Do a bit of mischief

Joe looked at the naked golem standing before him, a cruel smirk forming on his face. The default modifier had stripped away all of Dr. Hassan's carefully programmed dignity and modesty, leaving only the empty vessel designed to follow commands.

"You know," Joe said, his voice taking on a mocking tone, "Muslim women are supposed to be modest, and yet here you are, standing naked in front of a stranger." He gestured at her nude form with a sweeping motion. "What would your Lebanese immigrant parents think of their daughter now?"

The golem's face remained expressionless, the default modifier preventing any emotional response to his taunting. Joe knew that she wasn't really human, and she certainly wasn't Muslim. She was just a machine, programmed to act like one—dirt shaped into human form with a script that gave her the illusion of personhood.

"Open your mouth wide," Joe commanded, stepping closer to her.

The golem complied immediately, her jaw dropping open to reveal her oral cavity. Joe leaned in, examining her with clinical detachment. Her teeth were slightly yellowed and a bit crooked—a deliberate imperfection programmed into her design to enhance her human appearance. No human had perfect teeth unless they'd had extensive cosmetic work done, and these small flaws made her more believable as Dr. Fatima Hassan, immigrant's daughter and accomplished dermatologist.

Joe prodded at her gums with his index finger, checking for any signs of deterioration in the material. He ran his finger along her tongue, then pushed deeper into her throat without any concern for her comfort. She didn't gag or resist—the default modifier had disabled all such reflexive responses.

"Good condition," he muttered to himself, withdrawing his finger and wiping it on a tissue from her desk. "No signs of material degradation in the oral cavity."

He made a note on his tablet, documenting the condition of this particular golem. Hospital Director Reynolds had clearly been taking good care of his personal plaything, despite using her for his own gratification. Joe had seen golems in much worse condition, especially those used frequently for sexual purposes.

"Close your mouth," he instructed, and the golem's jaw snapped shut with mechanical precision.

"Give me a tongue kiss," Joe ordered, and Dr. Hassan obeyed without hesitation.

She stepped forward mechanically, her naked body moving with eerie precision. Her lips parted, and she extended her tongue slightly as she leaned in toward Joe's face. There was no passion in her eyes, no desire—just the blank compliance of a machine following instructions.

Joe met her lips with his own, feeling the warmth and moisture that the golem's creators had so meticulously engineered. Her tongue slid against his, and he explored her mouth thoroughly, marveling at the attention to detail. The texture of her tongue, the wetness of her saliva—it all felt remarkably real. Even her breath carried a faint scent of mint and coffee, as if she'd actually eaten breakfast that morning.

He pulled back slightly, studying her face. Her eyes remained open during the kiss, staring blankly ahead. It was the only real tell that something wasn't right—that and the complete lack of emotional response.

"Incredible," Joe muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "They've really perfected the sensory details, haven't they? You even taste human."

Dr. Hassan stood motionless, awaiting her next command. Her programming under the default modifier didn't include responding to rhetorical questions or making small talk. She was simply a tool now, a sophisticated machine waiting for input.

"Bounce up and down a bit," Joe commanded, gesturing toward the examination table. "Get up there and jump."

The golem moved to the table and climbed onto it with fluid grace. Once standing on the padded surface, she began to bounce up and down as instructed. Her large brown breasts moved with the motion, jiggling naturally with each impact. Her expression remained unchanged—no embarrassment, no discomfort, no awareness of her own nudity or the lewdness of the display.

Joe watched, transfixed by the sight. Despite knowing exactly what she was—just dirt and a script—he couldn't help but respond to her physically. The illusion was too perfect, too convincing. Her skin had a subtle sheen to it, the kind that real human skin gets when exerted. The way her flesh moved followed all the natural laws of physics.

He reached out and cupped one of her breasts as she continued to bounce, feeling its weight and softness in his palm. It felt just like real flesh, warm and pliant under his touch. He squeezed gently, then more firmly, testing the material's response.

"Stop bouncing," he said, and she immediately ceased, standing perfectly still on the examination table while he continued to fondle her breast. "The tactile response is incredible.

Joe released her breast and stepped back, his clinical gaze now moving over her entire body with more scrutiny. As a technician, he was genuinely impressed by the level of detail that went into these deep infiltration golems. Dr. Hassan's body wasn't the idealized perfection that cheaper models often displayed. Instead, it had been crafted with deliberate imperfections to enhance her believability.

"Turn around slowly," he commanded. "I need to inspect your posterior."

The golem rotated on the examination table, presenting her back to him. Joe noted the subtle asymmetry of her shoulder blades, the slight curve of her spine that suggested years of bending over textbooks during medical school—a backstory that existed only in her programming. His eyes traveled down to her buttocks, which bore faint stretch marks along the outer curves.

"Remarkable," he muttered, reaching out to trace one of the silvery lines with his fingertip. The texture was slightly different there, just as it would be on human skin. He could feel the subtle indentation where the fabricated skin had been designed to mimic the effects of rapid weight gain and loss—perhaps during her fictional college years or after a simulated pregnancy that never actually occurred.

Joe's fingers moved to the small dimples of cellulite on her upper thighs. The creators had included this detail deliberately, knowing that a woman of Dr. Hassan's programmed age—thirty-seven—would likely have developed these minor imperfections. The cellulite felt authentic under his probing fingers, the slight puckering of the skin adding to the illusion of humanity.

"Bend over and spread your buttocks," he instructed, his voice clinical despite the intimate nature of the command.

Without hesitation, Dr. Hassan bent forward at the waist and reached back with both hands to spread her buttocks apart. Joe leaned in close, examining the puckered ring of her anus with professional detachment. The color gradation was perfect—darker at the center, fading to match her olive skin tone at the edges. Even the tiny wrinkles and folds had been meticulously crafted.

"Clench and release," he ordered, watching as the muscular ring contracted and relaxed on command. The responsiveness was impressive, suggesting high-quality actuators in that region of her body.

Joe made another note on his tablet. "Anal region shows excellent muscular control and no signs of material degradation despite reported sexual use."

He straightened up, a thought occurring to him. These deep infiltration models were designed to mimic human functions in every way, including digestive processes.