Author : Amy Sutphin
She was perfect in every way. Her soft blond curls framed her perfectly proportioned face and amber, almond eyes. Not a single blemish marred her perfect skin. Yes God had made her perfect above all others. Of course in her case, God was a 3D printer and her programmers were the Devil.
Skin sagged at the cuffs and collar of a carefully tailored tux. Wrinkles creasing his eyes and cheeks multiplied as he laughed at a middle-aged woman in a sleek black dress. The bartender poured a generous glass of whiskey, the expense of which could have fed a family of five. His attention gradually turned to her as she moved with in range of his failing eyesight. He squinted slightly as his gaze moved up her legs to her tight red dress, lingered on her chest and finally met her eyes. In five seconds a lifetime of cultivated finesse was reduced to the sophistication of a school boy. He hid it well, but he couldn’t fool her sensors. He offered her a seat. The bartender poured her an identical glass.
She lingered in the mirror, assuring every detail from her silk red lingerie to the slight tension in her left arm. She swept into the bedroom, pausing for exactly half a second and glided, slowly enough to make his heart pump. Her sensors indicated his hormones reached ideal levels. She crawled onto the bed, pressing against his left side, stroking his cheek with her left hand and pressing her lips against his. The sensors in her hand confirmed heart rate and hormone saturation. His love was pure, real. He believed it with all his heart. She pressed against him. Numbers appeared in her vision. His breathing was shallow, barely enough to provide the oxygen he needed. All sensors indicated the moment was ideal. His hand caressed her neck and slipped down her collar and slipped the strap of her garment off her shoulder.
She seized up, threw her head back and gasped.
“Minny!” his frail hands could not stop her as she fell over onto the floor, clutching her chest. Wide eyed and drooling she attempted to draw breath.
“Michael,” she breathed her last.
“And so I humbly offer my fortune to the Minny Foundation for heart disease.”
She watched from her small TV in the robotics lab as Michael handed a ceremonial over-sized check to the Ross brothers. In a few months, no one would remember the event. The Minny Foundation would go bankrupt. The Ross brothers would become someone else, and they would wake her from hibernation, a new program installed, a new target set.