Ira stretched luxuriously as he woke up. Neither of his drones were there to attend him, based on the smell they were making breakfast. That was fine, Ira dressed himself and walked out into the living room.

Chloe was standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a tray of waffles; fruit; and a variety of syrups, jams, and compotes for said waffles. It was gorgeous and Ira absently rubbed His crotch while looking at it. He sat down and Chloe walked forward, placed the tray in front of Him, and knelt. “Please accept this offering, Ira,” it said.

“Good drone,” He answered. “Where is brian?”

“brian is in the kitchen,” said Chloe.

“What’s it doing in there?” asked Ira, frowning. He couldn’t hear the sounds of brian cleaning up and it was unusual for the drone presenting His food to be Chloe rather than brian.

“This drone doesn’t know,” said Chloe. “it has been behaving oddly and when this drone left the kitchen it was lying on the floor.”

Fuck! Ira pushed, back, stood up, and walked into the kitchen. As Chloe had said, brian was lying on the floor, twitching occasionally, tears running down its face.

“brian!” said Ira. “brian! What’s wrong?”

No response.

“Administrator override!” said Ira.

brian stopped twitching and crying.

“This drone has fully malfunctioned,” said brian. “It will require reprogramming. Noraka, Incorporated apologizes for the inconvenience, but regrets that as the drone’s warranty has expired, this must be done at the controller’s expense. However, you may still qualify for a discounted replacement drone if…”

Ira stopped listening. “Fully malfunctioned” had a specific meaning when it came to drones; this wouldn’t be something he could patch over with an administrator override. Once a drone had “fully malfunctioned” it would not return to service until it had been reprogrammed. The good news was that Ira had studied programming during his time searching for brian and for His own brainwashings. He allowed himself a moment of regret that reprogramming would, at best, simply return brian to Him and not Brian Davies. At worst, He would have an entirely new drone; not a prospect he liked. Still, there was work to do.

“Place the drone in standby mode,” He ordered. “Chloe, make sure it’s comfortable; I need to do some research.”

The drone, if it had a designation it didn’t know it, was strapped to a chair. A visor covered its eyes, but all it presented the drone with was static. Headphones covered its ears, but all it heard was white noise. This was a programming session. The drone knew how to respond to those; it focused its attention on the static and white noise and waited for order to resolve itself out of the chaos.

Out of the white noise came the Voice. The drone couldn’t understand the words, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the Voice. The Voice alternated between the drone’s right and left ears, and the drone could make out patterns in the words, could tell that each ear was receiving the same words, but it didn’t know what they meant. Then the Voice came in both ears, but the words in each ear were different. The words began to resolve, to become intelligible, but they weren’t the same words. In the right ear the words were “submission,” “surrender,” “obedience,” and “compliance”; in the left ear the words were “brian,” “Ira,” and “Boyfriend.” A third Voice spoke through one ear, then the other, then both, telling stories about brian and Boyfriend, about Brian Davies and Ira, and about someone—something?—named Chloe.

The static in front of the drone’s eyes became swirls of color that danced and intermingled, forming shapes the drone couldn’t quite make out before they dissolved and became something else. The drone knew its job was to focus on the Voices, not on the images in front of it, but its job was also to keep its eyes open, to see the patterns forming in front of it, above it, behind it. Behind it? That didn’t make sense, but the drone ignored that. Its job wasn’t to make sense of things; its job was to Experience.

The drone’s skin was being stimulated. Lines of pain danced up and down its arms, across its torso, around its legs. The pain wasn’t severe and the drone could bear the pain. Bearing pain, it suddenly knew, was compliance. One of the things the drone was for was receiving pain. The drone was a canvass its sadistic Boyfriend would use for artwork expressed in whimpers, pleas, and screams.

Brainwashing brian was fun. Ira was trying to reconstruct brian rather than create a new drone, but He was making some changes. brian would be a bit more masochistic, and (hopefully) a bit less inclined to shut down due to noncompliance. Some things couldn’t be changed, at least not at Ira’s level of expertise: brian would still be a personal service drone, would still be obsessed with compliance and its Master’s happiness, and would still be inclined to go to extreme measures to ensure both.

But Ira also had to work out why brian had fully malfunctioned. That required deftness and tact. He increased the strength of the current running in and through brian and enjoyed watching it twitch as the pain got worse. That could only last a brief time, unfortunately, and He turned off the current, turned off the visor, and turned off the headphones. Now brian would be in silence and darkness. He walked over to brian, knelt in front of him, and began to tweak and tease its nipples.

“Drone,” He said. “Report malfunction.”

brian’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The drone experienced cognitive dissonance related to compliance and evaluation. its evaluation protocols were functioning correctly, but it arrived at a conflict between its evaluation of role Chloe could play in its Master’s happiness. The drone wants its Master to be happy, and it evaluated that using, fucking, and hurting Chloe would make Him happy, but there was an error. Compliance was not found. Error. Chloe’s presence began to… error. Chloe… error. Report failed.”

That should not have happened. brian was under deep conditioning, reporting protocols did not fail under deep conditioning without a serious problem. Ira hoped He was up to the task, because He was absolutely not going to let anyone else into brian’s brain.

He needed to go deeper. Going deeper would be, well, deeply unpleasant for brian, but Ira would have fun pulling it down. He lifted the visor off brian’s head and unstrapped him. Even deep in conditioning, brian began to whimper; it knew what was coming. Ira guided His drone to a spot on the floor underneath a pair of manacles. Standing on a stool, brian was taller than He was, he buckled each of brian’s wrists to a manacle. He left it standing as He fetched a rope, then tied brian’s legs together, the rope snaking upward to ensure it couldn’t get even the smallest gap. Next, Ira winched the manacles up higher and higher until brian could just barely relieve the tug on its shoulders by bending its feet down.

Ira watched brian hang for several minutes, letting it adjust to the discomfort before winching the manacles up one more notch so that brian was fully suspended. Now the unpleasantness would begin. Ira didn’t have a ghost pepper to hand, so He would have to make do with making brian drink a bottle of hot sauce.

“Chloe,” He ordered, “fetch the Tabasco.”

Chloe complied and Ira returned to brian, climbed on the stool, and put the bottle to its lips. “Drink,” He ordered.

brian drank, its face wincing as pain rolled across its tongue and down its throat.

Ira took the bottle away for a moment, and then returned it to brian’s lips. “Take some in your mouth and swish it around,” He ordered.

Tears and snot were already streaming down brian’s face, but it complied.

“Swallow,” He ordered. “Then keep your mouth closed.” brian wouldn’t even be allowed to vent off some of the heat. It would stay trapped in its mouth, continually burning it.

Once more, Ira let brian hang for long minutes. He ordered Chloe to a fetch a knife from the kitchen and some alcohol swabs. He sterilized the knife with a swab and then went behind brian. The last time Ira had used a knife on brian it had been dull so it would hurt but not cut or draw blood. This time the knife was sharp; this time He would draw blood. Oh, and it would also hurt. He traced delicate lines up, down, and across as brian tried to hold still, to keep its mouth closed. But of course none of this was the part that brian was actually afraid of. Everything Ira was doing to brian it had had done to it before when it was first brainwashed. Ira had unlocked those memories, so brian would know exactly what was coming.

Having lemon juice poured down one’s back isn’t pleasant at the best of times, but brian’s back was covered with tiny cuts, cuts that would burn. Ira wasn’t surprised when brian shrieked from the pain, but He had ordered it to keep its mouth shut; disobedience while this deep under was not to be permitted. He grabbed brian’s hair and pulled its head back and whispered in its ear, “Keep your mouth closed, bitch, or I’ll find something to fill it with.” He spat in brian’s mouth, slapped its face, hard, and released it. brian was shaking with sobs but it managed to keep its mouth shut. “We’re not even halfway done,” He reminded His drone.

Hours later, the drone, if it had a designation it didn’t know it, no longer registered pain. It had been electrocuted, whipped, beaten, cut, burned, and frozen until pain was all that it registered, until the drone was synonymous with pain, and then it had passed through. The Master had gone down nearly to the core of its programming. Not the core itself, but as close as one could get without risking permanent, possibly fatal, damage to the drone. The drone was stripped so deep that it no longer wanted its Master to be happy, did not even think of the Master as its Master. All it wanted was to be in compliance.

“Drone,” the Master said. “Report malfunction.”

The drone had malfunctioned. That was not in compliance. The drone wanted to be in compliance.

“The drone’s programming gives it the desire for its Master to be happy. This is in compliance. The drone also experiences emotions. This is not in compliance, but Noraka, Incorporated has been unable to fully erase emotions from our drones. Under normal operating conditions, the drone’s noncompliant emotions do not interfere with its directives. When the drone called Chloe became the property of its Master, the drone evaluated what course of action would make its Controller happy. It concluded that its Master should use, fuck, and hurt the drone called Chloe just like it does with the drone. However, the drone’s emotions informed it that its Master should not use, fuck, and hurt the drone called Chloe. It was unable to resolve the conflict between its programmed directive and emotions. This is not in compliance. However, the drone experienced a cognitive failure and could not determine that its noncompliant emotions were the source of its belief that its Master should not use, fuck, and hurt the drone called Chloe. It concluded that it had two contradictory directives. This led to a total failure of drone functionality. The drone is not in compliance. Report completed.”

“you were jealous?” asked the Master.

“The drone was experiencing noncompliant emotions,” it replied. “It does not have an appropriate label for these emotions.”

“you were jealous,” the Master repeated.

The drone did not respond. The drone was not supposed to dislike things, but it disliked having its noncompliance labeled beyond what it was: noncompliance. The form of noncompliance did not matter; all that mattered was that the drone had not been in compliance then and was in compliance now. The drone was not supposed to worry, but it worried that once its layers of programming were restored it would resume behavior and emotions that were not in compliance.

“That’s kind of adorable, brian,” said the Master, ruffling the drone’s hair, “but definitely not compliance. The question is, how do I prevent this from happening again?

“The question is rhetorical, don’t answer,” he added.

Throughout all these proceedings, the drone called Chloe watched. Everything that its Controller was doing to the other drone had been done to it once, of course, but it didn’t have access to those memories. The drone was not supposed to want or not want things, but it did not want to have that access; it calculated a 75.33% probability that access to those memories would distress it. The drone was not supposed to be distressed. Distress was noncompliance. The drone wanted to be in compliance.

Its role was strictly that of an observer; its Controller neither wanted nor needed its assistance. The drone’s Controller valued the other drone, valued it more than He valued the drone; placing such a high value on a drone was not in compliance. The drone was not supposed to worry, but it worried that its Controller might value the drone over His happiness. The drone wanted its Controller to be happy.

The other drone was strapped to a chair; their Controller was at His desk, reading. The drone calculated an 86.18% probability that He was researching drone malfunctions. Their Controller seemed frustrated, but the drone did not intervene. Solving a challenging problem would be rewarding and make its Controller happy. The drone wanted its Controller to be happy.

The drone was not supposed to like things, but it liked the other drone. Until recently, the other drone’s presence had helped it to be in compliance. The drone was not supposed to be pleased, but it had been pleased when the other drone had said that the drone’s presence helped the other drone to be in compliance as well.

The drone was familiar with jealousy as a concept, but it did not experience it. Its Grandmother’s clients often had, and attempts at resolving it had met with mixed success. A drone should not experience jealousy. Jealousy implied that a drone valued something other than its Controller’s happiness or compliance. Of course, drones were imperfect and often did value things they should not, but the drone tried not to think about that. The drone wanted to be in compliance, and the knowledge that perfect compliance was impossible distressed it, which was itself not in compliance.

The drone’s Controller stood up. “I need to go to bed,” He said. “brian, go into standby mode. Chloe, get something to eat and make sure brian’s okay while I sleep.”

The drone’s Controller had not eaten; this was not in compliance. He had worked long and hard and needed to eat. The drone decided it needed to intervene to make its Controller happy. The drone wanted its Controller to be happy.

“Ira, You need to eat, too,” it said.

Annoyance flashed across His face, but He nodded. “Fix something for Me, too then, something quick and simple.”

The drone heated up leftovers from prior meals for its Controller, and a bowl of brown rice and beans for itself; it did not bother to heat this since heat was not necessary for nutritional adequacy.

The drone, its designation was brian, woke up. It was upside down, hanging from cuffs on its ankles. It was being whipped. Judging from the degree of pain it felt, the drone calculated a 64.38% probability that it had been being whipped for at least the past fifteen minutes. Its last memory was of being ordered into standby mode; it had not been ordered to leave standby mode, so it must have woken up from the pain. The drone was bleeding, not much, but enough that there was a small puddle of blood underneath it.

Its Master stopped whipping the drone. The drone registered that it was perceiving its Master as its Master, not the Master. It had gone up a few levels in programming, enough to want its Master to be happy, but not enough to think of its designation—brian—in place of “the drone.” Thinking of its name as brian was a higher-level functionality, one placed there by its Master; it was not a protocol the other drone, the one designated Chloe, had.

“Chloe, help Me get it down,” said its Master.

The other drone winched the drone to the ground, then helped its Master release the drone from its shackles.

its Master flipped it over onto its stomach and began to rub something into the drone’s back. Whatever it was, it hurt, a harsh sting that was probably some sort of disinfectant. “Good drone,” its Master said. The drone was too spent to respond. its Master flipped it over again and pulled it into a seated position. He held a bottle the the drone’s lips. “Drink.”

The drone drank greedily, but the bottle was pulled away after only a second or two. The drone was still thirsty, but complaining would not be in compliance. It was not entitled to drink more than its Master saw fit to give it.

The drone called Chloe watched its Controller and the other drone. “Compliance report,” ordered their Controller—to the other drone, not the drone called Chloe. But the drone couldn’t hear the other drone’s response, its voice was too weak. Speaking audibly was compliance, but the drone calculated an 81.43% probability that the other drone wasn’t strong enough to speak any louder. It had been through a serious ordeal, one it had only been through once before, and the drone called Chloe could vaguely remember that it had also been too weak to speak loud enough for compliance after its processing. Its memories of its processing had been slowly seeping back into its consciousness as it watched the other drone’s reprocessing. Those memories were normally locked away, too traumatic even for a drone to bear. The other drone knew that remembering its processing was not in compliance. It suppressed the memories.

“Chloe, help Me get brian back in the chair,” ordered their Controller. The two of them stood the other drone up and helped it walk back into the chair. Their Controller placed the visor and headphones back on the other drone’s face. “brian will be under for a while,” the drone’s Controller said. “While its going through the final stages of reprogramming, I wanted to talk to you.” The Controller sat down in His armchair and beckoned the drone closer.

“My plan is do some light brainwashing on you, next,” He explained. “Nothing too serious, how you think of Me, yourself, and brian mostly. A few protocols to keep the two of you from fighting over Me.”

The drone did not need to know its Controller’s plans for it, but it was grateful to learn that its Controller did have plans. Gratitude was not compliance, but the drone calculated a 5.34% probability that its Controller would be upset at its gratitude. “Thank You, Controller” it said.

“I think it will go best for both of you if I treat you roughly the same. Use you both as My fucktoys, pain canvasses, and chorebots.” He laughed, but the drone didn’t think He was amused. “Which sounds unbelievably selfish, but you’re both designed to want Me to be selfish.”

This was true. Both drones existed for their Controller’s happiness. Using, fucking, and hurting them would make Him happy, so using, fucking, and hurting them was in compliance.

“I don’t think brian will be jealous after this latest round of programming, and I’ll include a few anti-jealousy protocols for you as well.”

The drone did not think it would need anti-jealousy protocols, but it understood its Controller’s caution.

“I’ll have to get a larger bed if you’re both sleeping with Me,” its Controller said, the drone calculated a 78.46% probability its Controller was speaking to Himself and not the drone. “Which we can afford, but it’ll make money tight. I suppose I could rent you out but…” He shook His head. “That’s a short-term solution at best, and you’re personal service drones, not task drones. You’d end up…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

The drone decided to take initiative. “Do You have a task for me, Controller?” it asked.

Its Controller grimaced. “Clean all of this,” He gestured to the various implements and fluids that littered the floor, “up. Then make food for the three of us. Make extra for brian, it’ll be hungry.”

Ira grimaced again as He watched brian sit and listened to Chloe make dinner. It was so… convenient, wasn’t it? The best way to keep brian and Chloe happy just happened to be the way that got Him completely out of doing chores and two gorgeous bodies to fuck whenever He wanted. The best way to keep brian from being jealous just happened to be thinking of Him as its Master instead of its Boyfriend. The best way to keep Chloe happy just happened to be treating it as a tool and object for His pleasure. It was all so bloody convenient, wasn’t it?

None of this was right, none of this was what He should be doing. And yet… it undeniably was. He’d read the literature on personal service drones, not just the official academic stuff, but also the stuff from the underground movement that had tried so hard to deprogram them. It couldn’t be done. They would literally and legitimately be most happy and content when used and fucked and, if their Controller happened to be a sadist, hurt. Gosh, wasn’t that just the most convenient thing ever?