Days of Daedalus

A dark room, sounds reverberate metal walls as an appallingly omniscient beat blasts in a harmonic digital orchestra. At the epicenter there's a furious tapping away at innumerable keys as a man sits, eyes bearing an electric blue gleam as he does his work.
Machine tools and hands buzz away, soldering and welding  pieces to fellow machinery of dubious design. Occasionally something shifts and warps in the material in a way that defies the common knowledge of lesser men. The click of the keyboards intensify as the man swivels his head to observe another monitor that seems to peer into the world of electronics. With another glance at his  project it fires a bolt of plasma at the wall.

The man leers at the misfire and adjusts the voltage cycles, he needs them warm, not hot. This time, the device hums, warming up. With a smile he adjusts his tinted goggles and pushes off of his console, reclining back and holding out a chrome hand to be answered with a cool glass of lemonade at the behest of an equally metallic beauty.

And just like that the beats cease.

“Gladis, mount the...” He scratches his chin for a moment with a free, fleshy hand. “Overkiller in the firing range. We need to see what damage it can do.”

The mechanical beauty bows as her motions slow ever so slightly as she diverts her attention. The weapon disappears through a wall, carried off for proper testing. “Are you satisfied with the name master?” The hum of a synthetic voice appears from the same stereos that until moments ago were deafeningly loud.

“Nah, I might change it. But that's good enough for now.”

“There are already Overkiller(s) on file, shall I title this one Overkiller(57)?”

“Fuckit, that's fine.” The man in the chair takes a long drink of lemonade.

“Shall I initiate release procedures?” The mechanical beauty move, positioning herself open her knees.

The man nearly spits his lemonade everywhere, some comes up through his nose, “No! Cancel! Abort!”

The mechanical beauty ceases in the middle of unbuttoning her master's pants, “Are you certain?”

“Yes, I've got to be on camera for those pricks in a bit, no time for that.”

“Very well master,” The Beauty rises back up, tall and slim. Of note, there's the fact that she doesn't bear any silicone reminiscent of human flesh, instead there's only futuristic, nigh-seameless chrome contoured into a feminine figure.
“Shall I assist you in readying yourself?”

The Man downs the rest of his refreshment, setting it down and leans back, holding out his arms, one metal, one human as the gynoid takes hold of him, lifting up her master. She holds him with calculated care to ensure his comfort as she takes the man to a room to get him into clothes more presentable for her master's superiors.

[Cont...]