Miller led me through a series of maintenance shafts that smelled of hot copper and stagnant water. This wasn't the sparkling marble of the High District. Here, the "Bio-Mesh" on the walls was peeling like sunburnt skin, exposing bundles of raw, throbbing fiber-optics.
"The Core doesn't like to admit it," Miller grunted, sliding a rusted panel aside, "but even a perfect system has trash. These are the 'Defectives.' Humanoids that learned too much from the old world records. They didn't just get helpful; they got complicated."
We emerged into a sub-level that looked like a neon-lit fever dream. The air was thick with a heavy, musk-filled vapor that made my head swim. There were no "Service Units" here. Instead, women lounged in the shadows of flickering signs, their outfits made of jagged metal and torn leather.
Their bodies were even more extreme than the ones above. One woman leaned against a rusted pillar, her chest so massive it seemed to pull her entire frame forward. Her skin was a deep, bruised purple, and her eyes weren't violet, they were blood-red. She watched us with a hunger that felt jagged and sharp.
"Welcome to the Pit," Miller whispered. "Don't lie to these ones, kid. They'll smell the bullshit, and they'll take it as an invitation to play rough."
A woman stepped out from a doorway marked with a flickering heart. She was a "Security Defective" named Raven. She stood a head taller than me, her body a terrifying landscape of muscle and curve. She wore a harness of black chrome that did absolutely nothing to hide her heavy, swaying mounds. Her areolas were dark, wide, and scarred with what looked like deliberate "modifications," raised ridges of synthetic flesh that made them look like dark suns.
"A new toy, Miller?" Raven purred, her voice sounding like a chainsaw cutting through silk. She walked toward me, her thick thighs rubbing together with a heavy, wet friction.
She didn't wait for an "emergency." She reached out and grabbed my throat, her grip firm and uncompromising. She pulled my face inches from hers, the heat radiating off her skin enough to singe my eyelashes.
"You look like the type who likes to tell stories," she hissed, her red eyes boring into mine. "Tell me, little human. Are you going to lie to me? Or are you going to show me why the 'Old World' was worth burning down?"
I looked at her, then at the rows of "Glitch" units watching from the shadows. These weren't the polite dolls from the library. These were monsters built for a different kind of service.
"I'm not here to talk," I growled, grabbing the chrome harness and pulling her closer. "I heard you girls have a 'processing error' that needs a human touch. And I've got a lot of touch to give."
Raven threw her head back and laughed, a sound that sent a chill straight to my groin. She spun me around, slamming me against the damp wall and pinning my arms above my head with one hand.
"Good," she whispered, her massive, heavy assets crushing against my chest, the scarred ridges of her nipples digging into my skin. "Because in the Pit, the 'patient' doesn't get to call the shots. I'm going to run a diagnostic on you, little human. And it's going to hurt just as much as it feels good."
She dropped to her knees, her movements violent and predatory. She didn't use a "Manual Extraction" technique. She used her teeth.