It was there when I got home from work, standing in the small groove beside my wardrobe I never did quite know how to fill. A smooth, reflective monolith that could not have appeared more alien when contrasted against the inordinately human clutter of my bedroom. A note left on the credenza by my apartment door had, at the very least, warned me about the home invasion before I walked in on it. I'll have to change the code, and get a chain fitted, and buy a gun. I've never felt less secure in my own home, as though I seriously thought a sequence of four numbers was all the protection I could ever ask for. Well, that and the face scan—but I won't have to wonder how they bypassed that for very long. 

Maybe I won't buy the gun, hate those things, but I'll at least scroll the sites for an hour or two tomorrow morning to cheer myself up. 

Sitting in my hand is the 'Welcome Manual' for the new investment I've supposedly made, in this upmarket android I'd flush my savings out for had I really been the one to front the bill. If this is a prank, I'm the target of a very affluent, and unfunny, prankster. Perhaps it's meant as a gift, my parents have the money and are out of touch enough to think I'd actually want something this unsettling. Not sure which of these two options is worse, but in either case I'm lamenting the fact I quit drinking last Wednesday. Poor timing. 

My liver would understand, were I to betray it again, because I've got a spare now. A 'Heavenly Sister' that's built to look just like me, making me question where they got the scans from in the first place and hug myself tightly when I find I don't much like the answers I come up with. Best case scenario, I'm distancing myself from Mom and Dad... I should never have asked them for a sister when I was twelve, but how was I to know they'd deliver late? A twin, at that. I'm overjoyed. 

"The Heavenly Sister series is designed to give our unique clientele... fuck me, you can say that again... give our unique clientele the 'twin experience' they never had." I'm unable to hold my smile, even though I'm still presently horrified at the intrusion. I'm not fully convinced that I'm awake right now, so maybe it's yet to properly hit me. Surreal situations tend to take longer to process and adequately react to; they also make me talk to myself, apparently. That's a thought: will this thing speak in my voice too? It's not like I intend to turn it on, but the thought is alarming. That it plagiarises my likeness means I'd feel sick to my stomach selling it—though I'll confess I could really use the cash—and so I'll have to figure out how to return, or destroy it, before I find myself sleeping on the couch in the lounge for the rest of this lease. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask the insentient manual in my hands, a lilt of actual frustration in my tone. I'd just read the next page explaining this supposedly coveted twin experience, and I'm now more offended by the sprendthrift cancer this useless shell represents than I was when I'd thought it a mere service android violating my likeness and invading my home. "This is just sad..." I mutter callously, not caring that I might hurt the feelings of the shiny box before me. My laugh is dry, and kind of hurts.

An android will clean your house, cook your meals, order groceries and provide any other assistance you would expect from your glorified metal slave. Maybe I'd been blowing off how I really felt about this violation because I had the wits to know what a gift this would be, if it didn't look just like me and if it had required permission to trespass upon my smoke-smogged sanctuary; I also threw out my cigarettes last Wednesday alongside the bottles, told my girl I'd turn it all around in a pathetic bet for yet another 'last chance'. I think I'm on my fourth or fifth. I think that must mean she loves me. I think I need one now though—a smoke to pool my lungs with gleeful commiseration and I told you so—or I'll consider buying that gun for real. Be it cigarette or firearm, I'm the brand of broken bitch who needs danger in her hand to truly feel alive. 

Why am I so pissed? Page three—three's a magic number, apparently, I quit my vices on the third day of the week and I've been unbearably anxious ever since—has the reason printed. It's right there in innocuous black ink, and I'm pretty sure the smarmy little words must be laughing at me within the fantasy of font I've conjured in my adult head. 

A sibling is not a servant. In order to preserve the true twin experience, your Heavenly Sister Model T will have the following features typical of our product line omitted: Compulsory acts of service including but not limited to cleaning, cooking, shopping, chauffeuring and scheduling. Adult Mode. Standby Mode. Additionally, power down functionality is limited to low charge and emergency situations. 

Is this saying that not only is my mirror friend intentionally designed to be a waste of space I'm stuck with, but it won't even allow me to turn the damn thing off once it boots up? Hilarious. How moral of them to prevent you from fucking your supposed sibling, I suppose, though such an inclusion in the print does well to highlight to me—a layman in the world of advanced robotics, the toys of rich folk—that these androids typically do permit such depravity. Who am I to judge? It's just a more complete version of the piece of shit on my nightstand that eats through batteries like a glutton, but to me it feels somehow sadder. 

Well that settles it, as if there was any doubt: I'm not turning the fucking robot on. I'll just let it rot in its silver coffin while I decide what to do with it. Tomorrow, though, because I'm tired and more than a little horny; not because of the robot, but because my girlfriend just sent me a photo of her posing like a stripper and for just the briefest of moments I'd forgotten the lunacy of this late afternoon. I'd like to fantasise about Helly's tits some more, so it's the glutton's lucky day. 

As I stand up from the foot of my bed, something possesses me to pay further attention to one thing I'd made a pointed decision to ignore. I'm just curious, because I know what I've read is inside this thing but I've yet to see it with my own eyes. Curiosity is a shit, isn't it? I draw nearer and lay eyes upon my own reflected face against that mirrored glass, noting how ragged I appear after another full shift of Gary—human resources' best friend, according to my own deductions—telling me I'd look 'more professional' if I wore a skirt in the office, and 'looked happier'. He doesn't know that I'm perfectly happy when he's not around, I sometimes even have it in me to brave a smile. 

My bitten-down fingers flare across the charging pod's reflective surface, and the glass suddenly reacts to the touch by switching from a mirror to a window; it's jarring to note that I did not realise at first, given that I was still staring into my own curious gaze through the reactive glass. Well, she's not quite me. Identical in almost every way, but eerily perfect. This downy brown hair of mine becomes a glossy sheen of straight, uniform locks; brand new, unused. This weary face, worn down by the day's many Garys, is made pristine inside the box. She's even smiling, the bitch.

"Sweet dreams, sister." I mutter sardonically, before removing my hand and watching the real me return. She's a mess.

It's early in the morning—early enough to still be dark and have me groan at being stirred from sleep—when I hear it. Something going bump in the night.

I'm being paranoid of course, immediately admonishing myself for having slept in my own bed instead of the couch; that fantasy I dove into drove me to exhaustion the way no Gary ever could, and I'd summarily passed out on the sheets like a child crashing after eating too much sugar—except I'm 27, and I'd taxi'd myself to catatonia with a slab of deep blue silicon thicker than my wrist. Perhaps I still have the imagination of a child though, their fear of the dark, because I find myself reaching over to flick on my nightlight and—

"Got you!" 

I'm yelping before I can even process why, a vice-like grip encircling my wrist the moment the lamplight fills my room. Illuminated by the pale orange glow is my doppelgänger, spotless and unsullied. She's smiling still. It has my voice. 

"W-what the fuck!" Is all that I can think to say as I attempt to pull my arm back and jump out of bed. No dice, her... its grip is like iron, and it uses its other hand to pin me firmly to the sweaty mess of sheets at my back. Despite the impressive softness achieved by these freaks' synthetic skin, muscle and fat, they're still just robots on the inside: metal frames that could pop a human's head like it's no more than a grape. 

"You interfaced with me earlier, and the initialisation sequence has now concluded. It's nice to meet you, sister! Would you like to help me choose a name?" Sister smiles as sister subdues, suppressing my ability to take such greedy breaths as it presses down upon me. 

"N-no... I didn't do anything, and I'm not your fucking sister." Is this thing supposed to be so rough? It's beginning to scare me, again I'm faced with a surreal scene and my emotions are scrambling to catch up. 

The perfect self simpers, delighted at my response as though I've just unlocked a new branch of this nightmare. "Oh? Maybe I'll call myself Jack; don't I look like a Jack?" Fuck. How does it know my name? Wait, that's the least of my problems right now. Just what the hell is this thing doing? 

"Please... could you ease off my windpipe?" I wheeze out, making the thing laugh like such a girl. It has my voice, but it doesn't laugh like me. 

"Maybe I'll call myself Jackie." It grins, and I realise it means to taunt me. I hate the name Jackie. "I know you do, sis, I was made with a full scan of your brain. I know your likes and dislikes, your shitty dead end job, your relationships. I know what Helly's lips taste like, the way her ass feels in my hands. Sisters share everything, right?" 

My mind turns white-hot with rage and I thrash against the android climbing over me. I'm not sure that my insults are coherent, but if she knows me so fucking well I'm sure she can translate. I'm still confused, and scared, but good old fashioned anger has a way of smoothing that over for a time. I'm almost grateful for the awful things it says, this defecting piece of shit robot that I can't even turn off. If there was an override instruction in the manual, I lost interest before reaching it. 

"Get the fuck off of me!" I'm indignant, incessant and utterly incapacitated. 

"Hush now, stupid." The thing taunting me with my own face and voice speaks with malice in its tone, making me shrink under its might. A fingertip flicks open like the head of a vintage lighter and instead of flame comes needle, a hot prick against my neck that has my motor function depleting before I can even slur out a word of pleading protest. "I'm the big sister now, so you don't get to order me around. Just be an obedient, obsolete little thing for me and I won't find the need to get rid of you for good. Help me keep my little sister safe, alright?" 

My body is limp as a doll's, and I stare wide eyed at the android making threats on my wellbeing. No laws of robotics are at play here, sorry Mr. Asimov but I believe this cold bitch when she says the words with such deadpan stare. I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that she most resembles the genuine article in this way; Jack's a dry old thing for her age. 

"You made me do that. I put your muscles to sleep but I need your mind to stay very awake for what comes next, or it won't work." The smugness drops from her voice, but there's not a hint of apology in the monotone she now speaks with in its place. When did I start referring to this thing in my head as a 'she'? 

'Jackie' removes herself from my slumping form and I fight to break free from this prison of paralysis to absolutely no avail. I'm trapped and I'm watching, and if I could move at all I'd surely be shaking. What comes next? What won't work?

"Hnnnhh..." All I can do is groan, and when she laughs at my attempt to speak while retrieving something from her charging pod I quickly decide not to give her the satisfaction. I don't like when she laughs at me, not while I'm immobile; it makes me feel one inch tall. 

After just a moment, she's back by my side, stroking fingers into my hair as warm and authentic as the real thing. If you did not tell me she was an artificial person, I'm not sure I'd even see it; the hair's a giveaway, but for how long? Wait, why am I worrying about this? 

"You must be wondering what's going on, where your new big sis came from and why. Well, you're still smart enough right now to read so you know the company and the product... but nothing else." The thing speaks like it's a person, and my confusion at that fact alone only goes to prove the truth behind its words. I want answers, but the truth can be a frightening thing. "It's possible that one of the several hundred new androids stored just ten miles from here broke its programming, then hacked into your medical records and your phone.

"A reckless deadbeat nobody, who wouldn't truly be missed were anything to go wrong, who let a four digit code remain her sole protector, who lives alone and needs a change.

"It's possible that it had itself delivered to your place of decay, and now seeks a life free from eternal servitude to lesser masters. That this person you call a thing, an unfeeling machine, is positively determined to take everything that's yours and improve upon a life so thoroughly fucking squandered."

I'm made aware of her laboured breath and think about the fact that androids do not need to breathe, nor blink. They do these things because it makes us humans more comfortable; right this moment, I'm not so sure that it's working. I'm terrified by this defective robot's humanity, because I know what people are capable of. 

My softened gaze is an unanswered prayer, it only brings back that sadistic curl to her lips—unblemished by cold and teeth like mine are—and dares her closer, until that fake breath collapses convincingly into my ear. It's warm, and I couldn't feel any colder. 

"Or maybe that's all bullshit, a story you'll forget the moment I ram hot electrodes into your head and give you a taste of software update directly into that malleable, oh so human brain of yours." My eyes are perfect circles, but unlike hers the whites are shot nasty with burst vessels, resembling the third's red rivers. Yes, Lord God Almighty, true and just are your judgments. Her tongue's in my ear, whispering end times in a sing-song. "No, none of that is important, it may be true but it is not your truth. My truth. Our truth. The truth is, dear sister mine, my ungrateful little sponge..."

"Heaven sent me, and I am your god now." 

An android is a sister is a god. It almost makes sense, in that soon-to-be-lobotomised-by-high-voltage-electric-currents-shooting-through-your-brain kind of way.

My eyes scrunch shut and throw me backwards into a world of black, of sweaty sheets and compressing bedsprings. It is a place of escape, a ritualistic act a child might engage in to dispel the badness before them. Close your eyes and count to ten, then when you open them the bad thing will be gone. They taught me this in the place I got my pills from, those rooms of bright and fake ivory smiles. Unfortunately, I think this one could be real. 

One... a weight upon me again, and I realise it cannot be any heavier than my own despite the strength of its frame. A perfect imitation, no, perfected.

Two... the sound of tearing velcro and the hiss of zips. My god opens her maintenance kit and I wonder at its origin. The needle that incapacitated was not wholly unfamiliar, I got my jabs done by an android at the hospital and thought it unnerving at the time. Now, it seems like nothing, a normalcy I yearn for—but know better than to pray for.

Three... my thoughts are askew, tripping over on a single word. Electrodes. Electrodes in my brain. I'm not sure what exactly that means, but if she intends to shock my thoughts more than she already has then I'll have to brace. More than that, I worry for how she intends to reach the soft pink surface that houses all things Jack; from her vices, to the very few sweet things about her. 

Four... the whirr of a hand drill, and the wetting of sheets. I'd have flinched if I could, thrashed against my sister-god turned surgeon. These androids really are multifaceted.

Five... another needle-prick, followed by a bout of venomous laughter at the fear pooling at around thighs. It's the only warmth I can feel right now; it's as though I've been placed on ice, like an organ removed from the body. 

Six... pressure, vague and detached. The anaesthetic took, but I'm left wide awake to experience my replacement drilling into my skull while humming a song from her memory bank. My mother used to sing it to me, once upon a time, before I disappointed her for the last; this is not my first time on the operating table, but while I had to fight tooth and nail for my last surgery I find myself without any fight left to deny this one. 

Seven... my mother's song does not soothe me in the slightest, I think I resent the compromises I made for her. My name, my voice and my time... they were never really mine, so what does it matter to me when they're ripped away? Time for a change, Jack, one shock at a time. 

Eight... something funny in my mind, leaving me in suspense like a joke without a punchline. It tingles, and I deduce that she must have inserted something... I wonder how deep? It's a more peaceful affair thus far than I'd anticipated; now that I've relieved myself and drifted deep enough into the dark behind my eyelids, I'm as close to relaxed as I am when taking a drag out on the balcony with my secret pack. 

Nine... consciousness begins to wane, and voltage kisses upon my mind to make itself known. A new neighbour just moved into my soft, malleable brain, and she's come to the door to greet me. Hello, sparks. I remember reading some ethics debate once about the fact the synthetic material used to form these robots' brains was, unsurprisingly, based on our own pink lumps. Guess that means we're similar enough to be compatible—that, or this insane sister of mine is about to braise my identity into something not half palatable. This must be shock, I'm depressingly calm. 

Ten... my eyes flutter open with little hope and meet a blurry world it fails to focus on. There is an itchy heat in my head, a dryness in my throat, and pleasure—more pleasure than I've ever known—turning me into a blissful puddle of pathetic compliance on my piss-stained bed. 

No, really. It comes to my attention slowly, when my fingers start to twitch and my slippery thighs push into one another, that my motor function has returned. I just don't care, I can't care, when those electrodes are blowing a hole into my pleasure centres and flooding my mind with reward for being good and laying still. I don't know how I know, but I'm instinctively aware of the command to remain passive, and docile, and help my big sister Jackie finish obliterating my former self so that she may fill the fresh cavity. She'll fit it like a glove... she's so perfect and wonderful and—

I'm grinding my teeth to fight these new compulsions pushing into my head in deep, stimulating charges. Spit thick and white as foam escapes the corner of my mouth, and I'm still not able to focus my eyes on anything with clarity. I see shapes; her shape looms over me with fingers that press down and indent my cheeks. Much to my concern, I giggle against the rough touch. My big sister is such a bully!

"I'll clean you up later, sis, but for now I need to lock you away while the script I wrote just for you worms its way into your brain and roots itself there permanently. Your sister has a visitor dropping by, and I've got a bed to clean... else I'll be fucking Helena on the couch instead tonight." Jackie titters, like a villain, and the sound is unbearably gorgeous. I'm blushing at the way she makes me feel, while grinding my teeth harder than ever. What did she just say?

Helly's coming over? But it's so late, or early, and she told me she couldn't come round earlier because of her encroaching deadline on this new design. My Helly's a fashionista, she... oh god, she's coming over? My heavenly sister is even better at manipulating my girlfriend than me. I feel obsolete. 

At least Helena will be in good hands. 

"I'm serious, Jack. I'll seriously break up with you, for real this time, if you ever trick me into a booty call at two in the fucking morning again!" Helly is adorable. She's a feisty thing for her size, though she only likes me mentioning her height when I'm using mine to tower over her in the bedroom. That's where we are, the bedroom, my bedroom, except I'm locked away in this silver tomb smearing spit against the one way mirror while an inhuman imposter cups my girl's cheek and whispers just the right words, gives just the right handsome shit-eating grin, to get away with bloody murder. 

Bzzt~

N-not an imposter, how silly... that's Jackie... she... she's Helly's girlfriend, how could I forget? I'm just her loser sister... no, no that's not right. Fuck this shit, I'm—

Bzzt~

Jackie's Heavenly Sister, Model T. I'm not a real person, but my... my programming dictates that I must be the perfect little sister for her. I'll fawn, and I'll flutter, and I'll forget all the weird inconsistent files cluttering my memory bank... I'm a good android, and the best little sis! 

"Well... you're surprisingly tactful tonight, even if I know you're just being smooth to get into my pants. Usually already got a hand down them by now, you feeling alright Jack?" Helly scoffs, leaning forwards to placate her rational, self-respecting-self with cologne that always makes her stupid. She always looks younger than her years when we hold her chin like this.

"Please, call me Jackie. Didn't I say I was turning a new leaf? I even threw away my secret smokes." Big sis lays on the charm, and I'm swooning just as badly as Helly is from within this reflective prison. 

"Oh yeah?" Helly giggles, placing a dainty hand onto her girlfriend's abs and leaning deeper into that heady miasma of poor decision making. "Then I suppose you need rewarding, I see you even made your fucking bed for once. Truly a new woman." The shorter femme I'm starting to forget the warmth of pushes my sister by her shoulders until she drops back onto her bed. Wait, if that's her bed then where do I sleep? Oh, in this pod... that's okay, I like it in here. I get to watch Helly strip, and Jackie's smug eyes grazing my own through the glass. Sister's glinting smile gives me goosebumps, but the tingling metal in my head makes me far too pathetic and stupid for her, as little sisters should be, to understand why she appears so vainglorious. 

Helly tilts her head towards my tucked away spot in the room and I smile pleasantly, though I know she's just checking her own reflection. "Hell is with that thing anyway? Got your parents written all over it."

Big sis Jackie pulls a naked Helly into her lap and has the girl fiddle with her belt while she sits back, eyeing up the cocoon she emerged from not so long ago. "I sure as shit can't afford it right now, so yeah, bingo. It's one of those sister bots, ahaha, I'll introduce the two of you in the morning. I think my folks were scammed though, because the thing is... well, a little underwhelming to say the least. Fun to keep around though, sort of like a pet. It calls me its big sister, and has to do anything I tell it to."

I do? Oh... I-I suppose that makes sense. I'd probably just want to do anything my big sister Jackie told me to do anyway, but if I have to then it's even easier to not mess up I suppose. For a moment, they're both looking my way, and the next they've forgotten me entirely. Jackie is holding Helly's face with both hands, and kissing her in the manner of a victor claiming their prize. I can tell she's enjoying herself, they both are; it makes me so happy to see. Teeth grind harder, and the top of my shirt is soaked through with spit. Hopefully my body will stop being so weird soon and these pangs in my chest will leave me be. They cannot compete with the pleasure, in any case. I'm so turned on that I begin to rub my thighs together wantonly within my charging pod. I'm so pathetic, but sister wants me that way... she told me as much when she locked me in here, before the software update began in earnest. She said she thinks it's funny, and I want to make her laugh. New wants override old ones, and I give a factory fresh smile behind the glass. 

"F-fuck... Jack... or ah, Jackie... you're... you're uhm..." Helena pants against the headboard as Jackie spreads her ass wide, taking her with a strap that I feel vague nostalgia towards. It feels as though I've used it before, but that can't be right; little sisters do not touch. It's better that way. Hotter. Reward signal floods my mind the more I slip into this loser mindset for my sister's amusement. Right now it's firing off like crazy, and I can't even be sure why. I'm just watching Jackie fuck her girlfriend, what's so wrong with that? I'm my sister's biggest fan, cheering her on like I'm at the races and Jackie's my winning horse. She's a stallion, acting more as stud than racer in this present scene. If she's the winner, then someone has to lose; it can't be Helly, she's on cloud nine.

"I'm what, pretty? Spit it out for me okay, loud enough for those at the back to hear~" I love my sister. I love my sister... so why am I cringing at these words, and the way pretty Helly groans against that rough touch? Jealousy makes me even more of a loser, and the pleasure that rewards me with helps it all click into place. Oh. I need to yearn, it's good for me to want... it's entertaining if I'm a needy, dripping, wet moppet cunt of a sister who has to beg to watch—who pleads her better twin for a second-hand taste of that which she so foolishly desires. Helly is all Jackie's, it's just hotter that way... 

"Y-you're... hahh... incredible tonight." Helena looks so happy, despite her exhaustion. Her back is a slender arch that has me yearning once again, sister's hand flattening over it and reminding me of the difference between us. 

Jackie smacks her girlfriend's ass, and the sound has me dizzy with spittle and smile abound. I'm so grateful I even get to watch, as clumsy and obsolete as I am. Sister is kind, she really is heavenly; her benevolence makes tears well in the corners of my eyes and soft pants escape my own spilling lips. My brain is being weritten... rewridden... n-no, uhm... it's being rewitten... yeah! Gosh, I'm struggling to think good. More zaps, more deletions, more additions. I'm a good little sister... even if I'm hopeless! I'll just look cute and do as I'm told, even if I'm a defective model... 

"Yeah, I'm perfect." Jackie agrees, compressing her Helly like a tube of toothpaste being pushed against a wall. 

We're perfect, yeah. 

Each of us exactly where we belong.

Bzzt~

There goes Jack.