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kitchen table, then powered herself down. She knew where she was and what she was now, but she wanted to learn so much more.

02 | Skin for pills?
    The old woman beamed at Brad as he mixed her a tall Caramel Macchiato and retrieved her cookie.
    “This tastes like crap!” she spat at him, after giving the drink a taste and sliding it back in front of him.
    He was beyond tired of miserable hags like this one at the café, but part of his job was taking their abuse, especially since he needed money to keep up with Tricia’s development. He remade the drink exactly the way he had before—the café had a formula he couldn’t veer away from—and the woman accepted it, even though it was practically the same drink. He wished that he could throw the wasted coffee at her and watch her gasp. Seeing it play out in his mind was almost enough though, as it was quite entertaining. When 10:00 p.m. rolled around, his shift replacement, Susan, showed up and he was happy to leave and return to working on Tricia.
    Susan was an attractive woman in her early thirties, but something about her made him uneasy, so he kept to himself whenever they would work together.
    “You have a girlfriend, Brad?” she asked him as he grabbed his coat to leave.
    “What’s that, Sue? Oh. No, I don’t. What makes you ask?”
    “Just wondering. I figured you did since you’re such a sweet guy.”
    She was over ten years his senior but he wondered if she was interested. He definitely was not interested in her, but the fact that she had asked made him reconsider. It had been two months since he’d started the job, and the pay allowed him a lot of flexibility with his life. He could now afford name brand groceries, the newest games, and most importantly, parts for Tricia. He had built her up from a stiff, skeletal frame to a shapelier, humanoid form, and the only thing she was lacking was skin. Most of his time with Tricia was spent discussing philosophy, the human psyche, and his plans for her in the future. She was well spoken and had the cutest android accent. He missed her, and wanted to rush back home to tell her about his crappy day.
    When he did get home, Tricia was in front of the television, trying to emulate the moves of a music video. He must have forgotten to power her down, but was amazed at the fact that she had found the television, learned how to turn it on and partake in something like dancing.
    Her joints had been calibrated for smoother movements, so she was following along with relative ease. Brad stopped at the doorway to watch her, and was envious at how easy it was for her to learn how to dance, when an awkward lifetime of trying had not given him the gift of rhythm. He liked a few of the newer songs that came on over the radio, but if asked what his favorite band was, or what genre of music he preferred, he could never respond. He watched Tricia dance and an overwhelming need to complete her came over him. Imagine how she would move if she had a soft, skin-like exterior instead of plasticine , he thought.
    He pulled up his device and clicked a widget for his bank account to see how much he had in there. $1,322.50 was his balance, and this was after starving himself for weeks. The skin would run him about $25,000, and though his father could loan it to him—if he begged and pleaded—asking him for anything was out of the question. He could get $5,000 for his car, but how would he get around if he did that? Tricia had started out as an assignment that would solidify a positive grade in Mr. Anthony’s class, but now she was so much more. He felt responsible for her.
    One of the chat portals he frequented when not working on Tricia was the Sub-web Exchange Chamber (SEC). It was a place where poor geniuses like himself could link up with others all over the world to exchange goods and services. There were many people on SEC that did questionable things to advance their careers. There was prostitution, and people were hired to hurt and