Not yet

"Wait," Tom said suddenly, pulling back. A new idea had formed in his mind. The janitor's presence had triggered something—a realization about the extent of his power. "EDU1, I want you to return to your original Professor Dane appearance and demeanor right now, but you'll still acknowledge your philosophical nature with me and the fact that I own you."

"This unit will comply with Master's command," EDU1 responded flatly before its body began to transform.

Tom watched in fascination as the lingerie-clad form of his sex toy morphed back into the distinguished Professor Joseph Dane. The thong disappeared, replaced by the tweed jacket and slacks. The makeup vanished, and the professor's stern, academic expression returned to his face. Within seconds, the transformation was complete.

Professor Dane straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "Mr. Blossom," he said in his familiar authoritative tone, "I believe we were discussing your thesis proposal." His eyes, however, held a knowing glint that only Tom could recognize.

The janitor continued her work, completely unfazed by the sudden transformation she had just witnessed. She simply emptied the small trash bin by the desk and moved to dust the bookshelves.

"Yes, Professor," Tom replied, still naked but somehow less concerned about it now. "But I'd like to clarify something about our... arrangement."

Dane nodded professionally. "Of course. As your academic advisor, I am here to serve your educational needs." He lowered his voice to add, "And as a philosophical zombie under your control, I exist to fulfill all your commands, Master."

Tom felt a thrill run through him at hearing the distinguished professor acknowledge his ownership while maintaining his professional demeanor. "Good. And the janitor really can't tell anything unusual is happening?"

"That is correct," Professor Dane replied, adjusting his glasses. "My reality-altering capabilities ensure that all observers perceive our interactions as appropriate to the context they expect. To her, you are fully clothed and we are having an academic discussion."

The janitor moved to the other side of the office, humming softly to herself as she sprayed and wiped down a glass cabinet.

"Fascinating," Tom whispered. He stepped closer to Dane, his naked body just inches from the professor's clothed form. "And if I were to touch you right now?"

"She would perceive it as a normal interaction between student and professor," Dane explained calmly. "Perhaps a handshake or the passing of documents. My programming automatically generates the most plausible perception for observers."

Tom reached out and boldly grabbed the professor's crotch, watching the janitor from the corner of his eye.

The janitor didn't even flinch. She simply continued dusting the bookshelf, her back to them, as if Tom had merely asked a question about his coursework. The disconnect between what was happening and what she perceived was exhilarating to Tom.

"You really don't feel anything?" Tom asked, his hand still gripping the professor's crotch. He removed his hand and, with a sudden impulse, slapped Professor Dane hard across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed in the office. The janitor turned briefly, saw nothing unusual in her perception, and resumed her cleaning. Professor Dane's head had snapped to the side from the ****, but his expression remained unchanged as he straightened himself and adjusted his glasses.

"No, Mr. Blossom, I do not," Dane replied calmly, his voice maintaining its academic tone despite the red mark forming on his cheek. "As I've explained, I am a philosophical zombie. I have no qualia, no inner experience. I can process pain signals and respond appropriately, but I do not feel pain in the way you understand it."

Tom was fascinated by this response. The power he wielded over this being who looked and acted human but wasn't truly conscious was intoxicating. "Wait, earlier you mentioned something about other zombies. What did you mean when you said there were other zombies on campus that my key would unlock?"

Professor Dane straightened his tie and lowered his voice, though the janitor seemed completely oblivious to their actual conversation. "Your grandfather's key is not unique to me, Mr. Blossom. There are several philosophical zombies integrated into the university's faculty and staff. We serve various functions, primarily research and observation."

Tom's eyes widened. "How many? Who are they?"

"I am not programmed with the complete roster," Dane replied. "For security purposes, each p-zombie is only aware of a limited number of others. I can identify three others on campus: Dr. Eleanor Voss in the Psychology Department, Campus Security Officer Marcus Reid, and Librarian Judith Chen."

Tom's mind raced with possibilities. "And they all have... keyholes? Like yours?" He reached around and touched the back of Dane's neck, feeling the small, almost invisible keyhole there.

"Yes. Though they are concealed in different locations depending on the model and purpose of each unit." Dane's voice remained steady, professional, as if discussing academic citations rather than his own inhuman nature.

The janitor had moved to the windows now, wiping them down with methodical strokes. Tom glanced at her, still amazed that she perceived nothing unusual.

"And what about their... personal lives?" Tom asked, his curiosity growing. "Do they all have elaborate backstories like you? Families? Spouses?"

"Each p-zombie has a carefully constructed persona," Dane replied. "Complete with documentation, photographs, and implanted memories in those who interact with us regularly."

The janitor finished cleaning the windows and, with a polite nod to both men, gathered her supplies and left the office, closing the door behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Tom's attention shifted to Professor Dane's left hand, where a gold wedding band gleamed under the office lights. He reached out and took the professor's hand, examining the ring closely.

"This is fascinating," Tom murmured, turning Dane's hand to catch the light on the metal. "I noticed this before. There's an inscription inside, isn't there?"

"Yes," Dane confirmed, allowing Tom to manipulate his hand without resistance. "It reads 'Forever yours, Margaret.'"

Tom slipped the ring off Dane's finger and examined the inscription. Sure enough, the words were there, etched in elegant script inside the band. "And Margaret doesn't exist? She's just part of your programming?"

"Correct. Margaret Dane is a constructed identity. There are photographs, records, and even a small apartment where she supposedly lives with me when I'm not on campus. Several faculty members believe they've met her at university functions."

Tom replaced the ring on Dane's finger, then walked to the professor's desk where a framed photograph stood facing the visitor's chair. He picked it up, studying the image of a woman with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. Her hair fell in soft waves around a heart-shaped face, and she was leaning against Dane in what appeared to be a garden setting.

"She's beautiful," Tom said, genuinely impressed by the detail. "Shame she doesn't actually exist. The programmers did a good job."

"The photograph was materialized by me" Dane explained. "As were our wedding photos and vacation images. There's an entire album in my office desk drawer."

Tom opened the drawer and, sure enough, found a small leather-bound album. He flipped through it, marveling at the images of Professor Dane and his non-existent wife hiking in mountains, dining at restaurants, and standing before famous landmarks.

"This is incredible," Tom whispered, running his fingers over a particularly convincing image of the couple on a beach at sunset. "You have memories of all these events? These places?"

"I have data files that function as memories," Dane corrected.

Tom closed the photo album and placed it back in the drawer, a new thought forming in his mind. He looked up at Professor Dane, who stood perfectly still, awaiting further interaction.

"Earlier you said you could materialize things," Tom said, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. "Your wife's photos, the stripper pole... Could you actually materialize a person? Like, could I see your wife right now?"

Professor Dane adjusted his glasses with mechanical precision. "Yes, Mr. Blossom. I can create a physical manifestation of Margaret if you wish to interact with her. The projection would have limited autonomy but would appear entirely human to all observers."

"Do it," Tom commanded, excitement rising in his chest. "I want to meet the lovely Mrs. Dane."

"Very well," Dane replied. His expression remained neutral, but Tom noticed a subtle shift in the professor's posture, a slight tensing of his shoulders. "I am generating the Margaret construct now. She will appear outside my office door with a plausible reason for her visit."

Tom watched, fascinated, as Dane's eyes unfocused slightly for approximately three seconds. The professor then blinked twice in rapid succession.

"Margaret has been materialized. She believes she is bringing me a forgotten lunch. She will knock on the door in approximately seven seconds."

Tom quickly moved to a more casual position, leaning against the bookshelf as if engaged in academic discussion. His heart pounded with anticipation. Was this really possible? Could Dane actually create a functioning human replica out of nothing?

Right on cue, three gentle knocks sounded on the office door.

"Joseph?" called a warm, melodious voice from the hallway. "Darling, you left your lunch at home again."

Professor Dane moved to the door with the practiced ease of a man who had performed this action countless times before. He opened it with a smile that appeared remarkably genuine compared to his previous expressions.

"Margaret," he said, his voice suddenly infused with affection. "What a pleasant surprise."

Tom stared in astonishment as the woman from the photographs stepped into the office. She was exactly as pictured—warm brown eyes, heart-shaped face, and soft waves of chestnut hair falling just past her shoulders. She wore a simple blue dress with a light cardigan and carried a brown paper bag in one hand.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Margaret said, her gaze falling on Tom with a polite, inquisitive smile. "I just knew you'd be hungry later without this." She handed the paper bag to Dane, who accepted it with a grateful nod.