“Why is it that our first instinct when creating a being in our own image is to either screw it or kill it?”

—Emily Fraser-Herondale, Of Gods and Monsters: The Rise of Artificial Intelligence

The day they announced the winner, I couldn’t stop looking at my watch. It was going to be me. I had hoped so hard it had to happen. I wiped my slick palms on the calves of my trousers, where nobody would see.

And finally, it was time. After careful consideration and weeks of testing and observation, they’d chosen the most successful candidate for the job. And it was me; it was actually me. I couldn’t believe it. I’d only been working at Pantheon Modern for three weeks when they announced the contest.

Of course, we all wanted to win it. Why else work at a corporation like Pantheon Modern if we didn’t want to become cyborgs ourselves, to help usher in a new age from the front lines? The company wanted someone who would best represent them, and that person was me.

The heat from many hands burned through the thin fabric of my shirt. Everyone acted glad for me, though of course they wished they’d been chosen instead.

They gave us the rest of the day off to celebrate or commiserate. The guys were going to take me out, somewhere special. I’d heard some of them whispering about it in their cubicles when they believed no one was listening. I’d never been invited to join them until today.

It was called Pris, a place where you bought sex. And not just any sex—sex with androids. I couldn’t have gone with them before, even if I’d been invited. Not on a junior exec’s salary. But that night, they were treating me, no expenses spared.

We drank champagne in the limo on the way, flicking through the brothel’s menu. Sid swiped through the images, barely glancing at the screen. He’d been there a few times; he was going to help me choose.

“Had her. And her. And her. And him. And him. And her.”

“It might be faster if you showed him the ones you haven’t had,” Jal said. He was a junior like me, but his family was rich. This wasn’t his first time either. “He probably doesn’t want your sloppy seconds.”

My face burned, but I laughed along with them. Nerves made my palms sweat again. It wasn’t so much the sex; I’d had sex before. But I’d never had sex with an android. Or paid for it, for that matter.

Julie had stopped by my desk on her way out. Those who weren’t coming with us wanted to have their own celebration. I’d almost wished I was going with them instead.

“Are you actually going to do it?” she’d asked.

“Do what?” I’d hoped she wasn’t aware of what we were up to. I’d liked Julie ever since I’d started working at Pantheon Modern, and having the chick you liked realize you’re going off to bang another one wasn’t the best way to start a relationship.

“Oh, please,” she’d said, her mouth twisted up on one side. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yes.” Why deny it when she already knew?

“Don’t you think it’s a bit wrong?”

“No. Why would it be? They’re only providing a service.”

“Are they? Or are they just being provided?”

I wasn’t sure what she’d meant, which must’ve been obvious. She’d rolled her eyes and stalked off, her heels clicking angrily on the glossy floor.

I never would’ve guessed what Pris was from the outside; it echoed every other steel-gray granite building on the block, its name set above the double-doors in wrought bronze. I studied the man on the door, trying to decide whether he was human or not.

He caught me looking and smirked. “Sorry, son, I’m not for sale.”

The guys whooped with laughter.

“Don’t blow your load before we even walk through the door,” Sid joked.

I hadn’t thought it possible to blush any harder; I was wrong.

Inside, a human hostess led us to a long couch, her red-tipped fingers gesturing with a flourish for us to sit. She bent low from the waist, her corset offering her breasts to Sid like plums on a plate as she handed him the drinks menu. Once we each had a glass in our hands, the hostess returned, leading a group of women and men dressed in lingerie. I couldn’t decide if they looked more or less human than I’d imagined they would.

My drink was gone in three gulps. Another one immediately appeared in my hand, deposited by the smiling hostess. The guys were looking at the androids, discussing their different attributes with each other.

They were stunning, each one more exotic than the last. I hadn’t known that women—or men, for that matter—looked like that, or smelled like that either. Their different scents mingled with each other in the air: vanilla, musk, leather. They stared straight ahead, their arms at their sides.

They were way out of my league. I wasn’t bad looking, but I had a blond-haired, blue-eyed scruffy look that made me seem a lot younger than I was.

What if I couldn’t get it up?

I cringed inside. I’d never live that down.

Jal elbowed me in the ribs. “You look a little worried, mate.”

“No, I uh…there’s so many choices.”

“Look.” His voice dropped to a whisper too quiet for the others to hear. “They’re not alive. They’re machines. I know they look human, but it’s an illusion. Look closer. They’re basically glorified sex dolls. Don’t worry about it.”

I took his advice and scrutinized them. Jal was right. They stood stiffly, unmoving and unblinking. Everything about them was too perfect. I searched for a hint of resentment on their faces and found nothing but the blankness of a machine.

I could do this.

“Hurry up and choose already. The rest of us are waiting.”

I called the hostess over, then pointed to a woman on the far right. She was attractive, but not inaccessibly so. She had a kind of girl-next-door look. In fact, she resembled Julie, with her long red hair and a smattering of freckles on her pearly skin. Her body was petite, her breasts small and pointed through the gauzy film of jade chiffon.

When I got closer to her, I caught a trace of antiseptic under her apple-pie scent, which almost made me lose my nerve. She led me down the unadorned hallway and into a room, where she closed the door behind us. The room was decorated to complement her, a young woman’s bedroom: ivory and sea-green wallpaper, mounds of pillows, a vanity with a variety of powders and perfumes. How much of it was for show? I pictured her sitting on the small stool, combing her hair, looking anxiously in the mirror to make sure her makeup was just right.

“Do you sleep here?” I asked her. No one had ever accused me of being an impressive conversationalist.

“You are very handsome,” she replied, ignoring my question.

“Uh…thanks. You too. I mean, you’re very beautiful.”

“Would you like me to take my clothes off?” She pinched the ribbons of her negligee between her flawlessly manicured fingers.

“Don’t you want to talk a bit first? What’s your name?”

“Do you not like me?”

“What? Yes, of course, I do. I just—”

“Do you want me to take my clothes off?” Her guileless green eyes were wide.

“Um, ok. Yes, please.”

She watched my face as she untied her translucent robe and let it slip from her shoulders to the floor.

Her body was symmetrical, with none of the imperfections of the women I’d been with before, who always seemed to have one breast larger than the other, or a mole in an awkward place. She was smooth and completely hairless except for her neatly trimmed triangle.

“Do you want me to take your clothes off?” she inquired.

“No. No, I can do it myself, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stripped, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. Usually, when I found myself in this situation, I was clumsy because I was rushing and trying to make out with the girl at the same time, unable to keep my hands off her. Her arms remained stiffly at her sides. Once I was naked, we stood facing each other.

“What would you like me to do?” she asked.

“I, uh, what would you like to do?”

“I would like to please you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Somehow, the idea of asking her to drop to her knees and suck me off seemed degrading.

“Lie down on the bed, I guess.”

She followed my instructions, lying down in the center of the generous mattress. “Like this?”

“Yes.” I was growing hard at the sight of her now, lying on the silky sheets, waiting for me. Willing to do whatever I wanted. And right then, I wanted to celebrate. No pretenses. It was all about me.

“Spread your legs,” I commanded, and she did.

After I was done, I pulled out of her, not looking at the mess I’d made. I wasn’t sure whether to cuddle her or not. She got off the bed and stood in the center of the room, my semen smeared down one of her thighs.

“Was I satisfactory?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you. Was it okay for you?”

“You are very handsome,” she repeated and blinked.