All things considered, Harold "Barry" James Hallwinter did not lead an interesting life. Despite his degrees in astrophysics and engineering, Barry worked on what was basically an assembly line, fixing androids for a pretty good wage, though not enough to get him out of crippling debts. He lived in the crowded slums of the Undercity, stuffed into the basement of his building— not that he minded; he had the space for a workshop and didn't have to worry about making too much noise when he was working. He got it cheap, too, since he repaired the landlord's droids free of charge in exchange.
He lived alone in his workshop, repairing droids for the people of the Undercity when he wasn't on the assembly line. If the corporations caught wind of his repairs, he'd probably be swept away to some prison, forced to slave away on droids without hope of ever seeing daylight again. But the corps didn't care much about the dealings of the Undercity very much, and his cheap costs for repairs and buys made him a precious commodity to his neighbors, too much to rat him out for an easy meal.
It wasn't an easy or glamorous life, but it was his life.
On the way home from work, if it wasn't too dark, Barry would search the trash on the street and sometimes happen upon the random part for a droid, thrown out by an unknowing person, probably unable to hawk it off to a pawn shop. He'd take it home, repair it, then use it for something else. It was far easier than buying the parts themselves, as they were usually in far better condition than people expected.
It wasn't often people left entire droids out on the street.
Well, maybe "entire" wasn't the best word to use in this situation.
The two droids were elven in appearance, the skin not torn open almost unbelievably real. They were somewhat lithe, with hourglass figures and thick thighs, their bodies barely covered by scraps of clothing that were probably found in a dumpster.
But the damage to their bodies were almost grotesque. The one on the right was missing both its legs from the knees down, the remains carelessly tossed beside it. Its left eye was dangling by the circuits, desperately trying to move to look at its surroundings, but the gears in the socket spun uselessly. It had a good bit of hair torn off, leaving a large bald spot— he'd probably have to ask Leon if the Fantasy Costco had any extensions to replace it. The skin was carved open in jagged slices with what looked to dagger; no doubt it had been abused by teens looking for something to take their frustrations out on.
The one on the left was a little better off, but not by much. Its wrists and ankles were bent at awkward angles— probably to keep it from running off. The cuts in its body were more exploratory than that of its sibling, like that of an amateur surgeon, trying to expose its inner wiring. It stared wide eyed at Barry, a loose jaw trying to mouth words, but only coming up with strangled beeping— its audio processors were probably destroyed; those weren't easy or cheap to come by.
Barry crouched before them, taking in the damage. It was… bad, but not the worst he'd seen; he's brought what were basically scraps of metal back to life in the past. He'd have a hell of a time repairing them, but someone would pay good money for such realistic bots.
Attuning his stone of farspeech to his neighbor Magnus's frequency, Barry pushed what was left of the right elf's hair off its right eye, which stared back at him. The left bot stutteringly moved to the side, landing on the others' shoulder.
"Barry? Magnus is busy with a customer right now," came the voice of Magnus's wife, Julia, through the stone, the sound of barking in the background. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I was just wondering if I could get some, uh, assistance with… with two bots. I don't think I could carry them home by myself. I'm just a block down, near the garbage dump."
"They were thrown out? Everyone in the Undercity knows to come to— Johann! Down! Bad dog!— to come to you. Should I bring a cart or something?"
The right elf opened its mouth, which looked pretty difficult with the cuts on its mouth, and beeped. Great, that's two audio processors he'd have to find.
"That sounds good. Just… be prepared for what you see, okay? It's pretty gnarly."
She snorted. "I was in the governor's army, Barold—"
"Please don't call me that."
"—I think I can handle a few fucked up bots."
Julia arrived roughly five minutes later, a (probably stolen) cart in tow. The bots beeped almost distressingly when they were separated, only seeming to calm down when they were placed on top of each other. The two humans engaged small talk as they walked through the empty streets, mostly Julia telling Barry about what trouble her husband had recently gotten into.
When they got to their apartment building, Julia helped Barry take the droids downstairs, propping them up on his work table, which was the only clean surface in the workshop. She turned to him with a smile and said, "You know, when you finish these guys up, you could sell them to Mr. Kravitz, the mortician. I hear he's looking for a bot to help out at the funeral home, and he could probably use a companion, if you know what I mean."
When Barry gave her a confused look, she rolled her eyes and gestured at the bots on the table. "Look at them, Barry. They're practically alive! Everyone knows only sex droids get that kind of attention to detail."
Taking another look at them, he had to admit… she was right. Regular bots were far more stiff and doll like, but "companion" droids were, well, meant to simulate real beings, to bring comfort to their owners. A wealthy customer had donated it to him, as an extra tip for keeping his mouth shut, and he had tried to use it, but he was just too unnerved by it. They were built to be as life-like as possible, and that meant they tended to have the most sophisticated AI on the market. It was like owning a human, rather than a machine.
Barry may be a lonely bachelor, but he wasn't desperate, and quickly donated the bot to Avi, one of his other neighbors, who had been saving up for one. Avi had tried to pay him his savings for it, but, when Barry insisted it was a gift, the young man looked like he'd burst into tears.
"I'll… talk to Mr. Kravitz about what, uh, features he wants on them. Thanks for your help, Julia," he sighed, wiping his brow.
"I'm sure he won't mind if you get a few uses in, buddy," said Julia, cackling as she made her way through the maze of his workshop and out the door. "Have fun!"
Barry grimaced, turning towards the bots, who stared back him. "Don't mind her," he mumbled to the figures on his table, as he was prone to do when working with bots, "she's just being gross. I'll start fixing you guys up in the morning."
With that, Barry turned on his heel and turned off the lights, heading towards the section of the basement he cordoned off to be his apartment. Behind him, the bots turned their heads towards each other, their gears squealing from the effort, and beeped at each other through the rest of the night.