Author Notes: In this chapter, John seeks help from less than helpful sources that we all know and love.
Men are pigs. No defending them, they just are. And John would never deny it. In fact he was proud of it, which may have contributed to his train wreck of a marriage. The point is that it in no way surprised him to figure out that the mannequin was in fact some sort of high-end sex doll. Upon further inspection in his apartment that night, he had found that she had everything in all the right places - and the pouty lips and blank expression were a dead giveaway.
As he sipped his second beer of the night he pulled back the skin, which felt like vinyl from the inside, away from the damaged areas. By his third beer he was convinced that this robot was intended for men with a lot of money. The degrees of freedom in the joints he could see were too many to count, the materials were so lifelike that the body must have cost more than a new car. Inside he found a computer motherboard, but couldn't tell the specs off hand. It looked like it was powered from -
ZAP!
When John came-to early the next morning he phoned in sick. Susan told him that Neil was stable but would be spending the rest of the year in a body cast, or something to that effect. That called for a celebration. He flopped down on his couch in front of the girl and took a swig from his flat beer from last night. It didn't quite scrape the fuzz off of his tongue but it woke him up a bit. He needed something fresher to drink, and to wear. Something smelled like roast pork, which was odd since he had chicken last night. Then he remembered the capacitor inside the robot. Let the be a reminder to always discharge whatever you're working on before you fiddle inside. Oh well. It was discharged now.
John scratched his fluffy head as he thought. The capacitor must have been nearly drained when he touched it. A capacitor that large looked big enough to power a golf cart or a small car and surely would have killed him if it was fully juiced. He counted his blessings and took a shower.
The robot was starting to look a bit more complicated than he could handle on his own. A few replacement parts, some mending and rewiring he could do, but this? Once he got out of the shower he booted up his computer. Time to do a little research and recruit a little help.
"Hello. My name is John Whalin. I have a sex doll which I think may be one of yours and I'm looking for some technical help... No, I'm sorry. I don't know which model it is... She's blonde, about five foot two... Cindy?... No that doesn't sound right. She's got to be a high end model... Yes, a lot of posability. And wiring and a high voltage computer... You don't have anything that high end? Alright. Thanks." John hung up, more discouraged and confused than when he started. He had phoned every single sex toy manufacturer he could find that advertised products like his mystery girl and not one of them claimed to make her. He faced the possibility that this was a one-off product specially commissioned and if that was the case he'd have a devil of a time trying to track the manufacturer down.
Cousin Jimmy whistled from across the room. He never thought he'd whistle at a girl for her electronics content.
"What do you think, Jim?" John asked from his kitchen. After sitting down with a soldering iron for several nights he just about gave up on the project, and definitely was not going to try it by himself. He had been off the force for only a few weeks, but he didn't want to wait. His cousin Jimmy was an electrician by trade and the best person he could think of (that he knew) to tackle this. He brought Jimmy a beer and took one for himself.
Jimmy harumphed. "I think you're in way over your head. I mean, what do you know about electronics? Thanks man," he said, taking the beer and opening it against his palm. "I think this is actually a bit beyond me, too. I could reattach all of the wires if I knew where they were supposed to go but if they're unmarked on both ends I'm going to be just slinging shit at ya."
"So you can't help me?"
"A bit. Only I'll do you one better. There's this kid who interviewed for a job at the company I work at. This was a couple of months ago. He didn't get the job because he was unbalanced mentally but he blew the aptitude test out of the water. If anyone can fix this I'm betting it's him."
Great. John might get this done yet. "Just one question. How unbalanced did he have to be to not get the job?"
"He insulted the boss's intelligence and then told him to suck it."
"Sounds like a nice guy."
"We have probed the Slayer's forces and have found them lacking. I think the time is right for us to up the ante, gentlemen." Warren struck his best evil mastermind pose on the cushy swivel chair in his basement. It was time for them to unleash their diabolical plans on the citizens of this little town but first the Slayer, the Holy Avenger, the glavny protivnik, their nemesis... well honestly it was Buffy from high school... she had to be out of the way.
Andrew, the conjurer, pulled up a blackboard to the central position between the Trio. He split the board into three sections, one for each of them, and began writing in three colored chalks, one for each of them again. He was just a little too 'style conscious' for Warren's taste.
"As with the previous phase of our mission, we have each proposed one good plan for decommissioning the Slayer," Andrew began, once he had written their names in different fonts on the chalkboard. "As such we will each be given the opportunity with full team backing to execute our respective plans. The operations, which I like to call Operation Condor as a whole, can begin as soon as all the requisite materials can be accumulated. I could start right away with mine but I have some parts on order, six to eight weeks delivery."
"We have to be subversive," said Jonathan, "She knows that she's being tested. We have no idea of knowing when one of Buffy's spies could be looking in on us. We have to keep low and out of sight until it's time to act."
Andrew rolled his eyes. "No one is looking for us. You're over-reacting... Cry baby."
"Isn't there a parade you should be marching in?"
"Warren!" All three of them froze, including Andrew and Jonathan, who were just about to strangle each other.
"What, Mom?"
"There's a nice man here looking for you," hollered Mrs. Mears from up the stairs.
Jonathan's eyes went wild. "Oh God! We've been found out." He grabbed his model Millennium Falcon and stuffed it under his shirt, then started climbing out the basement's narrow window.
"Calm down, spaz," Warren hissed at him. "Coming, Mom."
Just as he thought. It wasn't Mr. Giles waiting with Buffy in the shadows waiting to send them to jail. It was just some non-descript middle aged man. He didn't have a clue what the man wanted, just so long as it wasn't Warren Mears: dead - or another robot.
"Hi, are you Warren Mears?" the man asked.
"Yes," Warren said slowly. "And you are?"
The man didn't answer that question, instead posing another of his own. "I hear you know something about electronics. A lot about electronics." Warren found the man intimidating. He was large. Probably big and stupid, but he knew how to stare someone down.
"I might. Is there anything you want."
"I was wondering if you could help me on a little robotics project of mine. Nothing too big, just a repair job."
Warren threw up his hands and looked to the heavens. "Will it never end?" he muttered, and walked away from the door. He went up to his room and got an old college course syllabus.
"Here," he gave the two sheet pamphlet to the man. "Take this course at the college. It won't make you a genius but it'll be enough to get you out of my hair. Now leave me alone!" Warren slammed the door on the man's face. God, he needed a drink. He got a Pepsi from the fridge. Ahh... that's better. The silence was broken by some more yelling and girlish shrieks from downstairs. What were those two doing now? Warren trudged down the rickety basement stairs.
Andrew was flailing about and climbing over a sprawling Jonathan.
"I wanna touch your magic bone!"
He's gonna have to get rid of one of them.