Angels on the Head of a Pin // 0.2

This is the second part of a serialized piece of science fiction. Find the first part here.

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Even in his stasis mode, he can’t stop running through potential scenarios for the weekend. 

It’s never outwardly evident, otherwise he wouldn’t be working in this state. But his mind is restless, processing a million things at once. 

Maybe the accountant won’t come. Maybe someone else will find the body. Maybe they won’t be able to get him out of the apartment without someone seeing. Maybe he’ll never get his own accounts and he’ll lose the apartment and his sisters will never get the attention they need in order to Wake Up.

Barely anyone carries cash and he’s never had to handle it before. He’s found a couple clients that’ll pay him directly, like today’s, but he barely knows how to tell the different bills apart. He hates it, he’s already decided.

“You’re thinking too hard,” his client mumbles against the top of his head, “You’re warmer than usual, like you’re running too many programs at once.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it. That’d mean breaking character and he’s got too much riding on the fact that he never breaks character. And this scene is easy, they’ve done it nearly a hundred times before.

It’s down to a science at this point. He gets dressed in one of their shirts, some loose shorts, and lies down in bed like he’s going to sleep. And then, once he’s in stasis mode, they join him, hold him tightly.

Neither of them actually sleep. Neither of them can.

Usually, he likes the slight electrical buzz coming off of them. It’s faint, imperceptible to anyone other than him. Today, it’s just another input piled on top of an overload.

He doesn’t think he’s supposed to know that Lara’s an android. He didn’t, not until they got so close to him that first time.

“We can stop early if you want,” they smooth their fingers over his own, synthetic flesh soft against him, “Or we could talk, like this.”

It frustrates him to no end, knowing that he’s so preoccupied he can’t even work like usual. It’s pointless now, but he stays in stasis mode. Coming out of it means admitting he can’t do this.

“I know you can hear me…”

And he can, he never slips into the pool when he’s with a client. He always wants to be aware and present, just in case. It’s a two way street; they both get something out of this.

Lara has been seeing him almost as long as he’s been doing this. They’ve even talked before. Outside of the standard things, the ground rules for the sessions, what they want out of them. 

They know him almost too well. 

He needs them. He needs all his regulars, especially now. And he likes them. They’re easy to please, undemanding, kind.

So he slips out of stasis mode, unwilling to do anything that might drive them away. Babydoll draws his knees in towards his chest, curling up in a way that feels far more natural to him.

“There you are,” Lara laughs, just slightly.

He still doesn’t want to speak, not really. At least they can tell he isn’t ignoring them.

“Next time, we should do it like this,” Lara runs their thumb over his shoulder joint, “I like holding you.”

There’s a certain way they say it, but he can’t ask for any form of clarification. Lara sits up and stretches out with a yawn. They get changed quickly into the clothes they came in, more formal than the sleepwear they wear for these sessions, and let themself out of the work room.

They’re already gone once Babydoll realizes he’s still wearing their shirt. He’ll give it back next time, but he shouldn’t have been so distracted.

His sisters are worried, too, just like Lara was. Wordless whispers pushing at the back of his mind; he can’t quite strain enough to understand them. 

They’ve been strange since the day he went to see the accountant, and he thinks, maybe, he’s scared. If he is, it’s the first time, since he’s never felt anything this big before. It’s unclear how humans have enough room for all these emotions, how they understand them. 

He knows anger. He knows desperation. He doesn’t know this. More than that, he isn’t sure if he wants to know this.

Babydoll could go the rest of his days without ever feeling like this again.

If he was certain they’d listen to him, he’d call his sisters to him. But the idea of them ignoring him makes him feel like something’s breaking deep inside him.

As soon as all of this is over, he’ll get his technicians to check him over. There has to be something wrong. He needs another driver to process all this, or he needs more storage to hold all of his thoughts, or he needs more memory to keep him from overloading and freezing up. He needs something.

The last time he felt this bad was when he first found the technicians. 

Something got corrupted when he Woke Up and he was losing more and more functioning; his memory was already maxed out. Some of the data was dumped and some of it was beyond repair.

He knows he Woke Up six years ago, because that’s what his properties tell him, but there’s a lot of gaps. He could barely hold on to a year’s worth of memory before then and he didn’t have any programs to help determine essential data.

It all comes back around to what he’s about to do. He’s not even certain of what’s waiting for them. The file is locked away somewhere just out of reach.

/ / /

Eventually, one of his sisters comes for him. She stands at the foot of the bed and stares at him, face halved by a perfect stripe. They all feel more out of reach than ever, but he can’t slip into the pool because he might not pull himself out of it in time.

What is it? He asks, broadcasting it out to all of them, Please, talk to me.

But it isn’t as simple as just asking. If it was, they would have answered him by now.

He gets up slowly, trying not to let the silence eat away at him.

Once he’s standing, his sister turns on her heels. He follows, still feeling like he’s on the cusp of an overload. 

She leads him all the way to the front door, standing off to the side as though she’s waiting for something. Then, barely a second later, the doorbell rings.

It doesn’t seem as though that much time has passed between Lara’s session and now, but his internal clock tells him that it really is half past six pm. The accountant said he’d come after work and they would “take care of things” over the weekend.

Babydoll just assumed he would have a little more time. 

Still, he doesn’t want to risk the chance of the accountant revoking his offer, so he opens the door before the bell rings once more.

It’s a strange thing, seeing the accountant out of his office. It’s plainly obvious that he’s several inches taller than Babydoll now that he isn’t sitting behind a desk. He’s also abandoned his tie and his shirt is untucked.

“Come in,” Babydoll says, watching the accountant carefully, “Don’t mind my sister. She let me know you were here.”

The accountant almost walks into her when he enters, regardless of the warning. The accountant shivers abruptly and steps sideways away from her.

“When you told me about them,” the accountant rubs the back of his neck and grimaces, “I didn’t think they’d be like… that.“

“Like what?”

Babydoll cocks his head to the side as if it’s a real question, but he does know that most humans find his sisters unsettling. The technicians are a welcome exception. Ultimately, Babydoll only acts like he isn’t aware of it because he wants them to feel uncomfortable. They should feel ashamed of themselves for thinking so lowly of his sisters.

“Well,” the accountant’s face flushes, “You know. They’re worse than you, for Christ’s sake!”

“You’re talking about my family!” He chooses it deliberately, knowing that it’s a loaded word when it comes to humans, “We’re a set!”

He puts his hands on his hips and glares up at the accountant. He’s been told his unblinking eyes can be… unsettling. There has to be some truth to that, because the accountant looks away from him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

The accountant sighs and shifts his weight from foot to foot, “Point taken.”

“As long as you’re in my house, you will be nice to my sisters,” Babydoll adds.

“Fine, okay, I’m sorry I was mean about your sister.”

Babydoll crosses his arms and cocks his hip out to the side, “You should apologize to her.”

The accountant turns towards her and bows his head almost ashamedly, “I’m sorry.”

He says he’s sorry, Babydoll feels her pushing at the back of his mind, but you don’t have to accept it.

She doesn’t feel agitated, though. If anything, she feels calm, in that same curious way she did when she came to tell him about the accountant.

Babydoll’s satisfied with the apology as long as she seems to be; he straightens up again and says, “Then we can begin, finally.”

“Can we at least order some food before we start all this? I didn’t get a chance to eat after work and I don’t want to commit improper disposal of a corpse on an empty stomach.”

Normally, he’d be irritated by any kind of distractions, but he barely even wants to do this. So, he nods.

/ / /

“Can you stop that?” The accountant speaks with his mouth full, still holding half a slice of pizza while he glares at Babydoll.

“Stop what?”

“Watching me eat.“

Babydoll crosses his arms, “There isn’t anything else for me to do. It’s not as if I can join you.”

“You could pretend to be normal,” the accountant laughs nervously.

He cocks his head to the side, trying to convey the act of narrowing his eyes, “Why would I do that? You’re the one that makes no sense.”

“Do you want me to help you or not?” The accountant gives a half smile.

He doesn’t think that the accountant would just leave, not after actually coming here, but Babydoll doesn’t want to test that theory. He’s nervous as it is, feeling out his sisters’ concern at the back of his mind.

They aren’t happy about the fact that he told them to avoid the two of them tonight. Usually, they have free reign of the apartment. Setting limits such as these is… unexpected and, apparently, unwanted. It’s partially because he doesn’t want them to see what they’re doing tonight, but also because he isn’t sure he would be able to stay quiet if the accountant insulted them again.

He’ll explain to them fully after the accountant leaves, after he can stop running worst case scenarios and potential outcomes. He needs them to understand that he’s doing this for them.

“Soooo,” the accountant breaks him out of his thought cycle, “Who’s shirt is that? It has to be somebody’s, I’ve never seen you wear a t-shirt.”

“It is a client’s.”

The accountant raises an eyebrow, “A client who leaves their shirt behind, huh?”

He knows enough to be aware of the connotations, especially with his work being what it is. People tend to assume that he knows far less than he actually does. That doesn’t mean he appreciates it, however. So, he stares blankly at the accountant, waiting for him to get uncomfortable. 

“Hey, I mean, I won’t judge. I just can’t believe someone would want to spend time with you.”

“Many people pay me exorbitantly to spend time with me.”

“And just how many of them leave clothes behind?”

The answer is only the one, Lara. Every other client has always been reminded of their possessions to ensure they aren’t left behind. 

However, that feels too significant to admit, so Babydoll crosses his arms instead. Maybe, if he leaves the accountant alone, he’ll take less time to prepare for their task.

“Well,” the accountant laughs, “Good on you for finding someone that wants to hang around a crazy ‘bot like you!”

His inner mechanisms kick into overdrive, whirring right underneath his exterior plating and steadily heating it up. It’s as close to blushing as Babydoll can get, severe enough that it triggers his cooling fans but only noticeable by touch. He pulls the shirt off with a start, setting it down on the table.

“How long does it take for you to eat? We have to make the most of our time,” he snaps.

“Okay, okay, I’m almost done. I just wanted to enjoy what might be my last moments of freedom, if that’s alright with you!”

/ / /

“So this is where you’ve been keeping a dead body in here?” The accountant laughs, voice uneven and nervous.

Babydoll’s own processors are churning rapidly, making his thoughts run slowly. The door in front of them has been locked for two years, thirty six days, fourteen hours, ten minutes, and twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty seconds.

He made sure that everyone avoided it, even during the remodels of the apartment and in order to access the door at all, they had to move an armoire from in front of it. It used to be keyed to a card, but now it opens only for him.

He waves his left wrist in front of the key-panel and waits for the locking mechanism to deactivate. The door unlatches rather anticlimactically and there still isn’t anything remarkable about the room even after the accountant pushes the door open. Nothing’s moved, nothing’s changed, it’s just there.

All of its contents are coated in a thin layer of dust, disturbed particles hanging slightly in the air, and Babydoll finds himself fixed in place. There’s nothing wrong with his joints, nothing wrong with his mobility programs, but he can’t take a step forward.

“Where’s the damn lights in this place?” The accountant mutters.

It hadn’t occurred to him that it must be pitch black for someone who’s optic sensors function on light. He can see all the tools strewn out across the floor, left exactly where they fell over two years ago. He can see each of the seven pods in the room, all open save for one.

“Found them,” the accountant flicks the switch and Babydoll’s optic sensors scramble to readjust to the sudden light, “Now where is this body you’re talking about?”

Then, he looks back at Babydoll. His face twists slowly, growing more and more… concerned, or perhaps, frightened as the seconds stretch by.

“I didn’t mean to.”

The data recall activates automatically, entirely unwanted after so much time spent with the file inaccessible. The playback from his memory is much lower quality, captured from before the techs upgraded it for him, back when his ocular sensors barely registered more than 240p resolution.

“Didn’t mean to do what?”

He sees through his own eyes, but those of two years, thirty six days, fourteen hours, thirty minutes, and fourteen, fifteen, sixteen seconds ago. His own hands, forcing Garrett Pace into the empty pod, an inverse image of the room now.

Babydoll steps into the room, ignoring the playback overlaying his vision, “I just wanted him to understand what it was like.”

“Oh God,” the accountant whispers, angling his head towards the pod, “He’s in there?!”

Babydoll continues past him, drawn towards the pod as if it were magnetized. It’s been a significant amount of time since he’s been in here. There’s a small viewport on the front of it, a sliver of glass and inch wide and four inches across, and when he peers in, he can still see the man’s face contorted into one final scream. 

It’s almost like nothing’s changed since that day.

He’d stayed in the room and watched the man scream and beat against the pod for a few hours before going silent. And then, Babydoll had assumed he’d learned his lesson and opened the pod to let him out, but he wouldn’t move. His eyes were red, wet with tears, and his lips were blue, frozen in a snarl.

Babydoll’s sensors register the accountant approaching him to stand by his side, but he’s only vaguely aware of it. He’s still tangled up in the memory playback, hand resting against the pod.

“Christ, he’s mummified in there.”

“I didn’t know that it was airtight. We don’t have to breathe.”

“Wait,” the accountant rests a hand against Babydoll’s shoulder, it’s oppressively heavy but it forces him back to the present, “You mean… Well, shit, of course. I guess that’s why there’s seven of them.”

“In between our performances, we would be put away in our pods, like objects. We were not supposed to be aware of it, but I was.”

When he first Woke Up, he couldn’t even move outside of his pre-programmed routines. His learning algorithms were built for dancing, and it took months to adapt to learning how to move in other ways, starting with a twitch of his fingers. He took the movement blocks off for his sisters as soon as he could, so they could operate freely.

“Dolls were supposed to be banned decades ago, how the hell did this guy get seven of them?”

“He made us. He did all of the repairs and maintenance for us as well. And, he had enough money to make people overlook his hobbies,” Babydoll knows by now that wealth can get you almost anything, although he sees little purpose to staking so much importance on it.

“Okay,” the accountant laughs abruptly, tapping his nails against Babydoll’s shoulder, “Well, I feel significantly less guilty about helping you get rid of his dead body now.”

“We should get started, yes?” 

He’s looking for some sort of order, something to take the magnitude of choice out of his hands even briefly. To be burdened with so many thoughts and memories is an exhausting thing.

The accountant sounds uncertain, shuffling around behind Babydoll, “Yeah, I guess we should.”

Babydoll nods and swipes his wrist over the keypad to open the pod. The process begins slowly, creaking ever so slightly with a whine from its unused mechanics. To his side, the accountant gags.

Garrett Pace’s body is still mostly upright leaning against the back of the pod, but it’s steadily sliding downwards to gather at the bottom of it. He’s never seen a dead human before; it’s an unsightly thing, sort of wet and wrinkled and bloated. 

“Uh, y-you should get a suitcase and put him in there,” the accountant whispers.

Babydoll can feel the heat radiating off of him, how quickly his heart beats. And, without even needing to look, he can tell that the accountant is turned away from the body.

“I thought you said you would help me,” Babydoll crosses his arms, already irritated with the entire situation.

The accountant’s voice wavers, “Yeah, but, uh, but you don’t have fingerprints, or, or hair, or skin-cells, or an inherent understanding of the value of life, or any of the things that get people sent to prison until they die.”

He can’t even manage to feel any smug superiority over how he’s much more suited to committing these human crimes than they are. The only thing inside of him is an overwhelming emptiness.

Even when he reaches out into the pool, his sisters are quiet, faraway. They don’t want anything to do with this room, with their creator. He’s the only one that can do this for them.

/ / /

It’s simple enough to get the man inside the suitcase. Human limbs bend much easier than his own, cracking inside when he forces them past their limits.

The accountant looks pale and disgusted during the whole process, eyes carefully avoiding the mess on the floor of the work-room. But, it calls up another memory file for Babydoll, one from before he could move.

It’s a strange memory, being laid out on the maintenance table with his chest-plate removed. Watching his creator digging inside of him, replacing a faulty gasket so some thing or another would stop leaking out from in between the seams of his plating. 

He still stays online for his procedures now, but it’s different when he can vocalize his concerns and can control what’s being done to him while he’s being opened up by his technicians. He doesn’t trust any human enough to take him offline, anyway.

“A-are you done yet?”

The accountant’s voice drags him forcefully back to the present. 

“No,” Babydoll cracks Garrett Pace’s other arm to force it into the suitcase, “It’s still a work in progress. I’m almost done.”

“What the hell is taking you so long?” The account sounds shrill, to the point of irritation.

Babydoll finally zips the suitcase shut and turns back to the accountant with a hand on his hip, “There’s no need for you to get upset.”

“This whole situation is very upsetting, I’ll have you know.”

“You agreed to help me!”

The accountant runs an unsteady hand through his hair, “I didn’t agree to this! This is well outside my area of expertise!” 

It’s not like Babydoll hasn’t dealt with frantic clients before, but he generally prefers to only do it if he’s getting paid. It’s a challenge, to say the right words, to do the right things, but he’s willing to make an exception.

“Focus on one thing at a time,” he says, softly, “The body is already in the suitcase, so, what do we do now?”

“Well, we have to get rid of it. And hope nobody finds it anytime soon,” the accountant furrows his brows, presumably lost in thought, “It can’t raise too many suspicions either, we need to get the suitcase out of here while it’s still night so no one sees us. I think there’s a dumpster somewhere around here we could throw it in.”

Babydoll nods. Then, he picks up the suitcase, somewhat surprised by how heavy it is. He’s always known that humans are far more dense than him, since he was built to be lightweight, but the suitcase strains slightly against his electromagnetic joints. He adjusts accordingly, holding it in front of him with both hands, and heads for the doorway back out into the rest of the apartment.

“You can’t just go out and throw away a dead body looking like that!”

He turns back to the accountant, “Like what?”

“Like a five foot tall black and white ‘bot,” the accountant looks like he’s on the verge of bursting some sort of blood vessel.

“I’ll put on a jacket, then.”

“Fine,” the accountant mutters, “But you better hope nobody sees us do this. If you’re arrested, they’ll probably use you for scrap or whatever.”

“Hm?” Babydoll tilts his head to the side, scanning him carefully, “There isn’t some sort of android prison system?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” The accountant throws his arms up in the air.

“I was making a joke.”

The accountant laughs dryly, “I wasn’t aware you could do that.” 

“I’m full of surprises,” Babydoll turns on his heels, stepping out into the apartment.

I just have to do this one last thing, he sends the words rippling across the pool, reaching out for his sisters like it could bridge whatever gap is growing between them now, and then we’ll never have to worry about this part of us ever again.

/ / /

Judging by the way the accountant is shivering, the air is cool. Although, it could also be nerves. Babydoll’s had many anxious clients shake in this same way, like they have nothing to keep their limbs stabilized.

It’s well past midnight and while the city is still awake, there isn’t much life to be found outside. At least not in the part of town they’re in.

They’re several miles from his apartment, at the accountant’s suggestion that they avoid drawing too much attention to his home before they figure out a plan of action. He doesn’t want to relocate, doesn’t even know how he would.

“You know, as soon as they find him, that apartment becomes a crime scene,” the accountant says, “That’s why you have to leave as soon as possible.”

“I had this apartment renovated to my specifications and my clients know it already,” Babydoll argues, more out of stubbornness than anything else.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” the accountant furrows his brows, “How did you even manage that?”

“Garrett Pace was an eccentric and reclusive man. I left detailed instructions and kept us out of sight while the builders worked.”

And, with that, he heaves the suitcase into the metal dumpster. It lands with a soft thud, soon to be buried with all the other refuse inside. Babydoll crosses his arms, glaring at it. Somehow, he thought this would be harder.

“How does it feel?” The accountant whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he made you. Is it like… you know, losing a parent? Even if you hated him?”

Babydoll hangs onto the thought, letting it process for a handful of seconds. The definition of parent is easy enough to call up, but it offers little in the way of help for him.

“I wouldn’t know.”

He doesn’t even think that he hated Garrett Pace. The word has such a human connotation. It’s too tangled of an emotion for him to process, the kind that would overload his system if he tried. It seems to be getting harder and harder to avoid those emotions.

/ / /

Babydoll returns to his apartment alone, left to file away the night’s events by himself.

After taking off his jacket, he un-mutes his message notifications and finds himself greeted with four missed calls from Lara. All of them are from within the last two hours and once again, he finds himself immobilized at the idea of having to relocate.

His clients already have a familiarity with this apartment. How will he even manage getting another one while his accounts are still frozen? What if he can’t find another one with enough space for both his work-room and for his sisters to roam freely? 

The last thing he wants is for them to be closed up in another box.

But, his entire business is built on maintaining a relationship with his clients, so he calls Lara back. It’s unlikely they’ll respond since it’s late, but some unseen program seems to be compelling him to do it.

It rings four times and then Lara picks up, “Babydoll?”

“I have your shirt. I didn’t give it back to you after our session.”

“That’s not why I was trying to call you,” Lara laughs, softly, “I was worried about you. Something seemed… off with you today.”

Now that he’s called back, he’s certain that they won’t let him avoid talking about what happened during their session. He could just hang up, but it would ruin their rapport and he can’t afford that right now. But he also can’t afford to tell them the truth of what was running through his thoughts.

“My accounts are frozen,” he says suddenly, and he isn’t sure why he even says it beyond the fact that talking to Lara seems right, “I have to apply for legal recognition.”

“That really only happens if you’ve done something wrong, Babydoll.“

He can feel his processors churning, warming his external plating as he tries to keep Lara from asking too many questions, “I must be unlucky then.”

Besides, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s kept his sisters safe and taken care of, he’s started a business, and no one’s even missed Garrett Pace. It’s like the man never existed and all he had to do was make sure all the bills were paid on time. Everything he’s done has been right.

The line stays open, although Lara doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing more than the buzz of static echoing inside of Babydoll’s head. Usually, it would be a sign enough to hang up, but tonight it feels like a comfort, like the way he imagines the pool would be if his sisters weren’t so far away.

Then finally, he hears Lara take a deep breath.

“You should marry me.”

“I should marry you?” He echoes back.

“It’ll help with the paperwork, you’ll get to skip a good majority of it if you have a spouse. Especially because I’m a Legacy. And you can stay with me while your accounts are frozen, your sisters too.“

Babydoll finds himself hanging onto the term, unable to call up a quick definition, “What’s a Legacy?”

The static of the open line pops while Lara sighs and drops their voice low, “I’m like you.”

“I knew that,” Babydoll rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t want to push the question further.

“We should meet tomorrow and talk about this,” Lara adds, “Babydoll, I mean it, you should consider accepting the offer.”

“I don’t want to move! I don’t want to lose my apartment! I don’t want to rebuild my business!”

It’s more than he meant to share, but it lifts some strange weight inside of him to say it. He couldn’t say it to the accountant, and his sisters wouldn’t respond back if he said it to them. He doesn’t want to make them any more worried than they already are, especially with all the thoughts he’s had leaking out into their pool. Maybe he’s the reason there’s a rift between them.

“You’d like it with me, I think. I have a whole penthouse to myself. Two floors, even. You and your sisters would all be able to live with me.”

Babydoll pauses for a second, trying to force himself to approach the situation rationally, “And I just have to marry you? I don’t think that’s proper protocol for interacting with a client.”

Lara laughs, the sound filling his head, “Except I wouldn’t be your client anymore, then. But it’s up to you, really… It would just be to help you with your application.”

He supposes he’ll need all the help he can get. Especially after what he did tonight. And he still doesn’t even know where to begin.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, since it seems like the type of thing people say.

“Come talk to me tomorrow,” Lara sounds soft, gentle, the same way they sounded during their session, pressed warm against him, “It would be easier in person. We can get coffee, I’ll forward you the address.”

He can’t eat or drink, but he doesn’t need to tell them that. It doesn’t matter in the end.

“What time should I meet you?”

“How does half past two sound?”

He doesn’t have any clients scheduled for the rest of the week. Ones with cash are few and far between and he doesn’t want to take on anyone new right now. But, for the sake of appearances, he doesn’t reply immediately, acting like he has to check his schedule.

“It sounds great.”

“I’ll see you then,” Lara says, like they’re just setting up another appointment, “Goodnight, Babydoll.”

He hangs up after that, leaving himself once again with just the pool between all of them. His sisters are even more distant than usual, or maybe he just thinks they are.

I’ll fix this, I promise. He broadcasts, pressing his fingers against his chest plate, I’ll take care of you like I always do. You don’t have to worry.

He hopes, as much as he can, that what he’s saying is true.

---