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“I’m here to buy one of the dolls,” Roman told the man behind the counter. He was an older man, half bald, with a bulbous nose and a pair of round spectacles.
It hadn’t taken Roman very long to find this place. Centralia’s various red-light districts made it easy to find anything depraved a person might desire. Drugs were legal, but they could only be purchased in this part of the city and only after their purchase was registered by a telepath.
Weapons were illegal, but there was a certain type of Class A that could force a controlled hallucination or a dream state, which allowed a person to go on as many killing sprees as they wanted—popular with office workers.
Then there were the sex workers.
This too was legal, and the sex workers ranged from supers, who could use their powers to get you off, to your more traditional sex workers in the form of non-exemplars.
There was also gambling, illegal fight rings, some trafficking, and probably some stuff even Roman had never heard of—or desired to be part of.
“It really depends on what you want,” the older man finally told him.
He was picking at something in his teeth, giving Roman the fuzzy eye. Many people in Centralia looked unique, and Roman was one of these people. With his longer white hair, his orange eyes, and his professional manner of dress, he seemed a bit out of place in the sex doll shop, not that the man behind the counter hadn’t seen a wide variety of clients.
“I want something beautiful,” Roman said, “and life-sized.”
“Follow me.” The man beckoned Roman into a back room, and once Roman joined him, he gasped to see dolls everywhere, of every shape and size, wearing different outfits and posed in different ways. The room was cluttered, too, likely because it doubled as both a showroom and a storage area.
“I’ll show you my favorite.” The man coughed for a moment, apologized, and then began searching through the stack. “She just came in, which is probably why she’s my favorite. I always like the new ones. These ones are designed in the Southern Alliance. It’s cold down there; those people don’t get out much, so you can expect some true quality with their workmanship.”
The man entered a dark room and flicked the lantern on.
“Her?”
Standing before them was a female doll about five feet tall, wearing a maid outfit and a silk mask. Her hair was jet black, her eyes a striking shade of red.
“She’s the newest,” said the shop owner. “The most realistic, too. I swear she watches me walk across the room. It’s weird.”
Roman approached the doll and reached his hand out to it, touching her arm. He couldn’t tell what material she was made out of. She was soft like cloth, her skin almost like Roman’s but much colder.
“Couldn’t tell you what she’s made from,” the man said, holding back a coughing fit by beating his hand across his chest. “It’s some polymer they invented down South, I know that much. Feels real.” The man smiled. “Insides, too.”
Roman raised his hand to the doll’s face and traced his finger along her chin. He reached out and touched her lips, and had to stop himself from animating her right then and there.
“I’ll take her,” he said, without looking away from the doll.
