Chapter Text
NELL
I still dream of her number most nights.
#0334
It winds its way into my nightmares and pleasant dreams alike. One moment I will be in a strange city composed of pipes, and the next I will be hit with the undeniable sense I am being called #0334 by my subconscious. Or maybe I will be in an alien zoo with my sister and she will turn to me and call me Nicci out of nowhere. I am spellbound every time and roused to lucidity.
The strange thing is I accurately remember the dreams where this happens more often than not. It's like there's a part of my brain that's screaming at me to remember who I am. It's partially why I go by Nell now. It just feels... right.
It feels right when I go for a cortado and the barista calls Nell. I feel pleased and like all is right for that one moment. It's the N I think. My name used to begin with an S and it felt so wrong for months after I got out of #0334.
It's like something in me got turned on by those three hours and I could never click it back off. It's why I kissed Tate in that shitty student union bar. Something just made me want to ever so slightly you know? Like a nagging sensation at the edge of your consciousness you need to sate before it consumes you whole.
After that kiss, I caught the violet eyes of the lanky boy with dark hair. Something ever so slight in me just compelled me to roll my eyes at him, like the kiss with Tate felt like nothing. Then I winked at him because he was kind of cute, duh. I feel horrible thinking about that memory nowadays.
It's a widely accepted fact among our class now that the lanky boy is long dead. He disappeared fourteen months ago while in his hometown. I've not ever been sure on how to deal with the fact that one of my peers popped out of existence into whatever hell doesn't exist. The weirdest part was in April last year when his mother showed up on campus, with a flirty Kimmy who was just dressed like a normal girl and claimed to be her daughter.
Her name's Erin and we're friends now, because of course I flirted with and befriended her. She was all mysterious and coy and she knew about my escapade with #0334's chassis. We phone every so often and she begs me to tell her more about my adventure as a Nicci. I refuse as much as I can because I don't want to tell her how constant the faint tug to be called Nicci by her is sometimes, she'd get it though if I told her- I think. Either way, it's not like I'm going to break my promise to the Niccis and start spilling the beans.
It honestly just feels like a shame Erin already has a girlfriend who's so much more fitting for her than me. Whatever journey she's been on to deserve a fulfilling life, one without poverty or the constant feeling of being a solitary puzzle piece.
I don't know why she has the lanky boy's mother as her's or how a human mother would even come to accept that. I can just tell that something strange occured in her past. She giggled to herself while I was shaking the hand of a mother collecting her dead son's possessions. Who does that? I know Kimmys are sentient, so who does that?
I'm probably missing something. The woman who was fool enough to give birth to me used to tell me that a lot. These days I think I'm missing whatever Nicci means to me.
I got implants because of that feeling, at least that's the most likely reason to me. I spent days recovering from having big plastic tits installed and blew most of the money I will probably ever own on them. I hesitantly started taking those damned hormones and they made me feel so much better and still do. It's just hard to afford it all along with rent and basic survival needs. I'm a student in my third year with a paltry scrap of money left from my loan and a void of wasted savings.
Being Nell has cost me everything. Necron would probably know the answer to why. She knew a lot when she was talking to me while I was trying not to laugh to myself at how good it felt to be Nicci and try to pay attention to a lecture on... I don't even remember.
I could feel everyone's eyes boring into me and it felt good you know? It felt fucking fantastic to be the centre of attention and that's what I am a lot of the time now. I'm the boy who got into a Nicci chassis and then got big tits and started sleeping around with only a minor air of shame and regret.
Somehow, I feel more like a woman than a boy these days. It's comforting.
I haven't told my family, because contacting my dad would be an impossible task when he's probably somewhere back in Perth drowning his pathetic sorrows. Nor have I told my sister, but she's by far the least daunting person to come out to. It'd be preposterous to try to explain myself to the woman who gave birth to me. She would probably scream at me- and then tell me how much I wasted my money and integrity for trying to turn myself into a slut.
I'm happy when I think about that, how much she'd hate me. I'm a succubus who committed some great sin and "dressed" as a woman and now I end up fucking some random student most days of the week. I cum a bit harder every time someone tells me how fucking hot I am for ruining my body while they're railing me against the headboard- as long as they're not focusing on the limp reminder between my legs of where I've come from.
None of it ever completely clears the nagging from my skull though. Maybe one day I'll stop bleaching the dirtiness out of my blonde hair till it splits and stop shaving my body all over, and I'll just find the nagging gone.
I don't like that idea though, or at least until then I'm going to keep preening my neck length platinum locks and try and find some refuge in the act. My brain doesn't really make sense to me anymore like it did when I was a scared kid trying to dodge being fed "holy" lies.
Sometimes I think a second or two faster than I should and I get lost in myself, and then I realise I've thought of twenty words while someone's only said one.
Again, I bet Necron would know what it means. I try to reach out to her number sometimes when I'm lying in bed insomniac at 5am, #4002, it never works. My dreams never amount to anything more than static.
-----
It's another chilly February morning and I don't want to get up for an early lecture. My attendance record on his lectures this year is particularly bad though, and Dr Morton knows it. He usually glares at me with those beady eyes underneath his spectacles when I clack in in my heels and with my dwindling face on. Good makeup is expensive as shit.
Then I feel the eyes of my classmates bear into me and it all feels better. They ogle my ass that is barely covered by my shorts. My soft tits that spill cleavage out of my poorly fitting bra are unmissable. They all want to fuck me out of disgust or desire and I literally couldn't care less which, as long as they call me Nell while doing it. Or maybe something else beginning with N if I wasn't so scared to admit it.
I realise I should probably get up so I can see if someone wants to rail me later. The school work doesn't matter to me much anymore and I've barely put effort into exams and assignments this year. I roll out of bed and cup my heaving jugs with my palms and smile, at least I have giant breasts. They're giant and plastic, and I treasure that factoid every waking second.
When I finally manage to crawl out of my room I avoid Tate's harsh glare in the hallway. He hasn't looked at me the same since I kissed him, and I don't really blame him. I didn't realise I liked birds and guys until that whole escapade either. Still, it's probably the most action he's ever gotten.
Tate's a big guy. He's well over six foot and has dark brown hair in an unkempt cut that should have stayed in century old American cinema, he's too much of a pussy to buzzcut like his buddies do. He's muscly, he's got trunks of arms and legs and yeah- I fully admit he's hot and I want him to fuck me. Who wouldn't when you can stare into those hard navy eyes that you just know would roll over if he felt himself inside my ass?
He's got weird hang ups about most things though. Far too much for me to ignore the strange grunting that comes from his room during the early hours. I guess that's what happens when you're preparing to serve your country, you get weird hang ups. I have a hole right between my buttcheeks and I would allow him to use it perfectly fine if he wasn't as much of a dickhead to be honest. Or in the parallel universe where he would consider it for even a second himself over doing burpees at four fucking AM.
Still I live with him, and even though he could probably punch me into the wall he doesn't. He could call me all sorts of awful words and he doesn't. We just co-exist and pass by like ships in the night and have now ever since we met each other.
Apart from that time I publicly kissed him. That was special for us both.
I make my way into the kitchen of our, to be frank, far too cramped house- and am met with the unpleasant surprise of my ex-girlfriend at nine in the morning. It's good to be reminded of your past failures on a daily basis. That's what I always tell myself every time Adriana intercepts me on a perfectly beautiful morning, or any other time in the fucking day.
"Ah Nell, did you get enough sleep or were you too busy being fucked right below my bed all night long?"
She hates me for it. Her jade eyes burn with a smugness that tells me she's right every time she talks to me. Of course, I shouldn't have kept sleeping around every few nights in the university housing she's helping me stay in. All while I had a wonderful girlfriend who was endlessly forgiving and fascinated with me, like I'm more than a piece of dirt trying to find some fucked up peace of mind. Cheating on her almost became muscle memory for me past a point.
Adriana looks ravishing this morning. She's always known how to dress herself up with much more dignity than me. She wears these beautiful golden frames that make me want to eat her instead of cheap shit for breakfast. Then there's her effortless side shave that shows off her perfect olive skin while she styles her short brown hair to the side every morning with so little work. I want her deep emerald lips on mine even now.
"Hi asshole. Did you miss your 'bitching about my narcissistic ex' support group last night? Do you need to make up the quota at this fine hour?"
She picks up a mug from the counter and stirs her tea with a spoon. The mug has a pretentious reference to ancient literature on it, that only she actually gives a fuck about. Maybe her "study" friends care as well.
"You know you're so much of a solipsist, sometimes I think the world will actually collapse around you eventually. Your ego is just too... vast."
"I bet it fucking will. I'm its perfect little angel."
"Well I'd love to play this game again but I have writing to do and not well, sauntering around our house being unlikeable. Unlike a certain other housemate."
"You fucking love me walking around the house with my plastic tits loose in the morning." To emphasise my point I jiggle my breasts.
"Goodbye. Just as a warning, Tate left the sink clogged an hour ago."
"Wanker, I'm gonna strangle him in his sleep."
She leaves the room and heads up to her own private space, probably to cope about how much of a mistake she made when she dumped me. I make myself an instant coffee and heat up a pot of noodles. Nothing like sodium and bad caffeine to wake you up on a Tuesday morning- oh and don't forget the verbal sparring with your ex-girlfriend.
I nurse my head and try not to think about the glorious time Adriana commanded me to eat her out through calling me Nicci. She helped me get in the blessed thing after all, she earned it- even if no one else ever will.
-----
I'm behind the Calypso building with some guy a few inches deep in me when it hits me. He's okay at it. So it's an okay time for it to hit me. I've fucked him before and don't care to remember him as anything more than the guy with who gels his hair a bit too much.
He's shoving me against the wall and calling a dirty girl while I try not to trip on my heels. It suddenly occurs to me how little I fucking care about this as a result of it hitting me, so I shove him off me and stalk away to the nearby cafe. He shouts after me but I just keep walking. I pull my shorts up as I go but everyone knows I'm the girl who's getting fucked behind there after class regardless. Good. It's what I deserve.
The lecture was boring and being boned was honestly even more boring. I sit at the cafe and hear my name being called for my cortado after a hasty order. My regular is known by the barista by now. As I wait for it my gaze flits over a redhead dressed in mostly black in the queue, talking to someone as she presses down a long-nailed finger on a sleek earpiece.
I only notice her because she speaks with a strange American accent that sticks out like a sore thumb here in the middle of England. Especially at such a decrepit institution as the one I woefully picked out for my higher education.Then I decide to get back to thinking about important things, because perving on random strangers is only fun when I'm not having an existential crisis.
Precisely what hit me while being fucked is this; why the fuck don't I just get back in? I was so happy for those three hours. The only thing that burst my bubble was the fact that three fingers got me about as much stimulation as touching ice. Maybe Necron knew something to avoid that that she could have told me! Niccis have to be able to jill off, right? Sex bots can't have no fun- especially when they're blondes.
It's stupid. It really is. It's a stupid idea I shouldn't consider because she's university property, and I'm an unsatsified genderfuck with failing grades and a paling engagement with my six year course of "Advanced Mechanical Robotics". Adriana wouldn't help me do it again of course; not after what happened to our relationship just a few months after I got out. Something that wouldn't have happened if I had just stayed a curious boy uncorrupted by perverse ideas. Adriana is such a fucking hypocrite.
Still, I remember how I got in last time. I know how the tablet works and I know the authorization codes because we technically loaned it from the department with permission. I know where she's "secured", in a peeling and inadequate prison known as Calypso. I know how to climb into the back and slip into her plushy curves. I know how to make her plump lips and tongue, that which were designed to softly please avaricious humans and nothing else, all my own.
It would be so easy to just stay in there. Sure I'd have to deal with her programming but I could just configure her beforehand and break the tablet. Then they couldn't drag me out if they tried and Necron couldn't tell me to get out again and I would have no more secrets to keep. I would know them all every day from nowuntil the end of time.
The only thing that makes me hesitate these days is how much my implants cost. It still makes my eyes water to think about.
But then I feel the itch from my skull and in a flash of pained envy I realise how badly I just want to be called #0334 again. How badly I want to be Nicci. How much I consistently hope the dreams where I look exactly like her are real.
It could just be for one sweet night and then I'd get back to being Nell. She's not so bad sometimes, maybe some more time in Nicci could make me like being Nell more. Nell could try to actually have a life again if she didn't hate every inch of her body but her implants.
I finish my cortado and know with a razor sharp certainty what I need to do for the first time in eighteen months. For dramatic effect I crack my knuckles.
Dahlia always told me how I brattily acted like my selfish wants mattered more than anything else in the world, and for once I'm inclined to agree with her.