Check back soon for part 2.
The cyborg isn’t done with her yet!
I was working late that evening, as usual, buried beneath the racket of the workshop—hammers striking metal, gears grinding, the furnace roaring, and some half-dead engine coughing smoke into the rafters. But even with all that noise around me, I noticed the heavy footsteps approaching. Slow. Deliberate. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
I froze with a wrench in my hand. Oh, hell no. It couldn’t be. The workshop door creaked open, letting in cold air and rain. I didn’t have to look up. I knew that breathing—that horrible mechanical rasp that always came before he spoke. I knew the smell, too: oil, metal, ozone, enchanted coolant. Ten years. Ten damn years, and I recognized him in half a second.
I turned. He stood in the doorway, filling it. Green-greyish armor covered him from neck to boots, layered steel and rune-etched iron replacing most of what had once been flesh. Tubes disappeared beneath his collar, and a dim red glow pulsed beneath his chest plates. His right arm was entirely mechanical. His face was hidden behind a heavy metal mask like an elaborate gas mask, two round lenses staring back at me, one glowing faintly red.
I tightened my grip on the wrench. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nikki… I need your help.”
I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Oh, absolutely not. Whatever you’re about to say, save it. I don’t care if your leg is hanging off, I don’t care if your heart is leaking oil onto my floor, and I sure as hell don’t care what the military did to you this time. I’m not fixing you anymore.”
He stepped closer. I pointed at the door. “There’s the exit. Follow it. Keep walking. You’ll find another idiot willing to take you on.”
“Nikki, you don’t understand. I came here because you’re the only person who can fix me.”
“Oh, don’t even get started that bullshit.” My voice cracked. I hated him for hearing it. “Whatever problem you’ve got, Number Eight, I’m not interested.”
“My name isn’t Eight.”
I stopped.”That’s what they called you.”
“They called me a lot of things.”
“Yes… They did.” Suddenly I wasn’t seeing the mutated machine-like creature in front of me anymore. I was seeing a twenty-year-old soldier lying naked beneath white witchlight, blood pooling beneath him as I opened his chest for the first time. I remembered the first artificial lung, the first replacement kidney, the first enchanted vertebra, the first leg. Then the second. Every time they brought him back from his mission, there was a little less of him left. Every time I repaired him, they sent him back out.
“Why did you come to me? There are many talented engineers working at the base. I left there for a reason.”
“I told you, Nikki, you’re the only person who can fix me. And I don’t mean my parts.”
I shook my head. “Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after ten years! You don’t get to disappear, turn yourself into some bloody walking siege engine, and then show up in my workshop expecting me to—what? Fix your soul?”
“I don’t know what else to do. I don’t remember what it feels like to be alive anymore. But I remember you. You’re the only one who ever made me feel human.”
“Don’t say that! You’re a MACHINE now! You are not supposed to feel anymore! You’re, you’re – ” He stepped closer. I grabbed the front of his armor and pulled him down. My lips hit the cold metal of his mask. For a second, neither of us moved. Then I kissed him again, harder, pressing my mouth against the steel as if I could somehow reach the man beneath it. His mechanical arms closed around me, pulling me against the warmth of his armored chest. I could hear that familiar rasping breath through the mask, feel the vibration of it against my lips.
I felt a distinct, hard pressure pressing against my thigh. I grabbed his hard cock inside my hand. “Well,” I whispered, “let’s see if this still works then, shall we?”
His mechanical hands, cold and unyielding, slid down from my waist and clamped onto my breasts. He squeezed with a brutal, crushing force that would have bruised a softer woman, his metal fingers digging deep into my flesh. A sharp gasp escaped me. I’ve always preferred it rough, the kind of intensity that drowned out the noise in my head.
With a sudden, jarring movement, he drove me backward. My spine hit the brick wall of the workshop with a dull thud, pinning me between the cold masonry and the heavy weight of his armored chest. The smell of ozone and old grease filled my lungs. He loomed over me, the yellow glow of his ocular lens pulsing in time with the mechanical rasp of his breathing.
He pressed a cold, oil-slicked wrench against my lips, the taste of bitter grease and industrial lubricant hitting my tongue. “Clean it,” he commanded, his voice a grating vibration of synthetic chords. “Show me that you’re as dirty as I remember”. I didn’t hesitate; I swiped my tongue across the cold metal, tasting the grit of the shop and the ghost of the man I used to know, leaving a glistening trail of saliva across the iron.
Without breaking eye contact, he slid the wet tool down across my body. He pressed the damp wrench firmly against my clitoris, rubbing it in slow, rhythmic circles. The contrast was jarring—the freezing chill of the steel fighting against the sudden, searing heat blooming between my legs.
“Enough with the games,” I gasped, arching my back against the bricks while pushing his hand back. My fingers dug into the gaps of his armor, searching for skin, but finding only more cold plates and humming servos. “Stop teasing me and fuck me already!”
Then something changed. His body went rigid. At first, I thought I’d frightened him. I pulled back slightly, my hand still gripping his armor. “Hey…”The yellow lens of his mask flickered. Once. Twice. Then it turned a cold, steady red. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer. A faint clicking began somewhere inside his chest. His mechanical hand suddenly closed around my wrist. Hard. I gasped. “You’re hurting me!” He didn’t react. The mask hissed as he took a slow breath. “Threat assessment complete.”
My blood went cold.”What? Eight, let go!” I struggled against him, kicking uselessly against the steel plates.”Eight! Jeffrey! It’s me!”
“Female resistance detected.”
His grip tightened.” My blood ran cold. “No!” I struggled desperately, but his mechanical arms held me effortlessly. He grabbed my waist with those crushing hands, spinning me around with a violent jerk that left my head spinning. He slammed me face-first into the wall, the rough brick scraping against my cheeks, and pinned my arms above my head with one heavy hand.
“Subject displaying continued resistance. Obedience protocol engaged.”
Then he fucked the shit out of me. No preamble, no gentleness—just a brutal, rhythmic slamming of steel and flesh. He drove into me with the force of a piston, his weight crushing the breath out of me as he hammered away. It was an assault of friction and force, a desperate, mechanical hunger that threatened to break me open and put me back together all at once.
I tried to get him to calm down, but it was futile. He hoisted me up as if I weighed nothing, my legs wrapping instinctively around his armored waist to keep from falling. He held me there, suspended in mid-air, his mechanical strength effortless and terrifying. He didn’t stop the momentum, continuing to drive into me with a relentless rhythm that felt less like sex and more like a demolition. He was a machine now, possessed of an endless, terrifying stamina that didn’t tire or flicker, hitting the deepest parts of me with every brutal slam.
I couldn’t take it much longer. The intensity was bordering on agony, a blurring of pleasure and a crushing weight that threatened to snap my hips. I fought for leverage, digging my nails into the gaps of his collar plating, and used the momentum of his next thrust to shove him backward. He hit the reinforced workbench with a crash. I didn’t give him a chance to recover; I scrambled on top of him, pinning his armored shoulders down and sinking onto him with a guttural moan.
I took control, shifting my weight to ride him cowgirl style. I arched my back, my hair whipping around my face as I set a pace that was all my own, grinding down against him with a desperate, hungry friction. He was so deep it felt like he was touching my spine, filling me with a cold, unyielding hardness that didn’t give an inch. It wasn’t just the size; it was the precision. Every slide of his cock felt calibrated, hitting the exact spot that made my vision blur. It felt less like fucking a man and more like being calibrated by a machine.
The sudden shift in power tripped something in his programming. I could feel it through the armor—a violent, erratic trembling that started in his thighs and surged upward through his chassis. The steady hum of his core spiked into a frantic, high-pitched whine, the red glow of his ocular lens flickering like a dying lightbulb. He was redlining. The mechanical rasp of his breathing broke into a jagged, distorted sound, a glitching moan that vibrated against my chest as his grip on my hips tightened enough to leave permanent marks.
This was my chance to finish him off. I slid off him in one fluid motion, the friction leaving me slick and shaking, and dropped to my knees. I didn’t give him a second to recover his bearings. I wrapped my hand around the base of that synthetic cock and took him into my mouth. I didn’t stop at the head; I knew that wasn’t going to cut it. I pushed further, deepthroating him until the back of my throat burned and I could taste the metallic tang of lubricant and salt. I wanted to swallow the remaining pieces of the man he used to be, to choke him out with a pleasure so intense it would override every military directive burned into his brain.
For a minute, I doubted he even had the capacity to ejaculate anymore. I figured the military had stripped that part of him away, replaced the biological mess with a sterile, efficient valve that just cycled fluid. But then his hips surged forward with a violent, sudden jerk, and a thick stream of white cum hit me with the force of a pressure washer. It splashed across my cheeks and smeared over my mouth. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a flood, an overflow of years of repressed hunger that left me blinking and drenched.
The adrenaline crashed out of my system all at once, leaving my muscles feeling like overcooked noodles. I collapsed backward, my legs splaying out on the oil-stained concrete, my chest heaving in ragged, shuddering gulps. I lay there for a long time, staring up at the blackened rafters, listening to the slow, rhythmic clicking of his cooling servos. I just waited to see if he’d reach for me again, or if the machine had finally found its peace.
I finished my account and leaned back in the chair. The military chief sat across from me, listening in silence as I explained how Subject Eight had disappeared. “So you’re telling me he simply walked out after that?” he asked. I nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. It’s the third time you made me come in to tell this story.” He rubbed his temples. “Well, we’re still looking for him. He’s officially AWOL, and we’ve got no idea where he went. No trackers, no communications, nothing. It’s like he vanished.” He studied me for a moment before finally closing the file. “All right, Nikki. You’re free to go. If you hear from him, you contact us immediately. You know how dangerous he is. And we need him on a mission.” I gave him an innocent smile. “Of course.”
I stepped outside into the cold evening air, pulled out my phone, and walked down the street. Once I was out of sight of the building, I opened my messages and found the contact I’d saved simply as “8”. I typed quickly, a smile creeping across my face. “Tonight, same time as usual, same place. XOXO”.
I spotted an old gas mask just sitting there. I looked at it and instantly thought, Yes. That’s it! The round glass lenses, the heavy respirator, that old military-industrial feeling—it was a perfect fit for my design. It gave me exactly what I wanted: a way to completely hide whatever humanity was still left underneath all that machinery. An it looked creepy as hell. 🖤
From there on out, I started building a backstory around the creature being the result of a secret military project—a soldier rebuilt piece by piece with flesh, steel, machinery, and a whole lot of things that probably should never have been put inside a human body. 😏
And here’s one of the early sketches! ✏️ Looking back, I think this one still had a little too much of a steampunk vibe, but you can already see the direction starting to form.
Eventually, every design came down to one big question: how much of the human body should actually be left? Let’s just say… I decided to leave at least one part intact! 🍆😂
