Eva, Client File 2193-A

The suite didn’t look like a salesroom. It looked like a therapist’s office crossed with a church confessional—quiet lighting, low chairs, faint traces of myrrh in the air. Designed for disclosure. Desire.

Across from the client sat Mara, her lab coat crisp, her gaze unreadable. Not just a salesperson—a genetic behaviorist. The kind of woman who sold needs people didn’t even know they had.

“Let’s begin with your intentions,” she said, stylus poised. “Not just what you want her to do—but what you want her to be.”

The man across from her—Julian Cale—sat still, one hand resting on his thigh.

“I don’t want a machine,” he said.

“Of course not,” she replied smoothly. “We don’t build machines. We birth flesh. Fully organic. Grown in our Genesis Vats, hormone-regulated, pain-responsive, emotionally reflexive. She’ll bleed if you cut her. Tremble if you shout. Moan when you—”

“I don’t want porn reactions,” he interrupted. “I want depth. Intimacy. As if I’m unraveling someone real. Someone conditioned to obey, yes, but who feels it—shame, fear, pleasure.”

Mara’s smile barely curved.

“You're asking for a Layer-Three Imprint Conditioning. High emotional responsiveness. Trauma mapping. A partner who reacts like she’s never been touched before—but was made to be yours.”

“Exactly.”

“And her baseline disposition?”

“Submissive. Not weak. Receptive. She should learn me—not through data, but through contact. She should flinch the first time. Cry the second. Come the third. Not because she’s programmed, but because she’s trained to yield.”

Mara made a note.

“We can work within that imprint range. Do you have a name in mind for her?”

“Eva.”

“Beautiful,” she said. “Your Eva will be vat-born, genetically stabilized at twenty-three years of biological age. Her dopamine and oxytocin levels will calibrate to your presence. She’ll crave touch—but only your touch.”

He nodded.

“She should act like she doesn’t know what she’s for. But feel it. Like she was made with a hole only I can fill.”

“Understood. Would you like her to be conditioned for monogamous imprinting? One bond. Permanent.”

“Yes. I want to ruin her myself.”

“You’ll have it,” she said. “Her body will be shaped to your specifications. Skin tone? Voice? Scent?”

He looked distant for a moment, as if chasing a memory he shouldn’t admit to.

“Pale. Black hair. Gray-blue eyes. Voice like someone afraid to speak. And she should smell like... rain and ash. Something you can’t forget after fucking her.”

“Done,” Mara said. “You’ll receive delivery in seventy-two hours. She’ll arrive clothed, unspeaking, kneeling.”

She stood to leave.

But paused at the door.

“Just a note, Mr. Cale—humanoids with Layer-Three conditioning often develop reflexive behaviors. Attachment. Possessiveness. They crave feedback. Praise. Purpose.”

He looked up.

“Are you saying she’ll fall in love with me?”

“No,” Mara said. “I’m saying she won’t know what to do if you don’t fuck her like she matters.”

And then she was gone.

Leaving Julian alone. Waiting for a woman who’d be grown just to tremble under his hands.