When money had its say, things certainly progressed fast.
They were about everywhere now, in every place that he could think of and every place that he could turn to, seamlessly incorporated and assimilated into the workings of human life, soon establishing themselves as a part of their routine, both an imitation and mockery of human beings themselves - the government had called them androids.
In the beginning, they were rather easy to identify, an uncoordinated mess of clicking and whirring metal parts seemingly fixed upon and to each other, held together by screws and bolts, with what might pass for a face, if it was starring solo in a horror film. They were ungainly, back when experimentation was just beginning, a period of testing, producing more of these abominations in different shapes and forms. Some were constructed in more details than others, and some not. They had limited movements, and rather limited thought processes, and that was alright. They were perhaps, to Douglas, the best types that they had ever made simply because they were a nightmare in their own rights, despite of what they could do to aid the human race. It was clear and simple, and he liked it that way.
Next, came the ones that tried their best to masquerade and pass as a human being. It still wasn't perfect, though, you see. More money was invested, research was peaking, and everything was being 'improved', or so they say. Creators gave them bodies, bodies more alike to the humans' own and less like their former predecessors. They had flesh colored bodies, occasionally with bits missing, panels uncovered to expose the metal and wiring underneath, with a proper head and face that responded just as stiffly and mechanically. What was truly nightmare inducing about them were the way that they responded to the programs keyed into their system, the way that they met all their criteria half way. Scientists were trying to get them to imitate human emotions, and it was horrifying the way their expressions formed, plastic and garish as one might find a really old porcelain doll in the attic with half its face smashed in, glassy eyes either unblinking, or blinking at a rate so standard it was unsettling, each motion calculated and too smooth to be human, with what might be a friendly expression frozen on their faces, lips too wide and too plastic to be natural.
Douglas often fancied a maw full of sharp teeth if they ever opened their jaws wide, ready to rip an unsuspecting victim's head off if they got too close, lured in by that faux, programmed friendliness.
There was a known glitch, about that particular batch which made them freeze up suddenly in the middle of their speech, or whatever it was that they were made to do, for intervals from seconds to minutes at a time, unnaturally still and stiff, faces still twisted in those horrifying expressions of theirs that only scientists would think to key in, and there was nothing anyone could do until they unjammed themselves and continued smoothly on as though nothing had happened. It raised goosebumps on Douglas' arms, particularly so if they stuttered like a broken record, and when the entire batch was scrapped, he was glad to see them go.
The next generation was better by design and make by far, superior in every sense and their capabilities, closely resembling humans and imitating humans, and that was where it got hard to tell human and android apart. Scientists had found a way to program real-life human personalities into them, creating the perfect lie once the hurdle of their capabilities were overcome, and they were able to move and work independently on their own. That was the point when they spilled over from their specific industries into the daily lives of civilians, taking up minor jobs, jobs that no one wanted to do, while their world moved on to something further high up and was attainable. The man who cleared the refuse, the girl who greeted people every day at the door – androids were steadily replacing humans for companies who can afford to hire them. The majority of them was being integrated and programmed for jobs where it was simply too much of a hazard for human beings to work and stay in for extended periods of times. His company had done just that, quite a couple of years ago, and entire departments had been cleaned out, replaced with smiling, cheerful androids working in tandem with their human colleagues.
The new development was met with mixed reactions from the human race, or mostly the people that had been closely partnered with an android for work. Of course, there were always those that met the recent developments with enthusiasm about the progression and advancements of science and technology, and those who simply put, had a fetish about the androids themselves, but there was also a fairly large group who disliked it. There were those who were stoic, unmoved by the changes, adapting quickly and taking it into stride, and those that made their displeasure rather loudly known. Debates and articles were written, issues discussed over tasteless lunches and equally tasteless dinners, while funds continued to be invested in the research and developments of those creatures. Eventually, things settled down as they always did, androids slowly turning into a normality.
Douglas stayed clear of them, avoiding them as much as he could. It was a little hard to pinpoint what exactly he hated about them. Perhaps it was their appearance, or their personalities, real and convincing as they may be but he knew that it was simply programmed, nothing than a few key codes of information in a large and complex system. Perhaps it was due to what they had underneath, or the old nightmares that still visited now and then, sharp teeth and grotesque shapes and bolts and screws. Or perhaps it was the way that they were a lie pretending to be real, pretending to have a life along with the rest of the human race when they clearly had none. Doing what they were told to, made to do, and discarded when they had outlived their usefulness, Douglas still remembered that one trip to the scrapyard, a large dumping area full of machines and things metal and rusty and androids. If he didn't know better, it might have looked like a playground come out of a horror survival film, with strewn arms and legs and faces split down the middle, torsos without limbs and heads without a body, crushed ruthlessly beneath a giant machine to salvage the metal from them, cracking up the grins and the ghost remains of their expressions, with some others still charged, ambling and shuffling about with what little limbs they have left, lips spread in a wide smile and repeating their last lines over and over again-
Scientists should really consider keeping certain appearances apart.
He had thought that he would be lucky enough to be spared one of those androids, but that was where luck ran out on him, and test pilots were replaced with the entire lot of them anyway.