Detroit: Become Kara

'Menu! Hey! Can anyone hear me?!' Howard’s desperate scream rang out, though for now it only made the round indicator on the side of the head flicker. The blue-white ring blinked, but nothing else happened. His own cry didn’t break free; only a faint exhale slipped out. A woman’s exhale, passing through the mechanized vocal cords of the android girl, whose face stayed calm as ever, while her hands firmly held the tray of food.

He wasn’t her, but right now he saw through her eyes, felt the weight of the tray, and even smelled the food he himself had cooked. Only he had cooked it at home, standing in a VR headset where he had just installed a new experimental firmware from his old friends in the developers’ chat. And right after that he had decided it was time to finally try this old game, the one he had, for some reason, kept putting off.

Everything worked like clockwork, but of course he hadn’t found anything his friends had told him about. Just normal VR. Just a regular game, where you played as a character — though with the special rules of playing as androids, where the mechanics wouldn’t let you do everything you wanted. You were an Android, weren’t you? In a way, it was even funny. But the fun had ended a minute ago, when a strange notification had popped up in the top corner of the interface — definitely not from the game, clearly from the firmware: “Enable extended access to sensory data?”

Howard smirked.

— Well, why not? — he muttered, clicking OK.

The screen blinked. That was it. No loading, no warnings. Just… the world changed.

At first, he thought it was a graphics update. But he realized way too quickly: this didn’t feel like VR anymore. This was… more. Much more.

He wasn’t controlling Kara now. He was Kara.

Every step came with a light sway of her hips, the apron’s fabric stretched across her breasts, the tray’s weight strained her wrists. And the smell of the stewed vegetables wasn’t just a special effect — it hit his nose, filled his lungs.

'Shit… shit, no,' panic was rising inside him. 'I… this isn’t how it’s supposed to work! Exit! How do I get out of here?!'

He looked at the tray and instantly understood — he had to put it on the table. The strangest thing was, he couldn’t even tell if it was really his thought, or some external command. He stepped forward, feeling his knees bend softly, his hips turning slightly outward all on their own. The tray trembled in his hands, and Howard, stunned, breathed out:

'I’m walking… I’m actually walking like her. God, I just clicked "OK"! This is insane. This isn’t VR… this is… me.'

The table turned out to be right there, and the body, precise and practiced, as if following a rehearsal, placed the food neatly in front of the girl sitting at it. Small, pale, with short blond hair — Alice. She lifted her gaze at him, quiet, wary, and Howard caught himself as his “lips” stretched into a soft smile.

— Thank you, Kara, — the girl said softly, and Howard’s heart skipped a beat.

— …you’re welcome, — Howard replied and smiled even wider, feeling the corners of his lips stretch tighter, while the breasts — which he thought he shouldn’t even be able to feel, considering this was a metal Android — swayed slightly as he bent down to adjust the cutlery near the plate.

'God… I… I really feel like a woman. And even worse — a woman programmed to serve. This isn’t a game… this is torture!'

Alice seemed to catch, for a moment, this strange tension — her gaze lingered on Kara, and the girl gave a barely noticeable nod, as if thanking more deeply than with words.

But then, from the couch, came a rough shout:

— Kara! — Todd’s voice sounded irritated, rasping. — What are you standing around for? Get me another drink!

'Another drink?! Yes-yes-yes, right away, everything’s coming!' flashed through his head, and he rushed toward the kitchen counter, feeling his hips move with soft, swaying motions all on their own, as if the whole body was adjusting to a prescribed femininity. The apron rustled faintly against his legs, his boobs bounced with the sudden step, and Howard almost cursed out loud — but his lips only pulled into a dutiful, obedient expression.

— Kara! — Todd shouted again from the living room, his voice laced with both irritation and demand. — I’m waiting!

'Fuck you, you fat bastard…' Howard muttered inwardly, but his hands were already deftly opening the cupboard, pulling out the bottle. The cold glass struck pleasantly against his palm, and the sensation sent a shiver through him: everything felt too real.

He turned with the bottle and took a step toward Todd, but froze. 'Wait! Am I seriously about to—' but the thought was cut short.

— Goddamn it, you stupid tin can! Move it! — Todd barked, and Howard, suddenly feeling a sting of shame for some reason, hurried toward the couch. His hands brought the bottle forward on their own, his torso leaned slightly, his hips turned softly toward the master — and Howard realized with horror that right now he was serving like an actual maid.

— That’s better, — Todd snatched the bottle, poured it straight into a glass with the remains of brown whiskey, and gulped loudly. — You’re still good for something.

'Good for something… thank you…' Howard echoed inside himself, and the very thought made him shudder. Pride. Real, warm, as if it wasn’t his own, yet cutting through him to the bone. 'What the… fuck… am I actually glad I pleased this drunken asshole?!'

He gathered all his will into a fist, trying at least somehow to restrain the built-in algorithms, and for a moment it worked. His lips trembled, one corner lifting into a strange half-smile, and he managed to force out the words:

— I… y-you can’t… — Howard’s voice came out quieter than he wanted, with a soft intonation, as if he was pleading, not reproaching.

Todd lifted his eyes.

— What the hell did you just mumble? — his voice was wary, with a threat in it.

Howard felt a wave of horror and a desperate urge to fix the situation, and before he could stop himself, his brain pushed out the only thing that seemed right now, shaping his lips into submissive words:

— I… I meant to say, have a pleasant evening, sir. — The words slipped out too soft, too sweet, as if it wasn’t him speaking, but some built-in feminine tone.

— That’s better, — Todd smirked, already losing interest as he lifted the glass back to his lips. — For a second I thought your batteries were running low.

'Batteries? Right, I’ll have to remember to step onto the charging station later…' he thought, and his gaze stopped on its own at the dark corner of the kitchen, where a neat vertical panel with a soft blue glow stood by the wall. The charging station.

Howard shuddered. 'No… no, this is too much. Am I seriously thinking I need to go there, like I really am this… fucking android bitch?! These aren’t my thoughts! These are built-in damn commands!'

But his body answered differently. A strange feeling bloomed in his breasts: warm, like thirst or hunger. His legs carried a faint pulling desire — to step closer, to press his back against the panel and let it “fill him with energy.” He could almost physically feel how good and right it would be to step there, to obey… as if that was the only real rest.

'God, no! I’m human! I’m a man in a VR headset, not… some electric slave!' he roared inside himself.

And right at that moment Alice, noticing his gaze on the station, suddenly lifted her head. Their eyes met, and the girl whispered barely audibly:

— Kara… is everything okay?

Those two words felt like salvation, because for a moment all the commands seemed to fade. The indicator at his temple flickered and blinked orange. Howard realized that somewhere inside, he truly had a choice.

But Todd, noticing nothing, barked again:

— Kara! After dinner — straight to charging. I’ll need you fresh tonight, got it?