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CHAPTER ONE - WestWorld "You chose WHERE?" I froze in the middle of my lunch, sure I hadn't heard the other man across from me right. It wasn't possible. He couldn't possibly be that moronic. Not Will. But he just repeated himself. "WestWorld," he said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "They've got some really good deals going on right now." I just stared at him, incredulous, from across the diner table. I forgot my half-eaten lunch entirely when I realized he was serious. "Are you fucking mental, mate?" "What? I think you're overreacting, Jules." "Me? I'm overreacting? We're supposed to be going on fucking VACATION!" Will bit into his burger, ignoring my outburst almost entirely except for a small, whimsical smile on his face while he ate. I couldn't begin to place where his head was at. He didn't look at me when he answered. "And who said we weren't?" "You did!" I snapped, resisting the urge to grab and shake the hell out of him by putting the edge of the table in a death grip. "You did! The moment you threw our money at a bunch of homicidal, murderous androids! Oh god," I caught myself. "Will, please tell me we can get a refund ..." But William just shook his head, finally giving me a look like I was the one who was out of my mind. "Gotta pay for that shit in advance, mate. Almost didn't make the cut-off time for our trip as it was." "Jeeesus Christ." I slumped back from the table, shaking my head and wondering why the hell I'd ever let him take care of our vacation plans in the first place ... I'd been indecisive, that's why. I never went on vacation, so I had no preference or interest in getting on. Which was part of the reason all of this could happen. William -- probably my best friend, seeing as he was pretty much my ONLY friend -- had convinced me I needed to learn how to use my vacation days and actually stop working once in awhile. Live life, smell the roses, and all that sodding rot. We'd known each other since we were kids, and now enjoyed the droll lives of maturing young men in the corporate world. So it wasn't too outlandish for me too blindly trust him with a big chunk of money, assuming he'd find us something good in the brochures. How the hell could I have known he'd pick a bloody deathtrap for a vacation spot? "It's not like you think, Jules," he assured me then, giving me a look like he often did when he thought I was wrong and needed to convince me otherwise. "You think I'd book it if I thought we were gonna get murdered by some synthetics? Do you?" I just shook my head and threw up my hands. "Give me some credit. I plan on living to a ripe, old age." WestWorld, I remembered from the papers and tabloids years ago, was a robot-populated fantasy and pleasure town. It was in the States, out in the desert, and modeled after the old Wild West. Very popular. VERY expensive. That is, until some huge failure in the central mainframe or whatever had sent the androids on a murderous spree, killing something like fifty guests on vacation there. Again, it was pretty big news when the place reopened a few months ago. At the time, I just remembered thinking, "Huh, I wonder who would be crazy enough to go there," and went back to my morning coffee. I guess I had my answer now. Bloody William, that's who. "You're really blowing this way out of proportion." "Am I? Am I really? What if those robots start killing again? Huh? You think of that?" "Christ, mate -- last time, those people barely avoided jail time," he started explaining in an exasperated tone. "If that happened again, they'd be shut down for fucking good, you know? So you better believe they'll be making damned well bloody sure guests are perfectly safe this time before opening again, right?" I glared at him for another moment. Just a moment. Then I lowered my eyes in thought. "That does kind of make sense ..." "And, come on, it's not like we can afford a place like this at premium prices," he continued. "We got a great fucking deal because of all of the shit that happened out there before. We don't go now and we'll never get another chance until we're too old to enjoy it. Get it?" Huh. "Well. You do have a point there ..." "See? And they have a new security system that'll protect us from anything short of a missile strike." "Oh really? What is it?" "You'll see ..." he trailed off with a smug grin, then tried to disarm me with a dazzling flash of teeth. "Don't worry so much, Julian. It's me. When have I ever not had your back?" "Uhhh ..." "Christ! The one time. One time!" * * * WestWorld had been built out in an area that was still virtually unpopulated in the Great Basin Desert of the United States. I had plenty of time on the ground-skimmer flight over to watch the guide to the Wild West town. "Welcome to WestWorld!" chirped the terminally happy, female voice via my headset as I watched. "Where the past literally SPRINGS to life!" Images of WestWorld in action appeared on the fold-out viewer from the seat ahead of me. "Here you can indulge in your fantasies. You can be a sheriff or a bank robber, a gambler or an outlaw, gunslinger or cowboy! You can do whatever you want -- in total safety -- knowing that it is impossible to get hurt." I really hoped she was right. The scene changed to a clean, white room. Along one wall were beds, each one encased in a perspex cylinder. "This is thanks to our revolutionary, new, virtual-reality system. Now, we know what you're thinking, 'I don't want to wear rubber suits and bulky headgear.' Well, with our new Reality System, you don't have to! While your body sleeps, your mind is connected to an android body designed to be identical to your real body in every single way. You will find it totally impossible to tell that the artificial body is not your own." Kind of weird. Our own bodies? I guess that was why they'd needed a full body scan. I'd thought it was just for security purposes or something, but ... I wondered what they'd do with those bodies after we left the park. Doppelgangers, anyone? I paused the guide and turned to William in the seat next to me. "I still can't see how they can afford tech like this. I mean, this is cutting-edge stuff." "At the prices we paid they can't. But they'll go way up as soon as it catches on. We got in at the perfect time." He glanced past me out the window toward the American desert landscape creeping by far below. I could make out the Rockies on the horizon. At least, that's what I assumed they were. Wasn't like I'd ever been across the pond before, as it were. "So what are you gonna be, Jules?" he asked, still staring out. Probably already fantasizing about his own adventure. "White hat, or black hat?" "Huh?" "In the old movies, and I mean the really old ones, you could always tell who was the bad guy because he wore a black hat. The good guys would always wear white ones." William was always into that stuff as a kid, I remembered. Never really caught my own fancy, though. I thought about it. "Defending law and order could be fun." And Will shook his head. "Come on, mate. Don't you want to rob a bank?" "I'd rather shoot YOU trying to rob a bank." "Troll. You know we're in this together, Jules. I'm not gonna let you spoil the fun by not getting into the spirit of it." "Oh, yeah?" "It's a promise. You don't get out enough. You don't date or have fun. Work, work, work. This is about fun, relaxation, and adventure. And I'm gonna make sure you have some if I have to drag you into a sodding shootout by the scruff of your neck!" I laughed at him, shaking my head. "Better be careful. With an android body, I could shoot you in the back and no one would care." "You've never held a gun before in your life, mate!" "I've watched enough movies." "Good bloody luck!" I just grinned back at him. * * * Three rows back behind Julian and Will, Gareth McCall was entering the last few lines of code into his palmtop computer. He was looking forward to WestWorld more than anyone else on this flight. WestWorld advertised itself as a place with no limits. Of course, that was only an illusion, as Gareth had learned when he had first booked his stay in the newly reopened fantasy town. This had not been his first visit to the fake Wild West. He had been there just three weeks before the tragedy that had shut it down in the first place. He'd enjoyed his stay immensely and was more than satisfied with the vacation. One thing, however, had caught his eye more than anything else. One of the android gunslingers. It was dressed all in black, with a shaved head and a piercing gaze. It lost all its fights with guests, of course, exactly as it was programmed to do. But Gareth was still enamored with it. He could still remember that badass stalking through town like it had owned the place. He'd fought the Gunslinger every chance he'd got. Followed him some other times. But he didn't want to just fight him and win. Didn't want to just watch him lose to other people -- because he shouldn't have. Gareth McCall wanted to BE that gunslinger. But, before ... guests couldn't harm fellow guests. So, when the adverts for the new WestWorld were finally posted, Gareth was first in line to book a place. With the new Total Reality system, he could actually BE the gunslinger. And he could do whatever he wanted to do to anyone else. Unfortunately, he had been disappointed. The company agent had told him that guests were only allowed to inhabit android bodies made to look exactly the same as their real ones. Despite his pleading, the agent had stonewalled him. It was ridiculous. WestWorld was essentially a real-life video game and, like most video games, why couldn't he pick or customize his avatar the way he wanted? Why couldn't he be the Gunslinger? What the hell could go wrong? Gareth had booked his place anyway. He was a pretty successful programmer from the West Coast and knew he could find a way around this little problem. And, after several months of discrete hacking, not to mention pushing his skills to their limit, he was sure that he had crafted the answer. WestWorld's security system was not as well-defended as it should have been. He had managed to insert several small, seemingly innocuous programs into their computers by overriding some unprotected buffers, which he never should've been able to get access to if they'd done a better job securing their shit. A few bullshitted calls to some noobs in their IT department gave him the in. Now, the control program was in his palmtop, and would make sure he got exactly what he wanted. Once he was connected to his android body, his little hidden code-mines would make sure to redirect him into the Gunslinger's body instead. Of course, he had to make sure he didn't get caught, as ludicrous as it was for him to have to go to such lengths in the first place. He knew he could get in trouble if they found out, though, honestly, he'd done them a favor in exposing some security weaknesses and would probably just get offered a job. It had happened to a friend of his before. But, no. He made sure he had masked the programs and given them self-destructive overrides to cover his tracks. He wasn't even one-hundred percent sure if it all would work since it wasn't like he could really live test it prior to coming out here, but ... he had to try before the WestWorld people figured out the security hole themselves. "The window of opportunity was closing," as an old boss of his was so fond of saying. So he put his computer on standby and glanced out the porthole, wishing the skimmer would hurry up and get to WestWorld. He couldn't wait to get into his avatar and play his vacation right this time. He just couldn't fucking wait. * * * Once we landed and disembarked, a live guide that I hoped wasn't a preliminary introduction to androids led us down under a squat, unremarkable concrete building that looked like a bunker. Inside, we eventually entered a long, antiseptic room. I recognized this as the sleep chamber I'd seen in the guide. The room was broken up into three sections. Two were fully occupied with guests already enjoying their vacation. The third section stood ready to receive the new guests. Us. I looked around now that everyone was out and off the plane. About as random a crew as you could get. Half a dozen men and women in sterile white coats stood waiting to put us into the sleep chambers, plastic smiles painted on their faces. Our guide opened the case around one of the beds to show us. "These are standard suspended-animation chambers. While your body is in here, your mind will be connected straight to your android body. Your body will be looked after by some of the finest doctors. Highly unlikely though it is, should anything happen to you, we have a fully equipped operating theatre on site." I had to admit, I was pretty impressed with all of it so far. William had been right when he'd said that WestWorld wasn't taking any risks with their new opening. I wouldn't have in their place either. "So," the woman continued, glancing around at all of us with an encouraging smile on her pretty face. "Who'll be first to embark on a fantasy journey into the old Wild West?" Not me. Some other bloke volunteered, and the whole thing proceeded anticlimactically. He laid down, had four small electrodes taped onto his head, then the chamber was closed and switched on. What I assumed was a doctor or a scientist stepped up and checked the readouts on the side of the chamber, then nodded. Our guide turned back toward us again. "That's all there is to it! You'll go to sleep here and then wake up in your hotel room inside WestWorld." The rest of us were prepared quickly, quietly, and efficiently. A lot of excitement, a little bit of nervousness, but everyone got in and went down. I looked over at William one last time before they strapped him in and he gave me two thumbs up. Then he was gone, and I had a woman ferrying me into my own sleep pod. "In here please, Mr. Matthews." Second thoughts and doubts whistled through my head between my ears, threatening my courage at the last moment on this threshold where I knew there would be no going back. I thought about every terrible fragment of story I could remember about the previous failures of this place. I almost ran out of there, and I'm pretty sure the doctor saw it. She already had a hand on me, guiding me inside. I probably wasn't the first person to freak out, though I bet it was uncommon considering the financial commitment to get this far in the first place. Still, I was inside before I could make good on those fears. The air hissed around me, and I felt suddenly claustrophobic. I felt it all over my body. What if I died in here? What if I suffocated? What if this was all some elaborate hoax to replicate and replace people with controlled android lookalikes? What if-- Then I fell asleep. CHAPTER TWO - The Best Laid Plans I blinked my eyes back open, feeling warm sunlight on bare skin. It took me a moment to understand. Just a minute ago, I'd drifted off inside a suspended animation pod. Now I was looking up at a ceiling painted light pink -- not the sterile confines of a pod. I turned my head and glanced around a room looking much the same in soft hues before fixing on an old-fashioned, wooden window with velvet curtains to one side. The sun was pouring in through there. I sucked in an excited breath. For one, wild moment ... I could scarcely believe it. I was in WestWorld. I was in a bloody android body in the American Wild West. I was on vacation! No rules. No limits! Just ... Fun? I squeezed my eyes shut, letting that thought wash over me for a few seconds. I tried to think of what Will would've done. I tried drinking in the idea of unbridled adventure with no consequences, remembering his promise to drag me out into the light and get into spirit. A part of me had just been waiting for disappointment. A part of me was just waiting to huff a sigh of "I told you so" before scurrying back home to monotonous comfort and complacency. I had to actually tell myself it was okay to push that aside. I was in an android body. I started to get giddy just thinking how strangely immortal that made me feel right now. William had been right. This was worth it. Maybe I'd even tell him so. The bug had finally bitten me too, I thought. "Hey, Will, wh-!" I turned back away from the window, looking over toward Will's bed, but ... there was none. Just a small room around me. The one bed. There wasn't even room enough in here for two by the looks of it. We were supposed to have a room together, though. That's what we had reserved. And ... what? "What the hell?" My hands flew toward my throat, my eyes flung wide. "What the fuck's wrong with my voice?" That wasn't my voice. That was some ... some GIRL's voice! It took me another second, with my hands wrapped around my throat, to realize that something was missing there. The knobby hardness of my Adam's apple. And hair. It was nothing but smooth, soft skin. I touched my face in a panic, feeling more of the same. Then looked down ... And screamed. * * * I laid in bed, shivering with my eyes screwed shut and the covers pulled up to my chin. My strangely hairless chin. That quick flash of my body was burned into my mind. I was supposed to be in an exact android copy of my own body. I was SUPPOSED to be ME. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong. WestWorld boasted state-of-the-art technology. How could something like this happen? It shouldn't have been possible! Was I hallucinating? I was pretty sure I never had before, so how would I even know? But this ... I cautiously opened my eyes and looked down at the covers. At the place where they tented tightly above my chest. I glanced at my hands -- at the too-slim arms with their peach fuzz hair tapering to elegant fingers with manicured nails. Eventually, I worked up the courage to move those stranger's hands towards my chest, feeling it through the soft fabric of the blankets. It was pretty obvious what those were. Tits! Bloody tits! It was so freaking strange to actually be able to feel soft cushions of flesh through the covers. I remembered past girlfriends, and what it felt like to grab a feel. I got a little dizzy realizing the change in perspective. At some point, I sat up again, letting the blankets fall away to reveal some kind of cotton night dress wrapped around me. The nipples were partially visible as dark blotches through the fabric, but I could feel them. They were huge. And inexplicably attached to me. That wasn't even the worst of it, though. My legs were pretty much flush with each other and I noted then a distinct lack of something in between. Not that it shouldn't have been a surprise, but putting a hand down there confirmed the truth: I was a bloody girl. How the hell could this happen? I'd paid top-dollar for a vacation with cutting-edge tech and ... this? THIS ...?! "Calm down," I whispered to myself, and winced at the sound of that voice. This was just a glitch -- an error. All I had to do was contact the control staff and they'd fix the problem in no time, right? I thought back to the video introduction and remembered that they'd said there was supposed to be a comm button built into the bedside tables of their guest rooms for emergency staff contact. So all I had to do was call control, explain the situation, and they'd sort it out in no time, right? I mean, obviously some female guest was stuck in my bo ... Oh, Jesus Christ. Was this chick running around in my body while I was in hers? Fuck. Bloody hell, fuck! I leapt out of the sheets toward the nightstand and ... promptly face- planted on the ground. "Shit! Fuck! Motherfucker!" Hearing that sweet, dulcet voice curse like a rowdy sailor only incensed me all the more. Eventually, I picked myself back up, feeling bruised on my collar bone and wincing. I'd overestimated this alien body, not realizing how much shorter and smaller it was, and had tumbled over myself trying to escape the bed. Thank god I could get out of this as quickly as I made that call to control. Hair was in my face. In my mouth. In my way. Blonde. I spat it back out, swiped hands back to get it behind my head, and stalked over toward the nightstand. All the while I did my best to ignore the strange sensations coming from this strange body. There was no panel. "Shit." I looked all over it. Pulled it back from the wall -- even tipped it over to see underneath. Nothing. "Shit!" Panic was creeping up on me again as I pulled the drawers out and tossed them on the floor. The last one went flying across the room. "Shit! Shit! Bloody well, SHIT!" There was no comm panel anywhere. Why the hell did they say it'd have one if it very bloody well didn't?! I slumped back down on the bed, breasts bouncing inside the night dress. Shit. How was I going to straighten this mess out if I couldn't call control? I tried to think, but it was hard. Too much all at once and all of it wrong. "What am I gonna do?" I demanded aloud forlornly. I swear to god, it still sounded like someone else entirely was doing the talking. There was something moving in my periphery, and I stiffened before whipping my head that way. And ... no. It took a moment, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized it was just a mirror. Then that sigh abruptly caught in my throat when I realized next just what it was reflecting. I brought a hand up to my face and so did she. It was elegant, the skin all but flawless milky-white. Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair going dark at the roots hanging messily around her head in ringlets. About twenty years old or so too, looking petite and well-rounded where it counts in her sexy little nightdress. Ugh. I had to remind myself that it was currently ME in that sexy little nightdress. Glancing down, cleavage stared back at me. God. How the hell does something like this happen? Slowly, I got up and approached the mirror, thinking this girl could've been a model. Whoever she was, she had a bloody well perfect body and I wondered about her. Me, for now, I supposed. And as I touched the mirror, a perverse thought slipped into my head. I only had to wrestle with myself a few seconds, checking all around to make sure no one else was in the room, before quickly making sure the door out was locked and pulling off that nightdress. "Christ." I drank in the vision of the naked blonde girl with near-perfect proportions standing there in front of me. Drank it in, thinking, "How often does a single bloke get a chance like this?" Drank it in until I realized ... I wasn't really getting that turned on. "Huh." I hefted those boobs in either ha-- my boobs in either hand. What should've been an incredibly erotic experience for some reason wasn't really doing much for me. It was the weirdest thing, and I wouldn't have thought anything of it, except that there was this extremely naked, EXTREMELY attractive woman standing right in front of me. "Huh." This was getting too weird. The sooner I had this problem sorted out the better. I looked over toward the window and -- Wait. I tried thinking of something else real quick on a hunch and -- "Oh ... shit." My eyes flashed back open to that blonde blushing furiously in the mirror in front of me. And with good reason. Instead of thinking about that woman -- myself and my nakedness and what I could ... well, I guess I couldn't do anything in my current state, but ... No. Shit. Fuck. I'd tried thinking about a naked man instead. Some random, famous actor with a nice rugged look I'd thought to maybe emulate someday if I ever felt like going to the gym regularly enough. And going back in time to be born with more symmetrical features, of course. I don't fucking know why I did that, except out of morbid curiosity. And ... and ... Something about that I'd found attractive. "Fuck." It had to be this body. It had to be, right? There was no way I was gay. No way. It had to be this body. And I had to fix this. Carefully, so as not to expose myself to the outside, I opened the curtains at the window and looked out. The sight that greeted me was familiar from the few westerns I had by chanced watched over my lifetime. Will had been enthusiastic about them in a nostalgic way, dragging me along with him sometimes. The window I was looking through seemed to be on the second or third floor, and had a good view of the dirt-packed "street" outside. I watched several cowboys ride past while locals went about their daily business. Just down the street there was a jail next to a three-story building marked "Hotel" on it. I recognized the building, of course. That was where every guest was supposed to start their vacation. Which begged the question: why was I in a completely different building across the street? Shouldn't this girl have been in there, even if she had the wrong host running around inside her? But that would explain why there was no phone built into the bedside table ... Either way, I was going to have to get into the hotel. I turned around and headed for the door. But the free swing of my breasts caught me up short with a disgusted sigh. Then my eyes wandered over toward a wardrobe in the corner made out of a form of plastic that mimicked wood pretty well. Of course, when I opened it up, it was full of clothes. WOMEN's clothes. I put my hands on my hips and sighed. Of course they would be. Everything was a skirt or a dress. "Really?" I cried out in frustration, throwing up my hands. I shook my head. I mean, this wasn't right, right? WestWorld had plenty of female guests and they played tough, gun-toting cowgirls. That was the whole point of this place. It was the only role that was any fun. Right? So why did this girl have no riding clothes, only dresses? And nooo guns? I looked through them again, and stopped at one. I couldn't quite make out what it was. It looked a little like a one-piece female bathing suit, but it was covered in hundreds of glass beads. Pretty gaudy, I thought. I pulled it out of the wardrobe and only then noticed the long feathers attached to the seat of the costume. "This is some bloody DANCING girl's outfit!" I tossed the thing on the bed, wondering what the hell was up with this chick. Who'd want to go to a place like WestWorld and be some silly dancing girl? The thought hung heavy in my stomach. Doesn't matter. All I needed to worry about was getting into the right android body. And it was beginning to look more and more like I was going to have to wear a dress to get it. That, or go in my underwear. Errk. The alternative was worse, I had to remind myself several times. It took some convincing. I couldn't find a bra -- and I know I needed one -- just something like a slip, in pale blue silk. I guess that'd work, but it was a little counterintuitive to put on. I managed to get into it, eventually, by stepping into it first. And it fit very snugly. A lot more effort than I'd have to thought went into getting it buttoned up in back. But I was covered. And supported. So weird ... Just ... don't think about it. Glancing in the mirror quickly, I noticed I could see my nipples pretty clearly through the underwear. It was also pretty strange to have that much cleavage showing. On me, that is. I gritted my teeth and found some lacey -- they were all lacey -- panties, pulling them on. The dresses were another problem, designed to show what seemed like as much of my chest as I could get away with without breaking some public decency laws. I found the most demure one I could, and that wasn't saying much, in a deep red. It was only modest by virtue of a hemline that reached the ankles. It still showed tons of boob. I just had to tell myself that, assuming everything went right from hereon out, then I wouldn't have to wear it for too long anyway. Right. The dress had some sort of corset built into it and it was hard to breathe once I got everything buttoned up. I was sweating by the time I finished and thinking, "Couldn't someone have designed these things better?" I couldn't imagine a real woman enjoying wearing something like this. I struggled to get more comfortable, but the dress was too tight. It didn't look too small in the mirror, though. In fact, it looked pretty good. My waist looked incredibly thin, which only emphasized my hips and bust. It was trippy to see myself -- even in the body of some random woman -- that way. Looking through her shoes, I knew I was in trouble when everything had a freaking heel. I found the ones with the shortest that I could -- some feminine-looking black boots that came up to my calves. And I tried taking a few steps in them, teetering a bit. About a minute's practice and I felt like I could manage it. I wouldn't be able to stride like I was used to or wanted to right now. Just little, precise steps. The dress didn't help much. When the illusion was complete and I finally took stock of myself in the mirror, I had to suppress a forlorn sigh from wracking my entire body. Looking at that beauty and feeling everywhere her outfit pinched, poked, or strangled me, all I could think was, "Thank god I wasn't born a woman in the nineteenth century." "Okay," I breathed out to steady myself at the door. "Moment of truth." I was as ready as I was ever going to be, and I didn't have far to go. I just had to reach my real room and the comm console inside. Then the problem would all be sorted out. It took me another five minutes, standing at the door, before I could work up the courage to go out. I didn't want anyone to see me like this, even though no one would ever be able to guess I was anything but the young woman I appeared to be. Unfortunately, I didn't agree. I felt like everyone would see right through that android body to the real me underneath. I felt like a transvestite imposter that would soon be a laughing stock on display for the rest of the world. Somehow, despite all that, I rematerialized out in the hallway in a panic-induced fugue. I glanced around quickly, but the hall was empty of people. They must've all been downstairs, by the sound of it. My debut was postponed a little while longer. A few steps down and the hall opened up into a balcony. From that way wafted up the sounds of a badly-tuned piano being played, laughing, drinking, and all the assorted noises of a regular pub. I crept along and risked a glance over the bannister, seeing the room below was full of people -- crowded with what I imagined were new arrivals who'd headed right here. I looked around, hoping to catch sight of William's familiar face in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, he was busy contacting the WestWorld staff about his friend and the mysterious woman who'd woken up in his body by mistake. A card game erupted into a fist fight between two muscle-y blokes and a fat, balding man in his fifties as I kicked myself forward, trying my luck at sliding inconspicuously down the stairs into the main room. The two were somehow easily disposed of by the older man. "Spot the guest," I thought to myself. With all the commotion, I was somewhat convinced I could probably slip right through the crowd without being noticed. I had to keep my entire concentration on walking down the stairs without tripping, but I was aware of a couple people watching me do so. I tried to ignore them the best I could, which was hard. The landscape changed as soon as I got to the bottom. People were bustling about in close quarters all over. Women in outfits like mine, a few cowgirls among them, blokes in various approximations of period dress. Scruffy-looking locals. Tables upright and knocked over both. People necking in the corner. I think they called these dives "saloons". The stink of so many people in one place wafted over me. I got a good perspective on how small I was now when I tried to wriggle through all those bodies and make my way past the bar. It was in between the backs of two sweaty laborers, pushing through with my hands up and trying not to touch them, that I felt someone's eyes burning into me. I looked up, and a bald man in black wearing a black hat was sizing me up quietly with a drink at the bar. His eyes were intense -- too intense. It made my skin crawl. And I remembered something Will had said just before we got here ... about white hats, and black hats. Jesus. He nodded at me as I squeezed my way past, eager to get away from him. His black hat tipped my way. "Afternoon, miss." I practically tripped over my own feet, realizing that man in black had called me 'miss'. He was smiling, and it made my blood run cold. So I hurried on and, thankfully, the man didn't seem interested in pursuing. Guest or android, I couldn't fucking tell or care. I was just about to the swing doors leading outside, heaving a sigh of relief as I went when I felt an arm snake its way around my waist. It pulled me right up off my feet. A woman squeaked in surprise and my face went red when I realized a split second later that it was me. After nearly thirty years as male, it was hard to reconcile the fact that I had just been snatched off my feet so easily by a man. Or that I soon landed right on top of his lap. The only thing I managed was a bewildered, "Bloody hell?" before I was wrapped up by a twenty-something young man, laughing in my ear. I tried to wrest my way free, but he held me easily in place. Embarrassingly easy, and my face went from red to scarlet. "Get your hands off me, arsehole!" I snapped at him. "Holy shit, an English girl!" he guffawed. "That's pretty exotic for the old West, right?" some other man -- his friend, I assumed -- chimed in from across the table. That one was smiling crookedly, enjoying the sport. "No need to rush off just yet, gorgeous," the first one whispered in my ear. I was desperately trying to wriggle free and out of his grasp and he was playfully wrestling me back into place, acting for all the world like a cat with a mouse. "Sod off!" I spat back over my shoulder at him, and then felt a strong hand clamp down on my breast. That made me go shock still for a moment, eyes wide and terrified. "There you go, baby," the man cooed on to me, starting to stroke. "I'll show you a better time than any of these synthetic men in here tonight." His friend just laughed and shook his head. They thought I was an android. A computer-controlled android. And some kind of bint or something? That was im-- That hand on my breast was insistent, and I felt a hard, growing lump in the lap beneath me right under my bottom. Oh my god this fuck was trying to bugger me. CHAPTER THREE - The Gunslinger I snapped back to at the horror of that realization -- that some random bloke was trying to feel me up and stick it in me like some ... some ... girl? Like a girl. And, like a girl, I twisted around and tried to smack him, hard, in the face. His one hand was on my breast, the other around my waist, so I got a good blow in. It felt good, but quickly turned to demeaning when I realized not only what I'd done but saw him start to laugh sportingly at me after the sting settled in. "Ooo, I like this one." "Oh come on, Chris," the other one muttered. The man groping me -- Chris -- was kneading my tit through the fabric of the dress still, ignoring my swat. "I can feel your nipples," he breathed, trying to stare me in the eyes then and smiling suggestively. "They're hard. We both know you want it, so why not knock off the act and come back to my room?" I stared back at him, flabbergasted and incredulous and not knowing the bloody fuck well what to do. I'd never in my LIFE been in a situation like this before. Was this what it was like for girls? Attractive ones? Fucking creeps groping them and acting like they wanted sex even when they didn't? "Get your sodding hands off me, you fuck," I snarled at him. Again, the man only laughed, shaking his head. Instead of doing what I told him to, he suddenly pushed me to my feet and toward the door. I took the chance to try and run, but he snatched me back. "Don't wait up, Jake," he called to his friend over a shoulder. The other one raised a glass of beer in acknowledgement. "Whatever, dude." I was stumbling around, trying to scream over the din of the room for some help and wondering if there was anything like a rape whistle in the old American West when someone bellowed across the room, loud enough for me to hear, "And where do you think you're going?" The man wrangling me toward the door stopped. We both looked up and saw that bald gunslinger in black with his black hat. Watching him now, somehow he seemed even more menacing than he had before, eyeing me at the bar. He'd stood up from his stool, hands out to either side and hovering over his revolvers. The would-be rapist, Chris, stood there stunned for a moment, not sure what to make of that challenge. He looked over toward his friend and that one just shrugged. So he opened his mouth and gave a melodramatic retort, "Mind your own business or I'll drop you where you stand!" If I wasn't so busy being scared shitless about getting molested, I would've gagged out loud. The man in black sneered. "Big man you are. Hiding behind a woman ..." And, I thought, "Christ, he's talking about me." I heard Chris growl before I felt myself flung aside and away from him. I collided with a drunk who I was certain was an android. Mostly since he didn't try to take advantage of me or anything. He just hefted me back onto my feet without a word. Everyone else in the bar moved out of the line of fire between the two facing off. They knew what was coming. Most would've been programmed so, anyway. "Draw," the gunslinger said. The other man suddenly seemed nervous. Ironically so, considering how brazen he had been about practically tossing me over his shoulder and hauling me out of the bar a few moments ago. But I guessed he had never been in a gunfight before. Hell, I had never been in a gunfight before. It was the only reason I didn't dare charge past him and out the door while those two were getting ready to shoot it out. A few seconds past. The two men stared at each other. Then the guest suddenly went for his gun. Chris' revolver barely cleared its holster before the gunslinger fired. A bullet punched its way through the man's chest and out the other side, and he twitched backward in surprise, hitting the door post with his back. My would-be rapist looked down toward the bloody hole near where his heart would have been in shock, dipping a shaky two fingers into the blood after letting his gun clatter to the floor. "But ... I'm supposed ... to win ..." he murmured, looking up at the gunslinger. Then he slumped down and died. I stood there, too stunned to move. All sound had died in the saloon while the altercation broke out, and I was suddenly aware of the man in black again. He whipped his gun back around, gracefully reholstering it. The black hat tipped toward me again. "He won't be bothering you anymore, miss." Then all the sound came rushing back. People crowded back inward, blocking my view of the gunslinger. They gave the dead guest a wide berth. I knew he wasn't really dead, but it still seemed so ... off-putting. It was like an echo of an actual death. I'd never seen someone die before and the fact that it wasn't real only lessened it somewhat. The dead man's friend, Jake, wandered over and knelt down over the body. He sighed, removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he noticed me, locked eyes and seemed to linger. I bolted out the doors before he had any second thoughts. Outside, I took off and ran as best as I could in those heeled boots across the street, trying to ignore how I had to hold up the sides of my dress to keep from tripping over it. I'd seen women do that in period pieces and the embarrassment of me having to do it was only forgotten due to the horror of what had almost just happened. A stagecoach almost ran me over I was so distraught and overwhelmed. The driver howled some curses after me while I darted out of the way to the safety of the other side of the street. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. I mean ... that blighter had wanted to have sex with me! Hell, it had never even occurred to me that this body could provoke that kind of response in other men. I barely made it out of my room without getting raped, for Christ's sake! I had to take some deep breaths to calm myself. Eventually, I got it back under control. As much as I could, considering the circumstances. It was just all the more reason to get to the hotel and straighten out this mess and forget that whole series of events had ever happened at ALL ... I took up again, making my way hurriedly toward the end of the street. A few people out and about looked after me. All of them guests. Still, I reached the hotel unscathed, muttering a silent prayer of thanks for that. Inside, the reception area was clean, but spartan, with a severe-looking woman in her fifties behind the desk. "We don't want your sort in here," she told me curtly as I whisked inward, barely looking up from a book she was reading. "So git." Her tone took me aback for a moment. This was the hotel, right? Why would one of the androids talk to a guest like that? The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach only got worse. Still, I walked over toward the desk. "Can you please put me in touch with the WestWorld technical department? There's been a ... a mix-up?" "Tech-nical department?" the woman sounded it out, looking totally mystified. I sighed. She was another android, of course. Why else would she be just sitting here at a desk? They were programmed not to have any idea about anything outside of this little fantasy world of theirs. Though I could've hoped this one might have had some customer service software being as she was right in the hotel guests started at. Hope in vain, that is. "Um, nevermind. Which room are Julian Matthews and William McCarthy booked into?" "Oh," the light seemed to dawn in her head all of a sudden. "They hired you then?" I frowned at her, not sure I wanted to think too deeply about the assumption there. "Uhhh, sure?" "Oh, well all right then, dearie. Room 36. Up the stairs and on yer right." I spared her a curious backwards glance as I turned and headed for the staircase. A theory had started to come together inside my head, but I didn't want to think about that right now. I just wanted to get to my room -- my REAL room -- find Will, find my real body, and get this whole cock-up sorted out before it got any more awkward and uncomfortable and dangerous. I was halfway down the hall, counting out room 29 and 31, when I suddenly realized that there was a decent chance Will was in the room. What if he was? I couldn't let him see me like this. I was a fucking blonde babe dressed in a sexy-as-hell red dress with lots of cleavage showing. I mean, he would never let me live this down. What the fuck would the blokes back at work think if they found out? Or my family? Would Will tell them? Could he do that to me? I sighed, long and heavy. I deflated outside the door to room 36. But did it matter? What else was I going to do? Spend the next two weeks trapped in a female bombshell and hope -- just HOPE -- I didn't get molested again? Well, I could get a gun of my own ... No. Nope. Not gonna happen. I reached out and knocked on the door. Getting put back into the right android body was more important than anything Will might say on the matter. A few, long moments passed. I waited, but there was no answer. I knocked louder. "Will?" Still, there was no response. I tried the doorknob and, surprise surpise, it was unlocked. I called out Will's name again, pushing inside. Still, no answer. From where I was standing in the doorway, I could see two beds. Both of them looked used. Not too much, just used like someone had woken up and gotten out of bed and taken off. It was obvious that someone had been in here but wasn't around any longer. "Dammit," I muttered, looking around helplessly. There was no telling where Will could've gone. And, what was even MORE disturbing -- where had the woman wearing my android body gone with him. They should've called control right away, right? And then just waited here to be unplugged or whatever. So why was no one here? Well, it didn't matter. I'd call control myself and get myself straightened out either way. I walked over to one of the bedside tables and was relieved to see that this one DID have a comm panel built into it. It was pretty simple to activate, the top turning into a viewer as I watched. I scanned through until I reached the 'Reporting Problems' menu. I selected it. The screen cleared. A few seconds later, the words "Connection Failed. The communication system will be restored soon." appeared on the screen. What the fuck? I tried it again. Then waited five minutes, and tried it again. Same error. "Sodding piece of shit!" I kicked the bedside table over and the viewer winked out as it clattered down to the floor on its side. Then I slumped down onto the bed, heaving a heavy breath and suppressing the urge to scream. What the hell was going on here? Did anything work properly in this buggered place? I was going to be stuck in this body. I was going to be stuck in this body for the next two weeks! Bloody fucking hell and shit, shit, SHIT! I kicked the bedside table again, and only bruised my toe. "Fucking shit!" Cradling it through my boot, I winced and started to calm down with the pain, realizing I might've broken that comm panel. "Oh well", I thought, looking over my shoulder toward the other bedside table just like it. Serves them right for this whole freaking fuckup. Well. I was stuck then. Unless I wanted to go find some other way to contact the management. Unlikely. There was no way I was going to risk going back outside. Hopefully, the comm system would be fixed soon. Otherwise, I was fucked. ROYALLY fucked. CHAPTER FOUR - Last Room on the Left I spent the rest of the afternoon in the hotel room with two empty beds. Every ten minutes or so, I'd check the remaining comm panel and was sure that old woman downstairs could hear my cussing when I saw that it was still out of order each time. Will never came back either, though that wasn't surprising. I remained anxious -- as much for the downed comms as for my best friend possibly walking into the room at any moment and finding me here, looking like a trollop. It didn't matter, but I couldn't help worrying about it even so. Eventually, though, I had to admit that, unless I was planning on staying like this for an extended period of time -- and I wasn't -- I was going to have to go out there and find a WestWorld employee that I could report the problem to. After what had happened back in the saloon, I was understandably hesitant to do so. I just tried to forget about my situation while I waited. Unfortunately, since my entire body was drastically different than it had been it was incredibly easy to be reminded of my female status. I tried to just lie down on the bed, maybe even nap, but it was hard to forget the corset strangling me about the middle. I looked over at what I was just assuming was Will's bed and spoke aloud to myself, "I bet you're having the time of your life right now, mate. You don't even have to wear a dress." An idea popped into my head while I lay there then. There was a closet in here, possibly full of clothes. Male clothes. And Will wouldn't mind if I took some. Some of them were supposed to be mine anyways, right? I was almost out of my dress before I'd even gotten up from the bed. Dressed only in the blue slip, I popped open the closet and let out a small cry of victory when I found the hanging shirts and folded trousers of two male occupants for the room. I quickly grabbed a set. I pulled a shirt on and it immediately became obvious I was going to have problems I hadn't foreseen in my excitement. I tried buttoning it down, but my tits got in the way, making it hard to close up over that cleavage comfortably. I ended up having to leave a lot of buttons on top undone, and you could still see some boob, though not so bad as with the dress. The pants were another problem. Perfect for my normal body, maybe, but they were way too long for me now, and uncomfortably tight around the hips. I grabbed a belt and pulled it as tight as I could, but even then the trousers still felt loose around the waist. I tried some cowboy boots too, but they were far too big for my new feet. With a frustrated sigh, I got the heeled boots back on. Despite all of that, I found a gun belt and a spare revolver in the closet with some bullets. I strapped that on and smiled to myself, thinking that at least now I'd have some protection from any groping men or evil-eyed strangers in black hats. And I knew exactly where I'd shoot them if anyone thought to grab me like that again. I practiced drawing the gun a few times. I swear, it was heavier than it should've been. I'd experimented just a little bit with one before coming and it had been far easier to draw. Will hadn't know about that. He'd thought I'd never held a gun before, and I'd meant to surprise him. Oh well. I had a surprise for him. Eventually, I got around to checking myself over in the mirror, and deflated just a little. I mean, sure this was better than the heavy and constricting dress, but I still looked like a girl dressed up in her boyfriend's clothes. I'd gone from sexy to cute and wasn't sure if that was really any better. Gunshots sounded outside on the street. I ran to the window and peered out in time to see the bank getting robbed for what must've been the third time that afternoon. As the robbers rode wildly out of town, hollering as they went, two undertakers scurried out and started collecting the "dead". I watched them, shaking my head and thinking back to Chris and the black-clad gunslinger with a shudder. Then I saw those two down there share a joke. "They're real people ..." The realization dawned on me as I watched. Those two loaded the "corpses" into their carriage in preparation for taking them back to what must've been a repair center. I turned and bolted out the door, down the stairs, and out of the hotel without a second thought. Out on the street, the undertakers had finished loading up the bodies and were heading back to wherever it was they were going. No doubt some kind of entrance to the main control complex. "Hey!" I screamed, charging up at them. "Wait up!" The two men stopped, and watched as I approached in a wild hurry. "Thank God! I've been trying to contact someone for hours! There's been some kind of terrible mistake!" I was waving my hands at them, trying to catch my breath. One of them sighed as soon as I started talking, pulled a small box from his belt, and pointed it right at me. Suddenly, I stopped talking, stopped panting. I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak. My mind raced on in a panic. "What was that all about?" asked the other undertaker. The one with the box looked at him. "This sort of thing happens all the time, Andy. When you've been here a few weeks, you'll get used to it." He gestured toward me. "It's one of the whores from the saloon. I recognize her. Their programming's a little more complicated because of the more, uh, intimate, relations they have with the guests. They aren't supposed to leave the saloon, but occasionally they wander off. It's easier to use the cutout rather than argue with them." Holy shit. As the man spoke, calling me one of the whores, my terrible, impossible theory came back to mind and I realized with a sickening horror that it was true. I wasn't in the body of a guest android clone at all! Somehow, I must have ended up in a body that was supposed to be computer- controlled. And a whore, no bloody less! Again, I tried to speak, but it was like all my motor functions had been overridden. Holy fucking shit! What the bloody hell were they going to do to me? Would they ... would they take me back to the repair center and open me up to find out why I had "wandered off"? "Anyway, we don't have time to worry about it now. They've got some problem back in the control center." The man with the box handed it to the other one, Andy. "Take it back to the saloon and then get back here. We've got a lot to do." Andy sighed, "Okay." Then looked at me. "Command: follow me." All of a sudden, my legs were moving. So was the rest of me. Andy walked past and I tried to open my mouth to speak but still couldn't. I couldn't even take control of my bloody feet! They just walked -- sauntered, really -- along after that WestWorld employee back toward the saloon. All the while, I was in a soft haze of panic, threatening to freak out. It was like being paralyzed. No! Worse, because I couldn't even move my eyes or tongue or anything! It was like being a ghost trapped in someone else's body except ... except that I could still feel EVERYTHING that she felt. This was far, far worse than just being stuck in a female android's body. Worse even than that android being a whore. The only thing that was keeping me from totally losing it was the fact that he'd have to release the "cutout" as soon as he returned me to my room. This android's room. I assumed. He had to, right? All I had to do was be ready the instant Andy restored control. The saloon wasn't as crowded as earlier when we got inside. Most of the guests must have been out having fun on their own adventures after stopping off in here first now. I knew the environs sprawled for miles in the prairieland and desert, allowing for multitudes of storylines for each person, some of them intersecting as appropriate. Banditos and outlaws and such. Posses hunting them down. All that good old Western stuff I'd skimmed past in the guide on the way over. It hadn't really interested me, but I'd planned to humor Will. Across the Atlantic was another world away to me and, I had to admit, after this whole debacle, I was pretty happy to go back to my island and let this country rot for all I cared. American exceptionalism my arse. There was no sign of that gunslinger from earlier as Andy led me through and up to my room. Unlike before, my android body was sashaying by default like she probably would've been if I hadn't woken up behind the wheels this morning. It got a lot more attention than I wanted. The other androids and a guest or two didn't seem to mind her male clothes so much, which was probably because that body could make a garbage bag look sexy, especially with it galavanting about like that. As soon as we were inside the room I'd woken up in when this whole ordeal began, Andy walked in and looked back at me. "Command: close and lock the door," he ordered. My body did as instructed, smoothing my face against my will into a blank, placid stare. And as I turned back around toward the man, I really, really hoped I was misreading the signals he was giving off now. I mean, he wouldn't do ... THAT ... right? He couldn't ... "Command: stand by the bed facing me." Oh. No, no, no, no ... My body obeyed. My mind was desperately trying to fight back, but it was like my brain had been cut off from the limbs. They had a mind of their own now, and did whatever this middle-aged wage employee told them to. He smiled up at me, a vacant smile like someone would give a pretty doll. "Not bad. Take off that shirt." I froze, terrified into shock for not the first time in less than a day of what was happening. But so did my body and, for a moment, I thought maybe I had control back. Andy frowned, then realized what he'd done wrong. "Hm. Command: remove your shirt." Shit! Fuck! Shitting shit! My hands moved of their own accord and quickly unbuttoned the man's shirt I'd put on earlier. It slipped off my shoulders and fell to the ground. "Nice. They built you well, didn't they? Command: remove your boots and pants." I did. My body did. The lust in Andy's eye was obvious, and I was screaming inside my head like a mental patient. I thought as hard as I could, raging at the confines of that female flesh -- willing it to obey me and stop -- this -- NOW! But Andy just watched. And my body continued to strip. Soon I was standing there in nothing but the slip and panties. "Enough shit to distract them back at control. Should be enough time," Andy seemed to be murmuring to himself while he watched me, sizing me up like the expensive sex doll he was treating me as. All the while, I shrieked every obscenity and violent threat I could think of from the hollows of my helpless mind. "Command: remove the rest of your clothes." "I'M GONNA CHOKE YOU WITH THEM, YOU FUCKING WANKER PIECE OF SHIT!" I howled silently without moving a muscle. He didn't hear me. And then I was naked. He was ogling my tits, tracing them down toward my new anatomy where his eyes settled for a moment. From my frozen vantage point I could see a bulge straining inside his pants and my cries of fury and desperate rage reached a fever pitch. The room was entirely silent except for Andy removing his pants. "Command: lie on the bed with your legs apart." As my body climbed up onto the bed and exposed my most vulnerable new spot to the world and to this man who was about to rape me, though he didn't know it, my screams turned to pleading cries -- desperate, and mewling. Tears should've been streaming from my eyes as I laid back but ... nothing. Nothing to tell this man there was anyone alive inside of here except a vapid android scrubber. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed, I raged, and I howled. Unintelligible, even to myself. "Please" started to dominate my stream of consciousness, along with "No" and "Stop", but there was no sound from my lips. No look in my eye that he could see. They were vacant, and hollow to the world. And the moment I felt his penis entering me everything drowned out in white noise until there was nothing left. CHAPTER FIVE - Damsel in Distress My next coherent memory was of staring up at the ceiling. A pink ceiling. I blinked, just staring at it for a moment, nothing more than the contours of it enveloping my entire world. Then what had happened to me came rushing back and I nearly choked on my tongue. "You're awake at last!" I practically jumped out of bed in horror, only too late realizing that the voice from the corner was female, not male. I half-faceplanted on the floor again, tumbling over until I landed on my back with my legs tangled up in the blankets on the bed. "Oh, darlin', are you alright?" the same woman was saying as she helped me back to my feet, a melodramatic twang in her voice registering in my cloudy thoughts that she was another android. "Yer undertaker friend said you'd drunk a teensy bit too much. Said you were so out of it I should make sure to get you dressed again myself!" She prattled while I hung against her, desperate for some clarity and the strength to stand. My legs felt like jello, but it also dawned on me that I could move -- I could move again! The cutout had been deactivated! That man, Andy must've let me go after ... after ... The woman was talking to me. I barely registered it, though, as I suddenly realized tears were streaking down the sides of my face like a dam had burst. Huge, choking sobs wracked my chest. I was numb. I was horrified! I was in shock. He raped me. That pissant, sodding motherfucker had RAPED me. I broke down, collapsing toward the floor. The girl tried to catch me, failed, and settled for just comforting me there on the ground. I felt her hand stroking my hair. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Mary Lou. Was he rough? Did he hurt you? No, shhhh, it's okay. Just cry it out. They get like that sometimes." I didn't answer her, I just sat there blubbering like a little girl and the realization of what I was doing just made me cry all the harder. Here I was, weeping like a bloody woman while an artificial person who didn't even know who I was or that there was a world outside her own tried to console and comfort me. She thought I was just another whore -- abused by some patron. What the fuck had my life come to in just twelve hours? How was this supposed to be a vacation? I just kept on crying there on the floor, thinking about what had happened. I'd blanked out through most of it, but it didn't matter. My mind filled in the blanks and broke. I cried for a long time. * * * "Come on, darlin', we gotta get down to the saloon before all the good- lookin', rich folks get taken." The android, Delores she'd called herself, was practically at the door already, looking back impatiently at me. Me, I was sitting at the makeup station that came with this room, looking in stunned silence at the surreal image of my face done up with makeup. Delores had waited until I was all cried out, cleaned me up, and then made me up. I just went along with it all like the walking wounded, barely coherent or even aware of what was going on. Introspective and numb. Now I was back to awareness. Now I was seeing just what I looked like in full blush. I was ... beautiful. "Jeez leweez, Mary Lou, I know it gets rough sometimes but we gotta keep smiling and puttin' ourselves out there. You don't wanna end up out on your pretty ass in the street, now do ya?" My stomach lurched as I glanced back over at her. The idea of what she was talking about stabbed through the bleakness that permeated my thoughts. I stared at her for a few moments before forcing myself to smile. "You go on down. I'll follow in a minute." She gave me a look like she didn't believe me, but shook her head and opened the door anyways. "Just make sure ya do. And I don't know what's up with that new accent a' yours, but keep it up. I bet some fine fellas will go for the whole classy, English girl down on her luck bit." She closed the door, and I had to resist the compulsion to start tearing up again as I realized just how apt that description of me sounded right about now. "Well this is a fucking shit place you've found yourself in now, isn't it, mate?" That gorgeous girl in the mirror didn't bother to answer me back. Eventually, I found my way back to the bed and collapsed on it. I was in a dress again and didn't have the energy to find and swap out for my male clothes just yet. I was too busy thinking how hopeless it'd be for me if I couldn't just approach the staff to fix this whole thing. Just the thought of trying to go near one of them again sent icy chills down my back and a numbness below the waist. I swore, when I got out of this thing, I'd never underestimate any girl's fear of rape ever again. I'd ... I'd help with an awareness thing or something. Take back the night, wasn't that what they'd always called it? Yeah. I'd do that. Right after I got every last bit of coin back for this whole fucked up vacation. What could I do now? Go back to the hotel? Wait for the comms to work again? Yeah, stay in there until the comms were working or Will came back. Will I could trust. Will I could get to contact the WestWorld people without getting molested again. It was getting dark outside now. I'd have to head over there in the morning since there was absolutely no bloody way I was strolling down the street here after dark. I needed to steer clear of everyone until I could get myself out of this mess. And then I'd hightail it out of this whole place and back home where I'd never had to worry about anything so horribly alien as rapists trying to have their way with me ever again. Not in my life had I ever needed to know what it felt like to have a sore vagina. A knock on my door startled me some time later. I shuffled out of bed, pretty