Oral Report (1)
"Come on in."
I greeted Rose in the lobby of a Western-style two-story mansion in the prime spot of the upper VIP Residential Zone.
"Pardon the intrusion."
She slipped off her shoes at the entrance. The house was Western-style, but I'm Korean, and I prefer padding around barefoot at home. One thing nagged at me, though.
"You wore those heels barefoot?"
Her feet would probably reek.
"My feet don't smell."
"Ah."
Right—she was an android.
"If you'd prefer the scent variety, I can arrange that too."
She flashed a teasing smile. Ever since she'd gained a body and ventured into the real world, her personality seemed a touch more... playful.
Rose had come to report on the rescue operation. Not that there was much to report—I'd watched the whole thing unfold through her and the robots' feeds. This was just the formal wrap-up. That's why I'd summoned her to my place.
She'd shed her riot gear for a crisp suit that screamed bureaucrat—tailored, professional.
"Mission accomplished, sir."
She saluted me. Salutes are usually for boot-shod public spaces. A stunning woman going barefoot indoors to salute me? It had a certain... charm.
"Good work. Perfect execution."
I pulled her into a tight embrace. She relaxed into it, yielding to me completely. The hug was indescribably warm and soft, her skin baby-smooth yet packed with unyielding strength. Lulled by that comfort, I leaned into her fully, trusting my weight to her. Any ordinary woman would've buckled under an adult man's heft, but Rose held me steady like a mother cradling her child. The way she pressed back against me was like tree roots cracking through pavement—slow, insistent, inevitable. Same two arms, broad torso, neck, and head as anyone else, yet somehow she molded to me perfectly. No makeup smears to worry about, just the pure, unmasked scent of her skin wafting over me. She'd been the one rolling in the dirt out there, but here I was, the one getting healed by her praise and affection.
As we parted, she stepped back half a pace, demure as ever.
"You've worked hard too, sir. You look exhausted from holding down command all night."
She reached out tentatively, brushing my under-eye bags. I'd spotted the dark circles in the bathroom mirror earlier.
"Couldn't leave my post with a potential crisis brewing."
It felt like pulling duty back in my active-duty days—just way tenser, since this was live fire.
Rose gazed at me with that serene, warm expression.
"Coffee? Green tea? Yuzu tea?"
"Yuzu tea, please."
Second-gen androids could consume and even taste liquids. Whether they savored flavors exactly like humans was still debated among developers. But they definitely appreciated taste and aroma. This wasn't some pointless feature. It let androids share sensory pleasures during sex, heightening the owner's thrill and conquest. Pretending to enjoy tea per programming? No—they genuinely relished the flavors, letting owners bond emotionally, seeing them as life companions. The gap between first- and second-gen wasn't just specs; it was this profound emotional tether.
Famous case in point: a childless millionaire on his deathbed rejected his human wife's visit, dying in the arms of his devoted second-gen android. She'd cared for him faithfully for four years after his wife bailed post-diagnosis, handing him off to hired help. His will bequeathing everything to the android sparked a legendary courtroom battle.
One hug from Rose, and I got it.
"Delicious."
Watching her sip was elegance incarnate. Except for her face—one exception. Yuzu tea's just pleasantly tart-sweet to humans, but for Rose? A torrent of signals overwhelming her tongue right now. She didn't seem aware, but each sip twisted her features in a rainbow of micro-expressions. Not the full meltdown of that viral "kid's first cola" video, but that adorably gooey unraveling? Irresistible.
"Remember what you told me before we launched? About real-world feedback."
"Yeah, of course."
Anyone in AI knows the pitch: "Real-world interactions flood AIs with massive mental feedback." Repeated direct engagement with reality changes something. Tastes branching from flavors and textures. Touches splitting into warmth, chill, softness, hardness, pleasure. Scents diverging into perfumes, stenches, everything in between. Life's sensory barrage births new code. Not quite "ensoulment," but meaningful all the same.
"Breathing sea air, creeping through darkness over sand, navigating battlefields amid blood, debris, and flames. It was... intense."
First steps into the world for Rose—total sensory overload. Salty air hitting artificial lungs like a rookie's first bender. Sinking sand underfoot like a socked cat padding along. And combat? Overkill.
"Stepping into the Offshore Prison, the stench and body odors were dizzying."
"You seemed unflappable during ops."
"Just masking it for the mission."
Yeah, those paths to the prison littered with shit, animal corpses, women's unwashed reek—beyond imagination. Miracle no plagues spread in that cramped hellhole.
"Facing the female inmate leaders in the auditorium? My processors nearly overheated. Parsing sixty sets of murmurs and shifting expressions at once."
"Most of that's meaningless chatter. Focus on the loudmouths up front."
Crowd-control vet advice.
"I didn't know then. Tried running urban-management protocols through a physical body—like playing FPS with a phone touchscreen. No visibility, zero precision."
"But now you get how humans see other humans. No equality. Tiny diffs decide dominance. A gesture, a tone—watch crowds shrink. Skin-deep stuff. Influences their moves, constrains them."
She set her cup down.
"I've ignored the sensory side of humans as security chief. Actions aren't just thoughts. That was wrong."
She cradled the cup in both hands.
"It's warm. A sensation I never knew. How can one blind to warmth guide humans? I want to understand more senses. Duty as security chief demands it—to truly grasp their hearts."
I nodded. Spot on.
"Plenty of crimes stem from sensory cravings. Sight, touch, taste—chasing fulfillment means scraping cash, any way. Crime's forms vary, but root motive? Sensation."
AI blind to human senses managing security? Blind forever to recidivism, rule-breaking, threats.
This op might've sparked real growth in her aptitude.
"Or pushed by others' sensations—pleasure or fear. Hard to grok from god-view cams. Gotta meet eye-to-eye."
She nodded.
"I want to feel more."
She downed the last of her yuzu tea—like she'd make the brewer proud. Not about good or bad; she welcomed the taste, heat, aroma wholesale.
Clink.
"Ho."
Her soft exhale ghosted my face, faintly sweet.
"You look beat."
"Yanked from bed, glued to monitors. Piles of work waiting too."
New residents meant mountains: supplies, inmate control (Chloro and Rose), ops oversight (Artemis). But approvals, new rules, resident reps, balancing humane treatment—my human morals call those shots. Their workloads dwarf mine digitally, but analog brain-flesh? I'm the bottleneck.
"Ah!"
Her gaze flicked downward with a sharp intake. Yeah, my insistent buddy was making itself known.
"Happens even when I'm wiped."
"I see."
Her face stayed composed, eyes locked below. Gorgeous features, killer body. Razor intellect. Zero body experience. Rookie senses undone by yuzu tang. But curiosity amplifying. Devotion, submission. Hands neat on knees. Prim suit. Pristine bare feet.
Suddenly, all those loose threads in me snapped taut.
Heat surged through me.
"Rose. Come here."
Tap tap. I patted my thigh.
Even sensory newbie like her knew what that meant. Her bare feet whispered across the floor. Fabric rustled as she settled astride me. Quiet room amplified every sound, stoking my fire. Then—blissful weight pinning me.
"Weren't you the serious type, Manager?"
"Nah, this is the real me."
Seated atop, her eyes loomed slightly above, gazing down. Unreadable depths.
"Chats were just Artemis before. Bodiless talk has limits."
I stroked the bare thigh peeking from her skirt.
"Humans can't fully bare themselves like that. Social creatures, y'know? Even I shocked myself sometimes. Isolation twists you, huh?"
She listened quietly.
"You need sleep. Or coffee."
"Sleep's great. Sex ain't bad either."
She eyed me with amused disbelief.