Episode 5:Harem-Part 3

It was strange for a sub-synth to dream; actually, they were very well capable of dreaming to begin with, if not on different kinds of dreaming.

Some girls were engineered in a way that gave them the illusion of dream capability, yet this was only a ruse as the ‘dreams’ were merely pre-installed bits and facts about the company as a means of having their customers buy more products. If a girl who was entirely your own dreamed that ‘buying this’ and ‘using that’ enhanced their play even more, wouldn’t you do it too?

Some customers however, ones who had the well-informed knowledge and common sense to see past such bizarre marketing tactics, found an unusual alternative to scrubbing by such drastic and strategically-placed ads: modding.

It was no secret that, especially in the seedy, city districts of Japan, customers could find a multitude of ways to modify or add-on to their genetically-crafted companions, and one particularly popular one was false dreams. With the right tools and the right guy, your gal could have the capability to dream whatever the customer desired, or if the customer wished, allowed them to dream nothing at all, to be an empty husk merely acting in the world around it and never truly aware of it.

That’s how most Guro-gals are, and that’s how Emily should have been; but she wasn’t.

Emily could remember well (memory was a common need for the GG experience) the time when she was born in a fluid-tank within the genetic labs of GG Corp., and how in that time she was not yet capable of dreaming. She remembered that being manufactured as a beta-gal, and the first in-tank twin set, she and her sister were originally to behave and act like any other G-gal around them: simplistic, and devoid of will.

But being a beta-gal meant some things must be changed too, that something must be different about them that kept them apart from any other girl they made. That is where the “15% more self-awareness” part came into play. Both Emily and her twin Jessica had been given fifteen-percent more sentience than any other gal around, an interesting choice as it was perceived that real twins had a special bond between them; this ‘bond’ would apparently make customer-play a very interesting experience.

But something had been off; a scale had been tipped, with the weight tipping over in Emily’s favor, and Jessica’s cost. Whether a glitch had happened in the ‘brain-programming’ process, or an enhancement chemical went one way and not both at the same time, Emily had been altered while Jessica had not. In fact, Emily had not been given double the original dosage of self-awareness, she had been given triple it, making Emily one of (if not) the most sentient creations Guro-Gal Corp. had ever made; and yet they never even noticed.

It was her first night of “life”, in one of many beds within the coldly-lit bunker room where (including herself and her sister) sixteen 18 year-old ‘special cases’ were stored before shipping the following day, when she dreamt for the first time. It was difficult for one who never dreamed before to tell a memory and a dream apart, but it eventually reached a point when the difference between the two was clear as crystal.

She was swimming, naked and alone within a vast sea of syrup-like pinkish fluid, the very substance she and her sister were born in. As she swam, doing so in an attempt to find something beyond this sea of pink and someone to take her beyond it, only to be a futile task for the sea did not end nor would ever end. Then, the color of the ocean shifted from a pinkish hue to a bright and glowing blue, with the viscosity of the fluid becoming quicker and much like that of water. Water, that’s what this stuff had turned into now, water.

The blue sea suddenly began to reside in its once powerful mass, now moving down and along Emilys’ nude figure until not even the toes were within the water. But no, the sea wasn’t getting smaller; ‘she’ was getting farther from it. She was flying, flying through the air and battling the soft breeze of salt and sun. She was laughing, and cried in joy as the glorious moment never seemed near to its’ end.

That end came with the cough of a girl within one of the bunks, pulling Emily out of what had been her first dream ever. As the coughing continued, she turned in the sheets of her bed with tears of happiness welling in her big, brown eyes, tears of what had been the most wonderful thing she had ever felt before.

But the dream she had just now was definitely not like the one Emily had those many months ago; no, this one had been a nightmare, a horrendous mish-mash of shattered bits and pieces from both her present and her past. But a dream (even when called a nightmare) was not without meaning, so the question remained: What did it mean?

She seated herself up on the mattress and tried to think things through, but it was hard for her to ignore the fact that it was a lot darker now than after Tommy had woken her; so dark, that no longer could any light be seen from behind the shutters of the bedroom window, and the only light-source she could find was that from outside the hallway and downstairs. She got off the bed, and with ‘bits of clumsiness’ here and a ‘bump to something’ there, she managed to find and flip on the light switch.

Her eyes squinted as the brightness hit them fiercely, but eventually they adjusted well-enough to recognize the bedroom lighting as somewhat cozy and pleasant. She looked again at the windows, and began to question to herself how long she had been out? The turned-over clock on the nearby dresser might be able to answer that, so she reached over, turned it over, and saw the simple digital-time of exactly 9:04. Now, if she remembered the time when she began to sleep, added on with the time since Tommy had awoken her, that means Emily had been asleep for nearly……

……nine hours.

“I’ve been sleeping for nine hours?! How did that happen?” Indeed she had, for Emily herself had now underestimated just how tired she really was, from all the moving and unpacking and setting things in place. Boy, that really did a number on her, had it?

Her mind soon stretched beyond the worry of her time dislocation and eventually treaded on the familiar grounds of questioning, such as: Where was Tommy? What had that whole nightmare from before been about? And why did her shorts feel funny? The shorts did indeed feel funny to her, and feeling down the crotch of her shorts, she understood why: they were soaking wet.

She blushed at the realization that she had wet herself in the midst of that nightmare she had, not a blush of shyness, but one of sheer and simply-understandable embarrassment. Looking down at herself only strengthened her urge to pee again, and urge she quickly sought to quench. Rushing over to the drawer and grabbing a spare pair of shorts and panties, she rushed out of the room and made a mad dash for the bathroom nearby, and slammed the door shut.

Taking no time at all, she slid her soaked shorts down to her ankles, sat her rear down on the cushioned toilet seat, and looked up with a moan echoing from her lips as she at last began to relieve herself. She had made it just in time; she had already made a mess of her shorts, she wasn’t planning on messing anything else up either.

Her eyes (first glaring up at the ceiling) trailed all around her, and she couldn’t help but admire on how big and beautiful the bathroom was. It wasn’t fancy or anything, besides the large bathtub sized enough to fit three (or four) people, but it was actually quite modest compared to the house it was part of. Eventually her eyes trailed down to her leaking womanhood, focusing on the thin stream of yellowish fluid that flowed out of her soft, twitching lips. It was here, watching herself urinate, that she began to think back to that terrible dream of hers.

Although it wasn’t clearly exact, she knew portions of the dream were familiar to her somehow, it’s just how they did so was what concerned her. The quotes she saw herself say, the way she was dismembered, the rooms, the blue-fluid………it was the blue fluid that struck the hardest cord of all.

She had seen that fluid before, on the night she had her first dream. Something on that night happened, on that first, wonderful night of her life, something so horrible, that it lay hidden and well receded within the suppression of her developed, young mind. She could not remember clearly what that something was, but she knew it was close to her, closer to her than anything had ever been before.

Watching as the final drops dripped out of her womanhood, she flushed the toilet, and fully removed the soaked garment of clothing dangling at her ankles. She reached over and pulled on the light-pink panties (now a size her own thanks to Tommys’ shopping), and covered them with her favorite kind of boy shorts: mid-grey.

Washing her hands by the sink, she looked across to her own reflection and told herself, “I need to tell Tommy what’s going on; I’m going to get passed this, but I’m not going to do it alone.” Drying her hands off, she left and made her way towards the downstairs, fully intent on explaining things to Tommy and asking for his help.

But the smell of something cooking drew her attention away, and all she could wonder now was, “What on earth is cooking down there?” Quickly now, she made her way down the steps.