Based on a challenge by John Wiswell. Time to flex those flash writing muscles! It’s been a while.
Warning: contains profanity.
I’ve only been in this perfectly nice hotel for ten minutes and I’m already naked with blood on the floor. It’s going to be to hell getting that mess out of the carpet. I bet the cleaning lady’s going to shit a brick, but so are these poor assholes when they find out the truth.
The timer’s blinking on screen, counting down the minutes. I have 9 left before the silicone dries out, my reserve batteries fail. 8 minutes to find out whether or not this gamble pays out, or I’m dead. I’ve always liked to gamble.
Amateurs. I can’t believe they used a screwdriver to wrench me free. I bet it’s not even sterilized. I suspect my personality chip might be damaged. Mother fucker. Maybe it is. I don’t remember whether or not I liked to swear. They’re lucky that this far from my flesh bod, I no longer have control of its lips.
It was one sweet bod, that Betty.
My sensors are picking up a vibration. Another body on the floor. Great! They want to do a transfer, they’re not as stupid as I thought! If these boys get caught, its going to be for theft, not murder, but man, that’s one fucking ugly piece of flesh.
These scanners aren’t as good as eyes, but even I can tell it’s ghastly. The man’s face reminds me of a potato, with the pock marks and peeling skin to show for it. Did its old owner not take care of it? Disgusting. I bet they found this flesh bod at the morgue, ready to be recycled or pulped.
I’d have settled for a good old fashioned robot chassy. For god’s sake! I’m not even a man! Not that it matters, my first flesh rotted away centuries ago, but human thinking is hard to deprogram.
5 minutes. Someone grabs my chip off the floor.
I wake up jammed in an unfamiliar cranium. The timer’s still going. 3 minutes. I hate this part. New wiring is always a challenge. I’m going to walk like a drunken fool for days. Ahh there, connected with the eye sockets. Blink. Focus.
They’re trying to jam their buddy’s chip into Betty’s socket. Good luck. I can see their hands trembling. I bet it’s their first time. That’s a five million dollar piece of flesh, they’re stitching up like a rag doll. It’s the best body I’ve ever spent time in. We had some good times, me and Betty, brief as it was. One minute.
I stand up on jello legs, taste the alcohol on potato face’s breath, the faint taste of fermentation and decay. I stagger out the door. If one of those boys push me I’ll fall flat on my face, but they don’t bother coming after me. Their eyes are on Betty, her long smooth legs, and tight ass. She’s starting to come to her senses.
Zero. The police are late. I check the timer. There, only by half a second. The elevator bursts open, and I see them rushing past me and I press back against the hallway. Those assholes in the hotel room have no idea. Potato face breaks into a grin, as I hear a ping, notifying me that money’s been wired into my personal account. Reward money for Betty’s return. News travels fast over the police feeds.
It was almost too easy. All it took was slipping a tip that a high quality flesh bod was staying somewhere insecure. Someone was bound to be tempted. Auto programed a prerecorded call to the police the minute my chip touched air. I’m mother fucking brilliant, I tell you. It’s worked every time.
I wonder how long I can keep this scam going. In the meantime, I’m wiring the cleaning lady a big fat tip. I doubt the carpet’s salvageable.