You take out the medical dummy once more.
Look inside its mouth.
The jaw opens wide.
As designed, allowing for the simulation of choking incidents during medical training.
That is one way to get to Gonza, operant. Look at the size of the cavity -- large enough for a cricket.
What can I see?
The smooth plastic of a gullet. Any light disappears quickly as it descends into the dummy's chest.
Place a cricket inside the dummy.
The cricket slides in clean, disappearing into the insides without a noise. The job is done.
Close the mouth. (Go back.)
The jaw snaps back into place.
Look into its eyes.
Made of glass -- pale blue, wet-looking. Each is flecked with tiny artificial veins.
Hand-painted iris rings -- faint, but deliberate. Someone wanted this thing to stare.
Money has been sunk into this. And time. A certain kind of obsession.
Check the dummy's armpits.
You lift its left arm, the limb sagging with dead weight. The armpit is... well, it's an armpit.
Check the other armpit.
You lift the dummy's right arm. Just another armpit, as smooth and featureless as the other one.
Give it a sniff.
Seems clean enough.
Vinyl, or a rented tuk-tuk's dashboard. Not unpleasant.
Alright. (Move on.)
You let the dummy's arm flop back to its resting position.
All done. (Go back.)
The dummy stares vacantly.
Look at the tag.
Branch
Hold its hand.
Silicone warms against your palm, but does not return your grasp.
The closest thing you've had to human touch in a long time.
That's depressing.
But true. Unless you can think of a recent example of when you did touch someone.
The junior negotiator -- I tapped him on the shoulder.
Alternative wording
The junior negotiator -- I shoved him.
The fact that you construe that as genuine human touch is exactly the problem.
The woman in that coffee ad. I touched her!
Do you not see the problem with your answer? That woman was printed onto heavy-duty paper. You touched paper.
I touched a man's penis.
You groped an unconscious man. A man who needed your help, and when it came time for you to give it, all you could do was appetise yourself.
Yeah, but he's fine now. Running around and everything.
Incorrect. PSEDUOPOD is not the man he was before. He's you now. Which leads to the conclusion...
I touched myself...
And felt nothing.
Fuck you. I still touched his dick.
It's your dick now. And it's really nothing to be proud of.
Incorrect. PSEDUOPOD is not the man he was before. He's you now. Which leads to the conclusion...
I kissed myself.
Fuck you. We still kissed.
Again, he was unconscious. Takes two people to make a kiss.
You're lucky no one knows about it as, technically, it counts as sexual misconduct at the workplace.
It's not a problem as long as no-one else knows about it.
These are the kinds of sentences touted by rapists and paedophiles. Just so you know which category of human underclass you're falling into.
Okay. You got me.
Unfortunately, it seems no one else has got you.
PSEUDOPOD and I embraced lips.
You kissed an unconscious man. A man who needed your help, and when it came time for you to give it, all you could do was appetise yourself.
Slapped my double with my whole hand.
While he was unconscious. But this isn't just about skin on skin -- it's about being friendly, receiving affection, and dare it be said... showing love.
That slap was none of those. Try again.
The tooth! I took out that kid's tooth.
With a prybar. Not a single point of your skin and his touched. It was all dentistry and violence.
I almost had a kiss with SILHOUETTE.
That is true. Perhaps there is hope for you after all. Keep it up and you may even feel a sensation before you evacuate life and become a rank-and-file corpse.
However, it was only almost a kiss. The point still stands.
Alright, alright. I see your point.
It shouldn't have been a point that needed to be made. You are one of life's great untouched.
Not true. I touch people all the time.
Give one recent example.
There's nothing in the filing cabinet on this. Did you misplace that folder?
I'm ignoring that.
Just like everyone you've ever been interested in.
Examine it closely.
Branch
The human-shaped object remains lifeless, ready for its inspection.
The texture fools you for half a second. You expected rigid mannequin plastic, yet this is supple as flesh, with faint textured pores.
Medical-grade silicone, thermo-set, sealed with micro-serration. Zero adhesive bleed, glue creep, or warping. This is top-tier artisanal work.
Enough. [Put the dummy away.]
Branch
End of this branch
You take out the medical dummy. A hand protrudes from its crumpled form, a tag hanging around its wrist.