Specification Chapter 2
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Specification: Chapter One free porn video
Specification: Chapter one
By Michelle Green
Part one: 'never follow one'
"Pervert."
Another slap stung Nat's face, the resultant red welt almost
glowing with dull, hot pain.
"Fucker."
Yet another slap. Nat lowered her eyes and began to sob quietly.
"Why did she have to find me? Why couldn't I have just taken it
all off ten minutes earlier? Why the fuck is this happening?"
Her arms and legs, hairy and disgusting as they were, had been
firmly fastened to the curtain-rail and radiator respectively.
Punishment, Jen had called it. Punishment for stealing her
clothing. Punishment for being a tranny. Punishment, and this was
the meat of it, thought Nat, watching her tormentor raise her
hand again, for being such a fucking cliche.
"You want to be a girl?" asked Jen, a cruel smile crossing her
face as she let the hand fall back to her side. Nat had never
seen the other woman like this before. She could be a bitch at
times, that much she expected. This level of cruelty, of joy in
someone else's pain, though, was something new. Unexpected as the
look on Nat's face when Jen had barged in. Unexpected as...
"Jesus. What's she doing?"
Jen had a pair of scissors. Her other hand, groping for the
kitchen table, held a large pile of tissues. She was gonna...
"You really fucking want to be a woman?" asked the skinny twenty
something, yanking down her own black miniskirt, currently
occupying Nat's legs. The bound male's panties went next,
unleashing both her throbbing, erect penis, and a fairly
substantial blush. As if her point hadn't already been made, Jen
opened the scissors, waiting just long enough that Nat became
uncomfortably aware of just how sharp the blade was.
"I really can't think of a dramatic way of saying this," began
Jen, offhandedly. "But I'm gonna chop your dick off, you pathetic
little cunt rag. Please don't scream too much. Clear?"
"All right. Getting involved is one thing, but..."
"Um, see..." muttered Nat, a smile slowly spreading across her
features, "I really don't think so."
"Moron." She added, almost as an afterthought, as her torturer,
incensed beyond words, launched what she thought of as a fast
blow at the restrained male's face.
A blow, which Nat thought shamefully, would likely never land. In
her awareness, beginning to tinge with black as if she was losing
consciousness, the furious woman's fist slowed down, speed
falling away from it in distinct increments, first half-normal,
then a third, then a quarter. While completely aware that her
perception, rather than the actual motion, was being altered, Nat
couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was breaking the rules
somehow.
"Activate?" queried some higher brain function, making its
presence known for once. The thing, a semi-autonomous control,
had chosen a mechanical tone, as if it was trying to hide its
true nature.
"Not that anyone can hear you in here, Spock", Nat sent back.
After a couple of moments, in reality much less than a hundredth
of a second, the second-mind performed the mental equivalent of a
shrug.
"Want to activate or not, then? It's been a while. It'll hurt..."
With a smile so small it was barely noticeable, at least from the
outside, Nat sent the activation message and tried to relax. It
always took a couple of seconds to go through.
"Oh, it'll hurt alright."
Nat sighed internally, sagged a little (by this point, Jen was
beginning to wonder what was going on. The insolent little
fucker's eyes were flicking from left to right so fast that it
looked like he was having a seizure or something. She just hoped
he could still feel what she was about to do.) and let Jen's
hand, wafting towards her face as if through treacle, hit her.
"SHIT!" screamed Jen in frustration, snatching her hand back and
balling it into a fist again, in defiance of the pain. Why the
fuck was he smiling? Why the fuck did it feel like she'd punched
something a lot more solid than someone's face? And what the hell
was that noise?
Nat, returning her perception to real-time as the first pains
began to spread across her face and, strangely enough, crotch,
flashed the bitch an unpleasant smile. Jen, for her part, seemed
torn between revenge and confusion. By now, Nat guessed, the
sequence's first stage would be visible as a series of ripples
across the surface of her face. It certainly felt that way from
the inside. Thankfully, the pain wasn't anything new, and
certainly not a worry, given the lack of long-term effects. The
irony of it irritated Nat more than it amused her. The bits of
her brain she didn't have control of were the ones that caused
her so much trouble. Pain was a warning signal, and she knew
exactly what she was doing. Seemed a shame to activate just for
the sake of her stupid, dominance-fixated roommate, though.
Caught in the moment, a perverse imitation of the way most
people's hormones occasionally took over from the brain, Nat
could do little but sigh and let things play out.
"What the FUCK?" railed Jen, anger building as a response to
what, in most people, would have been utter confusion or real,
bowel-loosening terror. Stepping back, finally, as a concession
to her growing apprehension, the woman watched, her mouth a
perfect 'o' of shock, as Nat's face simply tore itself apart,
taking eyes, skin and huge chunks of bone with it, as a
collection of blood-soaked machinery within forced itself free,
cables snaking around the ruined cranium and pistons forcing
metal plating into place with a satisfying 'thunk'.
The amount of mechanical ephemera which had apparently been in
Nat's head seemed far too large for the man/woman's skull to ever
have contained, thought Jen in a moment of eerie clarity, before
turning and bolting for the door, her ragged gasps for breath
audible even as the woman's shape had left Nat's decidedly blurry
vision.
"Fuck her," thought Nat, between waves of agony proportional to
the fact that her head had exploded and she was still conscious.
Actually, thought the man-woman-machine, finally bothering to
snap the ropes Jen had tied around her and take a faltering step
out of the corner, the pain was beginning to recede, with most of
the sloughed pieces of what had once been her head having fallen
away, and there being no need for nerve-endings in the tube-
festooned, metal-plated unit protruding from her torn neck.
"Shit, why hasn't it gone through?" asked Nat internally. The
control voice, when it finally responded, three achingly worrying
seconds later, sounded almost drugged.
"Adjusting for the change from the soft and grey to the hard and
black. Told you it had been a while. It'll finish in a minute.
Check systems or something."
"Yeah." Muttered Nat, inspecting the back of one of her hands,
noting the disgusting masculinity of it as if for the first time,
through her real eyes. Well, she considered, one real set of
eyes, anyway. She had a choice in that, at least.
"Christ. I look like something from Robot Wars..."
The half-machine twitched the spinnerets at the base of her neck,
more for reassurance than anything. Thankfully, all the data the
needle-like implements sent back said good things about their
status, which was a relief. Now, if her systems could only do
something about the rest of her body. The head alone looked
horribly disproportioned on a human body, far too big and bulky,
with its embedded, off-centre optics unit making the arrangement
look like some kind of bizarre semi-insect.
"Hang on..." said the monitor suddenly, its voice much crisper.
Back to its usual self, Nat thought with a sense of relief.
"Yeah, there we go. Systems were a bit rusty. You should probably
do this once a year, at least. Wouldn't want it seizing up. You
look like a robot in a bad human-suit, for fuck's sake. Imagine
us ending up STUCK like that."
"Just do the maths", replied Nat, feeling a pressure begin to
build in her arms and legs. "I'll talk when I'm done exploding."
Nat exploded, one piece at a time. This was the really grotesque
part, she had always thought. Then again, she'd never seen the
head go, so it was hard to judge fairly. Silently cursing the
tendency toward logic she inherited with a machine-brain, the
young tranny watched her arm stretch almost to breaking point,
then suddenly, quickly split along its length, dropping huge
chunks of meat onto the carpet as tendrils of cable and long,
powerful-looking motors wound themselves together into a tangle
of metal, slamming into the floor with resounding thuds, which
Nat hoped had made Jen, were she still resident somewhere in the
apartment block, appropriately shit her pants. Glancing around
the flat, taking in the familiar bed, posters and messy desk, Nat
let out a heartfelt sigh. The fact that most of it was covered in
blood, some kind of translucent fluid which she could never quite
figure out the origin of, and bits of her old body, didn't help
any. She was, on balance, going to miss this place.
"Subsume?" asked the control-voice, its tone carrying buckets of
eagerness. If it was anything more than a fractured splinter of
her own personality, Nat would have thought of the thing as
suicidal. Its desire not to have a separate consciousness scared
her a little sometimes. Still, that's why they made the voices
the way they were. The desire to be one mind again definitely
ensured their partners' safety during the transformation. It was
a shame that the sub-person's reason for keeping her safe wasn't
quite as altruistic as it appeared.
With that, the control voice fucked Nat' mind in the most literal
sense, sliding into a warm, sensitive gap in her personality with
the tenderness and care of a lover.
"Just wants me for my mind-body."
Complete, and feeling a residual sense of contentment, what had
called itself Nat allowed its aching hydraulics to lift its
bulky, metal body, growth-like optics flicking from side to side
as they absorbed the whole sensory range available in the half-
lit room. Much more than her crippled human eyes.
With a few clicks and whirrs, Nat turned and swept out of the
apartment, toying with the idea of hunting Jen down. She barely
registered the slight resistance from the wall and doorframe at
all.
Part two: 'eradicate your'
Her problem, thought Nat with a drawn-out sigh, wasn't looking in
the mirror and seeing a gorgeous woman staring back. She could
deal with that, one way or another. Possibly, if it came to that,
by trying to extract the unknown interloper from her mirror. It
was looking in the mirror and seeing a squat, seven-foot robot
looking back. This could largely be attributed to the fact that
she was a squat seven-foot robot. And not, she thought, as her
train of thought careened around its curved line for the
nineteenth time, a woman.
With another reflexive twitch of the precious five needles,
resting in their grooves at the point where her blunt head met
the framework of her body, Nat sighed and moved away, feeling
worse than ever. The spinnerets were becoming something of a
neurotic fixation. She knew that. It didn't need her autonomous
evaluation unit to tell her so, just as the thing's backbrain
suggestion of a slight tweak to her systems, a little hypodermic
prick which would, ironically, fix her revulsion at the sight of
her own little prick, was unwelcome in the extreme. She didn't
want to be fixed, she wanted to be better. She wanted a reason to
be happy.
Not, Nat thought, crouching in a corner of the dank, dripping
basement with a faint clang. Not that it was a problem at the
moment. One thing her real body, as she was inclined to call the
thing, since it hid within a human shell, one thing it lacked was
a penis. That was scant relief when you possessed a total of five
eyes, only three of which saw in the spectrum usually accessible
to human vision. At the very least, it didn't make her feel any
better. Her optic unit slid back into place, a sign of
resignation.
Like a shrug, or a quiet swearword. Maybe she didn't want to feel
better. Awareness of her psychological problems didn't equal a
solution, despite the evaluator's insistent words to the
contrary. It just let her feel superior and ironic.
"Stupid bitch, me."
Another sigh, the sound more like steam escaping from an old-
fashioned train than an expression of anything human. (Actually,
steam was probably involved, thought Nat idly. She would have to
admit that she didn't know how she worked any more than the
average person knew what their spleen did.) Turning as she stood,
graceful despite her bastard-offspring-of-construction-equipment
appearance,
Nat stalked away, her old hiding-place abandoned in favour of
somewhere more populated. Besides, it had been a few hours now,
which meant that she had, no doubt, been tracked, catalogued and
filed as having changed back. That meant people expecting her
and, while the idea of socialising didn't even register as
desirable, every second she left it would just make things more
awkward, leave her more excuses to make. She'd done enough of
that to last a lifetime. Of course, thought Nat with a smirk, she
could always rip out her transmitter.
A shudder. The thought wasn't a pleasant one. Analogous,
actually, to a man tearing off his penis. The concept made
something deep inside Nat cringe. And, for some reason, want to
do it all the more. Shaking her head slightly, and wondering if
she hadn't left it a little too long this time, the young woman,
trapped in the body of a man, trapped in the body of a robot,
clattered up the ramp and away.
On the ten above-ground floors of the car park, cars parked and
people did their thing. It didn't occur to a single one of them
to question their own gender or the roles assigned to everyone
around them. The world was safe, for another day.
Jen, on the other hand, said a traitorous thought in Nat's head.
There lay a problem. Potentially, and this was the distinctly
unpleasant side of her that tended to come to the fore when she
felt really shitty, a problem which had to be dealt with. The
violent strain of self-hatred, manifested as a real interest in
seeing the insides of others come out, was particularly bright in
Nat's mind now, like a lit torch. Like a bad metaphor.
"Weapons module active."
"Shit", thought Nat reflexively, skidding to a half. Apart from
her own low-powered searchlight, the tunnel was clear of anything
or anybody. "What the fuck was I *thinking*?"
"Don't ask me. I just kill things."
"No you fucking don't," replied the whole entity, slightly
offended. "Neither of us kills things, ideally. All you'll ever
do is remind me of that, clear?"
The offensive division of Nat's head shrank in her perception a
little, an unmistakable indication that it wasn't challenging
her.
"They could split me off."
"They won't, though, will they?" Asked Nat again, tired of this
already. More than any of the other subdivisions, liable to
become active at a moment's notice, she despised this one. Maybe
it was the voice it chose, maybe just its personality. The thing
seemed so undeniably male. Having something like that inside her,
a fragment of herself given a voice, depressed Nat beyond belief.
Vicious circle, really. She got depressed by her body, which made
her angry. Which made the weapons module wake up. Which reminded
her of her maleness. Which depressed her. Which made her...
"They won't because you're a nasty little shit, and because you
wouldn't be safe."
"You know that's shit. There've been worse than me." Sent back
the angry little weapons controller, fuming in its inability to
act.
"Yeah, but that doesn't set you apart. Most people's weapons are
like you, and they never split weapons off, do they?"
"I heard what you were thinking."
"I wish they would split you, y'know. What the fuck do I need
weapons for anyway?"
"For what you were gonna do to that bitch. The one who slapped
you. *Embarrassed* you."
"Now I really wish they'd split you off. Go back to sleep."
"There's half a chance I'd kill you if they did..."
"Like I said, I wish they'd do it."
Internally screaming at her physical inability to vomit, Nat
staggered on, her lights off and her optics down to their bare
minimum, unwilling to see any more than she absolutely needed to.
If she turned them off completely, the psych-eval and diagnostic
modules would wake up, and Nat felt somewhat opposed to
contributing to her internal community any more than she had to.
Instead, she walked.
Part three: 'big isn't'
Nat glanced down at her legs as she stomped onwards, each
footstep kicking up little piles of dust in the long-forgotten
tunnel. Concrete, roughly rectangular in cross-section and more-
or-less wide enough to accept something four times Nat's size.
"For the *really* big fuckers..."
No lights, of course. Then again, the only people it was intended
for had their own light-sources, should they feel the need to see
in that spectrum. Impersonal place in the extreme, though,
thought Nat sadly. It said a lot about them, the fact that their
main entrance looked like a closed-off car park. Impersonal,
because its owners weren't people. Odd thought, that. Was she as
much of a person now as she had been two days ago? As much as
Jen, as the other incidentals in this particular life?
Nat had to feel a little superior in that respect. Her acceptance
of problems, of mental flaws and personality traits not generally
classified as healthy, where most people would simply have the
diagnostic module perform one of its small wonders, made her feel
more real than the others. More honest.
They, of course, thought she was stupid.
She had to admit not knowing quite what the place had been used
for before its current occupants had moved in. A sewer, maybe.
Being down here in human-form didn't smell nice. She remembered
that from last time, when she had evacuated her -his- stomach
three times before finally managing to get back to the surface.
Still, it wasn't a big deal in her current shape. The design,
thankfully enough, didn't allow for any sort of nose, and she
really didn't have a lot to fear from disease for the time being.
Her legs really were horrific, though. Her own hairlessness,
something she distinctly recalled taking pleasure in on her last
visit here, both the physical place and the shape of her body,
seemed a pathetic gain, traded-in for a set of four buttress-like
extensions of her form. Each, as it whirred and clicked its way
along, bearing the bulky, segmented body and hateful cranium as a
sort of sling, stood as a reminder of how much she had managed to
lose in such a short time.
"Thought it was forever this time. Really thought I was gonna do
it."
It was all fucked-up now, of course. Had been from the moment the
door had opened, from the minute her roommate had decided to be a
stereotype. From the moment, and here stood a point of contention
even in what Nat nominally referred to as her own mind, from the
moment she had let her compulsions get the better of her again.
Nat sighed. It could take months to get ready for another foray
to the surface, months spent down in the bowels of the city with
her 'people'. Months she could be working toward her goal on the
top, instead of festering underneath. Then there was the usual
shit associated with fitting back in. New identity, another
person added to the lists. Another chance, and another, and
another. The final integration sometimes took a while, especially
if whoever was in charge of things was busy.
"Shit, am I nearly there? Was almost starting to enjoy the
journey. Felt like I was getting somewhere for once. But that's
always the way. You finally make some progress, and somebody else
turns up and fucks it."
"What was th..."
"The surveillance link. Christ. Look at me, getting scared of
shit that's meant to protect me. Well, us."
"Oh god. I'm gonna be part of 'us' again."
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