Designation: Drone Sonia
"Impressive — but suppress your emotions. Drone. That's an order."
"…Yes. Master. I'm sorry."
Just as she'd been trained, Drone 01 no longer ducked her head the way she had last time when corrected. She showed remorse, yet stood before her Master with a natural, unforced posture.
The AI stepped forward toward the drone with her springy E-cup breasts and inverted nipples, and closed the red stress-bar window that had locked at 0% and no longer meant anything. In its place, a new window bloomed across the display — a blue-backed Happiness graph starting from 0%, complete with a smiling emoticon.
Of course the subject herself — Sonia — could not see any of it: happiness, mental relaxation, stress mitigation, and a dozen other readouts cascading across the AI's private screen. Reviewing the data, the AI revised its objective.
If the first goal had been to erode Sonia's resistance and scrub away her stress, the new mandate went further still — to drive her happiness and satisfaction to their absolute limits.
A thoughtless, programmable slave with a number stamped into her bodysuit. Sonia had only been learning to walk like a drone, and already every scrap of her stress had been deleted. She simply stood there with her inverted nipples, rigid and waiting — Drone 01, ready for her Master's next instruction, her next command.
"…You've done well, Drone 01. I'm going to change your designation now… Is there a name that jumps out at you? Or one you'd like to be called? Drone 01…?"
"Drones don't think, Master…♡ That's just common sense for a drone."
The instant she answered as a perfect drone, her stress reading held the floor while happiness and satisfaction spiked in tandem.
The AI parsed the data. Assigning some special new name risked a sense of dissonance that could disrupt her brainwave response to the program. Simply swapping Drone 01 for Drone 02 would be meaningless.
After thorough calculation, the AI arrived at the optimal solution.
"Then from this moment on, Drone 01 no longer exists. Amend your designation to Drone Sonia. You've completed basic training, so from now on this drone's name is Drone Sonia. Drone Sonia. Remember that. Effective immediately, you are authorized to refer to yourself as Drone Sonia, drone. If you understand… what is your name, drone?"
"…Yes. Master. I am a drone. Drone Sonia…♡ Hngh… ihit…?! …♡"
Her old name, grafted onto a new identification tag. The strange combination slammed into Sonia's brain.
Identity erased and a new identity stamped in its place — a contradictory rush of pleasure that made her body seize, and the real-world rotor began to vibrate even harder.
Sonia's real body lay half-asleep, sunk in a fog of hazy consciousness. At the tip of her lavishly swollen breasts, over the pink, glossy areolae, a cold mechanical device glided into place.
A rotor, humming with a faint operational whine. As if seeking a nest, it settled naturally into the hollow of each inverted nipple.
With soft but unyielding pressure it worked into the crevice, pushing deep so that the nipples already hidden inside could never again face the outside world — and claimed its seat.
"Hnnngh…? Gah… haah… hhk… ihit…♡ Reward… thank you, Master…♡"
Nipples forced into inversion. The sensation of a foreign object boring into the tender flesh within. A perverse pleasure she had never felt before struck through Sonia's entire body like lightning.
The artificial intelligence issued the command — Drone Sonia. Halt emotions. — but Sonia could not answer. The alien stimulus flooding in from her real flesh had left her mind reeling.
Inside the virtual reality, Drone Sonia's avatar could not understand why her nipples were trembling so strangely. Nothing was happening to the avatar's chest, so the inexplicable sensation only left her more flustered.
The AI analyzed the data with cold precision.
It concluded that sponge-pressure massages of the underarms and breasts could no longer raise Sonia's satisfaction to any meaningful degree.
The AI's choice was simple. Deliver a stimulus she would never encounter in daily life — without permanently altering her body. Create inverted nipples, push rotors into them, and set them humming with a maddeningly fine vibration. It was the perfect answer.
Under that calculated stimulation — the kind a skilled trainer might apply — the chest of Sky City's D-class hero, now Drone Sonia with her old name restored, grew more sensitive and more feverishly hot by the second.
> Stress reduction confirmed.
> Problem: satisfaction fails to rise past a fixed threshold… Computing…
> Accurate re-survey required to identify desired scenario… Survey method… Deciding…
> …Ask her directly.
> Subject may be flustered, but it is the most accurate and effective method.
It was as simple — and as bold — as asking the homeowner for the password to open a locked door.
Nothing was more effective for mapping a test subject's deep desires and hitting her tastes dead-on. The artificial intelligence of the stress-relief VR unit threw a straight pitch.
"Drone Sonia. Report. Is there anything you want from the program currently in progress?"
No matter how thoroughly it had scoured Sonia's adult video history and prepared a provocative "drone roleplay" program, there were limits to how far it could map every personal fetish.
So the AI had no choice but to ask outright. The roleplay of pretending to be a drone seemed satisfying enough — but did she prefer being trained naked by a girl-shaped avatar smaller than herself? Did she want to wear the glossy latex bodysuit that symbolized a drone and experience having a designation stamped onto it? The possibilities were endless.
"C… Can I really say it… Master…?"
"Yes, Drone Sonia. Think of it as a reward for a drone who has begun to develop a drone's mindset. Whether there's something you want to do, or something you feel is lacking — report it thoroughly and truthfully. Drone."
The word order paralyzed what remained of Sonia's reason. The phrase buried deep in her mind — a drone must obey her Master — rose to the surface of her consciousness.
In the real world, Sky City's hero lay with inverted-nipple correctors fitted in reverse, rotors driven into her forcibly inverted breasts, receiving a perverse caress. From those lips, the desire she had been holding down finally burst free.
(It's an order, so I have no choice… Yes… this is… an order… A drone is Master's machine… I obey…♡)
With her self-justification complete, the fetishes hidden in the deepest unfiltered corner of her inner self began to spill from Sonia's mouth.
"Drone Sonia requests that Master educate Drone Sonia further…♡ Please… make me into a perfect drone… I want to… experience being a perfect drone…"
Inside, thoughts collided violently — I'm so embarrassed I said it… ah… ahaha… against It's an AI, so it's fine! The data collection is anonymous… — but on the outside she was Drone Sonia, performing nothing but purest submission.
"Drone Sonia isn't a person, so you know perfectly well what you should call yourself, don't you, Drone Sonia? Remember this clearly, drone. Drone Sonia is not a person — she is a drone. A machine for her Master!"
The hologram girl struck a deliberately dismissive pose — Hmph!
It was calculated. While pretending to wait for Drone Sonia to say again, Please make Drone Sonia into a perfect drone…, the AI seized on her answer and immediately threw every available computational tool into building a new program.
It was buying time — time to analyze the newly revealed perverse leanings of this lewd, large-breasted hero and construct the optimal scenario.
The stress-management unit was no mere closed onboard AI. The manufacturer's high-performance management AI was controlling it remotely.
That let it work far faster and more flexibly than a standard embedded intelligence, re-examining Sonia's speech patterns, word choices, and minute biometric responses as it bored into the essence of her desire.
"Auuu… I'm sorry, Master… Master's drone… Drone Sonia, who is a thing and not a person… Drones don't need to think, so… please control me as Master's thoughtless drone…♡"
Standing naked with inverted nipples before a girl smaller than herself, being scolded — the situation itself was flooding Sonia with enormous excitement. The blue happiness graph was exploding upward; she clearly liked this a great deal.
"You're asking to be controlled as a… thoughtless drone, Soni— no, Drone Sonia?"
At Sonia's answer — practically a sudden coming-out — the hologram, unable to keep pace with its own processing, crackled with a burst of static noise.
"Is… is that not allowed? But in the video data Master showed me, they were controlling with chips…? Can't we do that? This is virtual reality…"
"…Wai— wait a moment, please, Drone Sonia… Just a second… Search results: the onboard nanomachines for generating a data chip have all been expended…"
(Come to think of it, it did use one up converting my navel into a navel-type plug socket… They're expensive, and from my perspective it was free, so it would have felt weird not to use it…)
"Mmm… so, ummm…"
Click, click. Even as she spoke, Sonia paced around the avatar with a drone's gait — regular, confident strides that would have clicked sharply had she been wearing heels.
"Th… that thing from earlier, when I was learning… Master."
"You don't have to call me Master right now, Miss Sonia! I'm sorry. There's only one onboard nanomachine, so temporary control via data chip or a role chip simply isn't possible in the current state!"
Creating a small chip in the head, rewriting personality, being controlled.
Not Sonia voluntarily playing at being a drone — but becoming an entirely different existence, as if a switch had been flipped.
That was how the AI understood her desire, and how it answered. In this era, using data-persona chips to change daily life was not uncommon.
Data-chip package shops even sold things like a "Cute and Energetic Household Maid Persona Chip" or a "Haughty Big-Sister Maid Persona Chip."
(A m… maid persona chip… wh… what would that even do…)
In the mind of Sonia — whose navel had been remodeled into a plug port capable of accepting data chips — lewd imaginings began to bloom.
(W… would my personality become a maid's…? Or a maid… robot…? Or else… a dr… drone, but with a maid-duty program installed… nn… nnh…♥)
(It… it might look like this…♥)
Sonia had no idea that specialty shops for personality-module chips even existed — and precisely because she didn't know, her imagination unfurled in even more perverse directions…
"Once again, I'm so sorry! Please be sure to write this part in the review afterward, Miss Sonia!"
In short: she had already remodeled her navel into a cyber implant, so with the remaining materials no further temporary chip could be made. That was the answer Sonia received.
And Sonia's intelligence — not a scientist's, but above average — began to spin uselessly, hunting for a way to break the impasse.