-ness'. She was absolutely irresistible to almost every man, and many women, and her systems knew it.

There were only a small handful of people in the bar other than Valentina and the bartender. They sat separately in a quiet corner of the bar, joking and laughing. She knew them and they knew her, but she rarely socialized with them. Valentina's governing orders from the KGB were strict. She was to familiarize herself with everyone in the building and build a surface-level rapport, but she was to avoid getting too close with anyone for fears of revealing her robotic nature over time. Allegedly there was a CIA agent embedded within the apartment complex and one of her many tasks was to discover who.

Her only reason for coming to the bar so consistently was to learn. She would eavesdrop with her ultra sensitive auditory suite to pick up on the nuances of conversations and see how people talked with one another. She would analyze these conversations and incorporate bits and pieces of them to optimize the efficiency and accuracy of her conversational and social subsystems. Occasionally she would learn of developments happening around her in West Berlin that would prove useful to her mission, but more often than not it was just conversational analysis to better her function as sexy robotic soviet spy.

In the center of her sturdily constructed metal-plastic hybrid chassis frame, a small shock-absorbent, environmentally isolated housing held a precision crafted Swiss time mechanism that ticked steadily. It was the only component of her construction that wasn't from the USSR; her engineers were adamant that the covert spy-bot would have to keep perfect time for her systems to run harmoniously with each other. The time piece struck 23:25 and her systems immediately booted into a pre-programmed response subroutine.

She finished her drink with a simulated gulp, put several Deutsche Marks on the counter, slid her plump derriere off the bar-stool, and shuffled off towards the elevator.

Peter watched her walk away, his eyes fixed on her the warm red and purple hues of her picturesque pencil dress, pulled impossibly tight over her lively, round ass cheeks. He looked down to his watch and murmured to himself, "11:25. Again. Right on time."

--- --- ---

Valentina locked the padlock to her apartment and pivoted inside. She immediately unlaced her boots and set them beside the door before peeling the warm burgundy pencil dress down and off her silicone body. She walked to her closet and hung the dress up. Standing stark naked, her perfectly proportioned frame on full display, her eyes blinked rapidly as a long series of familiar subroutines kicked on upon her entry into the apartment.

She stood completely motionless, her eyelashes fluttering rhythmically in the otherwise still environment. Electrical impulses buzzed inside her steadily, her intricately designed banks of diodes, resistors, vacuum tubes, and transistors continually shaping the raw voltage into discrete, workable forms. She pivoted again and walked towards a radio on her bedside table, her hips swaying rhythmically with every step.

Valentina turned on a radio. It hissed with static as her hand gingerly worked the selector dial. With discretized twists of her fingers, she quickly found the channel she sought. The buzzing lessened, replaced with a soft hum. Satisfied, she sat down in her bedside chair, her bare plastic derriere pushing into the leather cushion.

Through the quiet hum of the radio a soft voice emerged. It was feminine and it fell upon Valentina's neatly disguised audio receptors in measured bursts of numbers.

"2. 26. 34. 12. 92. 18."

"8. 29. 39. 11. 90. 18."

"6. 22. 39. 14. 91. 26."

Each packet of digits directed a series of read/write heads embedded within Valentina's plastic chassis to overwrite data in her non-volatile memory data-banks.

"7. 29. 35. 15. 95. 22."

"3. 21. 35. 16. 98. 24."

--- --- ---

The voice on the radio continued for over 3 hours, updating pertinent information on potential targets and supplying several updates to Valentina's ultra-sophisticated Soviet espionage programming.

As the soft feminine voice faded from the radio and was replaced by the familiar hum of static, Valentina's read/write heads finally ceased their frantic motion. She logged errant temperature readings on three of the most heavily used magnetic tips. One or two errant readings after especially long all-night sessions was not uncommon, but logging three during a routine three-hour procedure alerted her maintenance subroutines. The subroutines decided to quarantine the three magnetic tips from the rest of her system, shutting them down until they could be replaced or repaired. Her processing capacity took a slight hit, but it was nothing her complex Soviet programming couldn't handle. She was purpose built to withstand any and all circumstances and her systems knew it.

She flicked the radio off and reached towards a small telegraph just beside it. Her well manicured fingers gracefully tapped on the metal trigger, her message specifying the need of a repair session and replacement of the three specific read/write heads. Somewhere within East Berlin, in a cold room, an automated receiver inked the dots and dashes of Valentina's telegraph. Her handler would read the information in the morning and make appropriate arrangements.

Satisfied with the delivery of her message, Valentina tossed her hair and popped a small well-camoflauged circular access panel from the outside of her upper right thigh. She dipped her hand in the opening and un-spooled a black electrical cord, plugging it into an outlet just beside the leather arm of her chair. With a jolt, she jerked back into the cushioned surface, her curvaceous body spasming for several seconds; it was a small hardware quirk her engineers had never been able to overcome.

Energy coursed through her lean but feminine chassis, charging her systems and preparing her for another day of soviet counterintelligence operation.

--- --- ---

Valentina's batteries finished charging just before 7:00 AM. Her eyes wandered the room methodically as her systems came out of hibernation, her ocular sensors confirming that her setting had not changed since initiating her recharge cycle several hours prior.

She unplugged the electrical charging cord, neatly stowed it back into her upper thigh, and closed the open cavity with the precision toleranced flesh colored access panel. Her systems then directed a small electrical current through the panel, exciting the monomers and elastomers of the artificial flesh forming a nearly invisible and completely airtight seal.

Rising up from her chair, she walked to the edge of the room and pulled a open a wide set of burgundy curtains. It was still dark; the sun wouldn't rise for another two hours. The roofs and streets were still covered in snow giving off a feint white glow. The dim twinkling lights of West Berlin danced magnificently on her pearly synthetic skin. Her ocular sensors surveyed the city-scape looking for nothing in particular, only to take the sight in. This wasn't a pre-programmed routine, but something that had sprouted up organically somewhere within the miles of magnetic tape that made up her personality.

Her long dark eyelashes blinked several times, signalling she was finished taking in the view from her 22nd story apartment. She walked into her bathroom, turned the shower on, and hopped in. She did not wait for the water to adjust temperatures. Her pink nipples stiffened as the cold water filtered through her hair and ran down her slim figure. She put a mild amount of traditional conditioner into her hand and applied it throughout her black mane before gently combing it out. She then neatly folded her hair up and slipped on a shower cap. Her artificial hair was incredibly delicate and her routine for maintaining its illustrious upkeep was the main reason she showered every day.

Valentina next reached for a specialized soft, cylindrical brush. She doused it in a floral scented cleanser and gently inserted it up her delicate artificial vagina. Her eyes blinked erratically as thousands of embedded sensors registered the brushes presence; this was small hardware quirk was intentionally left in by her engineers. She worked the brush around for several moments before removing it and rinsing her precision engineered sex with cupped hands.

She then unceremoniously discharged her vodka tonic from the night before, where it dribbled out from her tight pink plastic anus onto the tiled shower floor. She repeated the washing process with the brush before finishing up with another thorough rinse.

The water had now warmed to where the bathroom was steaming. Valentina pulled out a specialized body wash and lathered it all over her smooth, shapely exterior. The body wash was formulated as a mixture of oil-based scented bathing creams, skin moisturizers, and leather "revitalizer". She worked the suds deep into her silicone synthflesh, which with the aid of the hot water, worked to keep her artificial skin exuberant and pliable.

She toweled off after finishing her shower. Beads of water greedily jumped to the towel, eager to escape her water resistant surface. Within a few seconds her plastic curves were dry and the towel was sopping wet. She hung it up to dry and walked gracefully into her living room to check the outside thermostat. It read 0 degrees Celsius. She smiled instinctively, knowing her chassis was rated for cold weather environments up to -10 degrees.

She stood frozen for several moments as the magnetic tape whirred within her. In this moment the sun peeked out over the horizon casting bright rays on Valentina, causing her slightly glossy plastic synth-skin to glisten. A complex algorithm driving thousands of calculations a second determined an appropriate outfit based on the weather, her days activities, and what she had worn the preceding five days.

Sliding open the double doors to her spacious closet and exposing her immense selection of clothing, Valentina aptly grabbed for a pair of jet black leggings. She slid them on fluidly; manufactured precisely to fit her perfectly engineered dimensions, they hugged her legs tightly and cradled her soft derriere flawlessly. She grabbed a matching pair of pumps, their aggressive heels fitted with cold-resistant viton pads to help her grip the icy city streets. Next, she pulled an a silhouette-hugging halter top light gray dress. The form fitting number was fitted with a charitably sized cleavage window and its skirt ended just beneath the gluteal folds of her pale, plush ass cheeks. Two inches of exposed upper thigh separated it and the tops of her glossy black leggings.

Valentina finished the ensemble by draping a lavish fur scarf around her neck. She fiddled with its ends, ensuring the exposed surfaces of her breasts were on full, unimpeded display. She spun to face the full body mirror that hung on the inside of one of her closet doors and examined herself using the intricately ground glass lens apertures of her inner eyes.

After a quick set of calculations, Valentina's main processing bus determined a slight adjustment to her cleavage was advantageous for her current garment to properly show off the subtle inner curves of her stretchy bosom. The brushless motors beneath her shoulders triggered on and gently tugged at the elastomer fibers embedded within her pliable breasts pulling them ever-so-slightly apart. After their relocation, each boob quickly settled into their new resting state, but the motor behind her left mammary stalled out and refused to shut down. It sputtered and hitched, causing Valentina's left breast to quiver and jiggle uncontrollably.

Her main processing bus cut off power to the rogue motor and this quickly remedied the situation. Pleased with her appearance, Valentina closed the closet doors and walked over to the telegraph. She quickly tapped out the details of this minor hardware fault to the automated receiver, adding it to the small list of repairs she required at her next maintenance session.

Confident she was now fully ready for today's operations, she walked out the entrance of her apartment and locked the door behind her. She noticed her neighbor in the hallway staring longingly at her plastic curves and she shot him a flirty smile. Better to keep those who lived around her thinking they could one day have a chance with her.

She walked to elevator and rode it down to the lobby.

Valentina walked purposefully through the apartment lobby, the dull rubber soles of her heels making deep 'THUNK' noises against the tiled floor. She saw Peter at the front desk with an armful of large boxes and waved politely as she passed.

With arms full, Peter watched her walk by, her breasts bouncing, as intended, through the cleavage window of her stretchy winter dress.

The cute concierge, smitten with Peter's athletic body and charismatic face, remarked at the lettering on hi boxes. "What's RFE mean?"

Peter smiled, and with a buzz of excitement replied. " 'Radio Free Europe.' A few friends I know there sent me"

The concierge jumped up enthusiastically, her bust also bouncing, behind her tight tank top. "Ooh can I see?"

Peter winked and spun 180 degrees, walking away. "Not yet. Maybe later."

The concierge sat down dejectedly and fiddled with her dazzling blonde bob.

--- ---

Valentina stood impatiently in line at one of West Berlin's busiest outdoor markets. The sky had turned dark gray from the beautiful blue of the early morning, and the temperature had fallen several degrees. Heavy flakes of snow floated lazily through the air, consistently getting caught in her exaggeratedly long, false eyelashes. She blinked erratically, with varying degrees of success, to dislodge the large snow flakes; their presence rendered her vision blurry, as her complex array of glass lenses struggled to focus with the flakes obstructing the foreground of her field of view.

Her brown hair blew in the wind, the tips of her neatly trimmed bangs dancing on the edge of her ultra lifelike elastomer forehead.

Her systems felt slightly uneasy as she stood content standing in the queue, her embedded atmospheric thermometers constantly relayed her main processing bus live temperature readings of the surrounding air. She still had several degrees to spare before the cold temperatures would begin to hamper the functionality of her most delicate components, but her handlers preferred her to avoid her operating when public when she approached her temperature limits.

Miles of magnetic tape whizzed by inside her meticulously designed plastic chest, performing thousands of calculations a second to determine her best course of action. After almost a minute of frenetic computation, her main processing bus decided she would finish this morning's reconnaissance mission quickly and then head straight back to her apartment complex.

Valentina reached the front of the line just moments later. She winked at the outdoor butcher, Stefan, and picked up a large salami. Fixing her electric green eyes on him, she candidly ran her hands up and down the length of the cured piece of meat.

She pitched her voice up half an octave, knowing from previous experience that's how he preferred it. "Mmm hi Stefan! Do you have any more of these meats back in the shop? I'd just love to buy some more from you."

With almost hyperbolic quickness Stefan jumped up, donning a large gray hat and an equally drab overcoat. He pointed towards his son. "Andreas, you're in charge while I help the lovely lady. I'll be back before lunch." His voice was garish and screamed of a lifelong Berliner. He guided his hand onto the small of Valentina's back. "Come, let's go."

Stefan's hand was warm on the small of her back. The thermo-conductive gel layer of her skin registered the heat along with the pressure of his touch as discretized voltage patterns that were interpreted at her Touch Perception Performance Terminal as modestly pleasurable. She pushed herself into his hand harder, encouraging him to explore further as they walked.

His hand moved lower, and through her tight dress he grabbed at her plush gluteal folds. She turned to him and bit her lip charmingly. "MmmHmm, Stefan tell me about the tunnels."

He turned to her confusedly. "Tunnels?" His hand continued feeling her spongy derriere. "What are you talking about Valentina?"

Together, they quietly walked through a narrow alley. Valentina leaned in and pecked him on the cheek and spoke, her high-pitched slavic accent carefully emanating from the speaker installed at the back of her artificial mouth. "You were telling me last week Stefan! About how you get some of your most expensive meats from a friend in East Berlin who brings them under the city. That sounds so interesting, I want to know more."

Several of Valentina's self defense protocols almost fired into operation as Stefan forcefully pushed her against the hard brick wall of the alley. Her Touch Perception Performance Terminal did not like this. She frowned at him confusedly.

He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "Let us talk about in the shop. This is not a topic to be discussing in the open streets. The British...the Americans...they would kill me over this knowledge you understand?"

Valentina nodded.

"Now let's go."

Several minutes later they arrived at Stefan's butcher shop. He unlocked the door and they moved inside.

Instantly, he again forced Valentina against the wall. This time her systems expected it; she arched her back against the cold tile wall, pushing herself into Stefan's arms.

He dug his hands into her pert breasts and pushed his excited groin up and against her warm mound. Valentina brought her lips to his where they shared long, wet kiss.

Smiling, she pushed him off and got down on her knees. With dexterous fingers she undid his pants and exposed his rigid member through the slot in his conventional briefs. She swallowed him. Her full, soft lips enveloped his manhood as she expertly pistoned up and down his aching shaft.

She popped off of him and looked up, grinning enticingly. A few small beads of her artificial saliva ran down the corners of her mouth.

Stefan reached down, grabbed the back of Valentina's head, and thrust her ruby red lips back onto his erection. With pneumatic precision she moved her delicate synthetic tongue all around his most sensitive areas.

She bobbed again and again, increasing Stefan's pleasure with each meticulous movement of her soft, yielding lips.

When she sensed he was nearing climax she again popped off his member. She looked up at him seductively and slowly worked her hands over his wet shaft. "MmmHmmmMmmm Stefan. You taste so good! Tell me about the tunnels, they sound so fun!"

Stefan winced as his orgasm neared and neared, but never arrived. "Ughhhhh. Valen...Valentina, they're nothing. They're not special." He was breathy.

Valentina licked her lips and squeezed his firmness between her fingers. "Unnnnngggghhhh! Okay. There is a bakery in Pankow, if you go in the basement there's a cellar door takes you to three separate tunnels. They all run under the wall and they all end up in different parts of Reinickendorf. My friend Petrov knows the baker, he brings me some cheeses that you can only get out of Poland. I buy them and re-brand them, that's it. I don't know what else they use them for.

Valentina launched back onto Stefan's glistening manhood with a feverish intensity; simultaneously she stored the tunnel information into her un-corruptible magnetic-flux shielded magnetic memory. She sensed Stefan's oncoming orgasm just as she finished saving and activated a small vacuum pump located deep within her throat. She swallowed his load and kept her lips locked onto him for several moments. When she determined he was done she mouth away and wiped her face with his shirt.

He leaned against the back wall, panting and out of breath.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked towards the door. With a slutty smile she pirouetted and gestured towards the display of meats.

"Oh and Stefan, thanks for the salami."

--- ---

Valentina exited the bitter cold and strode into the lobby of her apartment building. To prevent a buildup of condensation within her delicate electric internals from the abrupt temperature change, dozens of small fans booted up in sequence all throughout her body. Hidden behind the multiple layers of viscoelastic foams, polyethylene fibers, and thermo-conductive gels that made up the springy softness of her satiny synth-skin, the nearly silent fans blew air out a handful of expertly disguised seams in her flawless dermal wrapping.

She was relieved to have made it back inside the heated building where her temperature sensitive components could gradually warm back up to their full operational capacity.

Opening the steel door, Valentina glided into the bar. She scanned the room. It was empty, except for Peter steadily manning the bar.

Music played loudly over the room's speakers, unusual for the normally quiet space. The music's low frequencies interfered with several of her ambient audio-sweeping microphone arrays. Her rudimentary logic deduction processor bus thought nothing of it and queried each array to reboot; they would be restarted and functioning again in only a couple minutes.

She walked up to her usual stool and climbed on gracefully, perfectly executing on the familiar subroutine. She pushed the silicone padding of her per backside into the hard metal stool, using the gyroscopic balancing system buried an inch behind her navel to keep herself prettily perched on her seat.

As she flattened the bottom of her dress against the top her legs, Peter had quietly walked past the bar's entrance, and silently bolted the steel door shut. Valentina's temporarily handicapped auditory suite didn't pick up on it.

He returned behind the bar just as Valentina had finished making adjustments to her provocatively tight dress.

"The usual, Valentina?"

Shh looked at him and batted her eyelashes, smiling shyly. "Please."

"Alright, coming right up."

Peter span around and began making the drink. Valentina noticed he was only wearing a T-shirt, peculiar for the barman who was usually dressed formally. The shirt was tight; her ocular sensors focused in on his broad shoulders and strong arms.

Valentina determined with high probability that Peter could tax her sophisticated sexual performance suite better than anyone had since her initial activation. The never ending parade of politicians, gangsters, and military strategists she seduced never came close to full utilization of her robust carnal software routines and coital hardware modules. Her plastic nipples stiffened through the snug fabric of her dress as she ran several simulations where Peter's strong arms pushed down on her and his dexterous fingers played her like the refined sexual instrument she was.

These simulations were new, never before showing up prior to her update from the night prior. Her rudimentary logic deduction processor bus began tying the two events together with long strings of expertly crafted algorithmic code written onto her durable magnetic tape.

She fidgeted in her seat, ensuring her bosom was constantly pointed in Peter's direction. Her fingers teasingly played with the ends of her hair as she smiled flirtingly.

Valentina's "thoughts" were interrupted as Peter forcefully set down her drink on the bar. She saw his hand reach beneath the bar and heard two switches flip.

Instantly, a massive voltage spike overwhelmed the dozens of capacitors in her spike suppressors and her fail-safe discharge tubes ruptured. The intense voltage melted together several electrical wires connected to her main power supply.

Simultaneously, an intense electromagnetic wave flowed through her, causing her delicate array of gyroscopes to spin and flip wildly. For a moment, Valentina's conceptual three dimensional model of her surroundings disintegrated completely. She fell backwards off her stool, crashing into the hard tiled floor beneath her with a tinny 'CRACK'.

On the floor, she twitched and buckled wildly as the voltage slowly dissipated from her systems. Her eyes crossed and lids shuttered as thin wisps of white smoke floated up from her camoflauged seams.

After several moments, her systems cataloged the damage she had taken and re-routed power and processing capacity accordingly. She stood up and faced Peter, her breasts still perched buoyantly on her chest. Her head twitched sharply as she spoke. "Peter, I'm not feeling well. You must excuse me."

As she spun to face the exit, Arthur again flicked a switch and an intense electromagnetic wave knocked out her gyroscopic navigation system. Her scarf was flung violently from its resting place around her neck, and she fell stiffly forward, again colliding into the floor with a hollow 'SNAP'.

With her axis stabilizers out of whack, Valentina flailed aimlessly on the ground in a futile attempt to continue walking towards the exit. After nearly a minute the system rebooted. With a loud BUZZ of struggling mechanical components, Valentina pushed herself back up into a standing position. She turned to face Peter. "Peter, I'm not feel-eel-eel-eel-eel-ing-ing-ing well well well. You mmmmmmmuuuuuusssstttttt excu-cu-cu-cuse me me me."

Arthur flicked another switch and watched a torrent of voltage run from behind the bar and across the conductive makeup of the tile's grout where it exploded upwards into Valentina. The surge of electricity caused her to hitch up, white smoke again puffed out from newly visible seams. A panel above her breasts popped off, exposing the fried circuits underneath. Wires erupted in an explosion of sparks from the crux of her elbow and the base of her neck. Her eyes crossed and she remained inertly still, only the light crackling of failing resistors and capacitors causing her two twitch erroneously.


Peter marveled at her. Even in her compromised state he was enamored with Valentina. He approached her hesitantly; springs came un-torqued within her delicate arms and pierced through her convincing synth-skin. He stepped up examine her closely and she crumpled into his arms.

"Peterrrrr, I'm not feeling welll.....You musstttttttttt excussssseeeee meeee."

Vacant eyed, she stared up at Peter who carefully dragged her into the bar's back office. He set her into a beat-up leather recliner. She tried moving her neck to follow his movements but was only met with a series of harsh scraping noises. She opened her plastic mouth to speak but could only speak in light digitized static.

Arthur turned on the radio on his cluttered desk; he fiddled with the dial until the hiss of radio static gave way to the voice of calm German man. He spoke flatly and consistently.

"6. 33. 55. 90. 12. 11."

"8. 21. 45. 13. 91. 17."

"4. 29. 34. 40. 40. 32."

Arthur crept out of the room, ensuring the soviet robo-doll was still active. He gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. "I have a feeling you're going to have quite the different disposition come tomorrow morning Valentina."

He kissed her on the forehead. "Goodnight"

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