The air around the Toaster nightclub was thick with the smells of sweat and smoke—tobacco, weed, and something else.
As the bouncer let her in, Mina waved her hand in front of her nose, trying to keep it away from her. Just out of habit—no smell could harm her fake, polyurethane lungs. Androids didn't have such problems. But old habits die hard.
"I'm not on anything, girl!" she heard some man say as she stopped to look around through the crowd. "Get off it! Stop inspecting me all the time!"
The man slurred that last sentence. Unsurprisingly, perhaps—the Toaster was known to be the place to get high and wasted.
Mina shook her head, turning away from that man, and shouldered her way through the crowd, moving towards the bar. The floor-shaking bass and deafening music got louder as she did. Heads turned as she passed, men's and women's alike. The women looked and likely saw a silicone-chested whore. The men looked and saw something they wanted. More precisely—if they'd been served the wrong ads—a LustKings Pleasure-bot model S.
A thoroughly outdated model, but it still made them stare uncomfortably hard. And Mina was stuck with that for life. Or cyberlife. Whatever it was, she was experiencing.
Ah, the joys of being reborn in a sex robot, she thought.
She soon found a spot at the bar, where she sat down on the least-wet stool she could find—coincidentally, the only one available. Mikken was on shift tonight. She spotted him serving cocktails to an old fart a few seats down who had a woman under each arm. Mikken's cybernetic arm was trembling the same way it had last week. Still not repaired, then. And he was likely still pretending it didn't bother him.
She lifted a hand to wave him over—but just as she did, a different voice cut in from right in front of her.
"You gotta go, honey."
Mina lowered her hand and turned. A bartender she hadn't seen before, pimply-faced and completely unaugmented. He stood behind the bar in front of her, polishing a glass that didn't look any cleaner for the effort.
"No sexbots," he added. "And no working girls. House rules."
Mina blinked at him and almost laughed. "Since when? There are plenty of both—but I'm not—"
He shook his head. "Look, I don't want trouble, okay? Rules are rules. People complain. And you…" He gestured awkwardly toward her chest, and then her other unnaturally generous curves. "You, uh, fit the profile."
"Seen me in some videos, have you?" Mina asked. Yes, her model had starred in quite many a porno. Sometimes it seemed like half the world knew what she looked like naked—the male half, in any case. It was such a pleasure to deal with.
"So what?" she asked. "You gonna drag me out yourself?"
"Look, I don't want trouble, okay? Security is right there. Go, or I'll call—"
Before he could finish his sentence, though, another voice—older and far more mature—cut through his noise. Mikken, her savior, had arrived.
"This one's okay, Gran. I know her."
The new bartender, apparently named Gran, looked between them, flustered. "But Randen said—"
"I know what he said," Mikken replied. "But this one's not in the game. And you've no idea how badly she needs a drink."
Mina gave him a weary smile. "As if I could drink one."
Regardless, Gran soon backed off, retreating towards the far corner of the bar, where he found more glasses to polish.
Mikken nodded at Mina. "Sorry about him. New hire. Doesn't know who's who yet."
She shrugged, sparing him a glass before turning to Mikken. "I actually like him. Shirt pressed. Nice deodorant. Doesn't smoke. This place could use some standards."
"He works hard, too—incompetent though he is."
"That'll get better."
"Yeah, it will—anyway, you looking for Benjam?"
"Yeah."
He nodded. "He's here. I saw him head to the backroom a couple of minutes ago. Didn't see him leave."
Mina exhaled—a useless motion as far as humankind knew, but to her, it was comforting. Tonight, it even resolved one of the conflicts in her code, reminding her she'd been human, once. At least sort of.
"Thanks," she said to Mikken.
The wise barkeep hesitated a moment, then leaned a little closer toward. "You want me to send someone in with you? He didn't look… happy."
"I can handle him. I know him quite well."
Mikken snorted—his version of a laugh. "Cheers to that, mate."
A pause. Then, noticing another tremor, Mina gave him a lopsided smile and nodded towards his metal arm. "And you should handle a mechanic. Manhandle one, maybe, if needs be. That looks like it's getting worse."
Mikken huffed. "When I've got the coins to spare, you'll be the first to know. But it'll be a while yet."
"Fair," she said, getting up from her stool. "Try not to lose it till then, at least."
He raised his good hand in a mock salute. "Yeah. And you, give Benjam hell. He deserves it."
She nodded, pushing the stool back towards the bar with her foot. "That's the plan," she said, before pivoting on her heel.
It always was.