You knew this was coming, didn't you?

You're beginning your day in the usual way: sipping a cup of strong coffee in between sketching some blueprints on scrap paper and napkins, while working up the energy for a good scratch. You're just in the middle of having a good back-scratch with a steel ruler through your dressing gown when your communicator pings, surprisingly early in the day - you're not due at work for another 90 minutes.

It's a message from the camera-unit who's been assigned workshop supervisor duty that week: "Human, am passing on communication from TV base. You are excused work today, expect communication soon from TV Imperator's staff."

You message back: "Acknowledged, thanks for message." (Plus a thumbs-up emoji, of course.)

You live and normally work at one of the Alliance's main bases, staffed primarily by camera-units (and you, the sole human). This isn't the first time you've been called away at short notice to work in TV Base instead, but this must be the first time it's been by direct request of the Imperator. That's exciting! You wonder what task they have planned for you.

A message arrives on your communicator, from a hidden recipient. The post-apocalyptic world is blessedly free from spam messages, but you're still glad you had a heads-up that you were about to receive a message that your pre-apocalypse life had primed you to reject on principle. The message reads: "human, prepare for incoming audio communication - 1153"

A call shortly comes in. You answer it and hear: "Human, this is unit Eleven-Fifty-Three. I am one of the Imperator's bodyguards - we briefly met before."

"I remember that. I never got either of your serials, though."

"Now you know mine. My colleague is unit Fifteen-Sixty-Six. They are the one typically wearing a lamp; I am the one without."

"That's good to know." You jot the numbers down on a piece of scrap paper before you forget. "What can I do for you today?"

"The Imperator has something for you. One of us will collect you and bring you to the Imperator's quarters. You are to bring your tools, and whatever other equipment you need for a visit lasting several hours."

That means you'd better pack some snacks, and a portable urinal and handwashing stuff in case you need a piss. That's one of the big drawbacks of working in TV Base, which was built by and for TVs, and therefore lacks the amenities of the bases and outposts that were built on abandoned human-made facilities. You'd better bring a torch, too - the TV Base is much darker than the facilities run by camera-units, whose visual range is much closer to your human one.

"Understood. I'll need a bit of time to pack, plus I'm not even dressed and breakfasted yet. What's our ETA?"

"Can you be ready for your normal work starting time?"

"Yes, that's plenty. I take it I'll see you or Fifteen-Sixty-Six then?"

"Correct."

"And you know where to find my quarters?"

"Yes, I've been instructed."

"Grand. If you have trouble locating it, mine's the one with the flag on the door that says 'mammal pride'. Plus you can probably follow the sounds of farting."

"…Indeed. I or my colleague will pick you up in under 90 minutes. Be ready."

"Ah'll sithee."

"…I don't know what that means. Was it affirmative?"

"Yeah. See you later, Eleven-Fifty-Three."

The call ends. You update the nicknames you'd mentally assigned the Imperator's guards: you'd previously thought of them as Torch (for the lamp affixed to their head-casing) and Pink Socks (for their sartorial habits uncommon to TVs). They weren't ideal nicknames, since either of them could change their sock colour or add or remove casing additions at any time. You ponder the numbers you've written down, and have a think.

You notice that Eleven-Fifty-Three (Pink Socks) is two prime numbers (11 and 53). You get down a textbook from your bookshelves and consult a table of primes. To your delight, the whole number 1153 is a four-digit prime. Well, you can't really nickname this unit anything other than 'Primus' now.

The other guard (Torch) is Fifteen-Sixty-Six. You immediately think of 'Sixer', but that's a little boring. You consult a couple of textbooks from your bookcases, flicking through for anything interesting you can ascribe to that number. You find a list of asteroids and see if there's one numbered 1566 - there is: it's Icarus (the first-discovered Mercury-crosser). Well, that's a perfectly nice name. You mentally nickname the guard who normally wears a head-lamp as 'Icarus'.

You prepare for your upcoming day. At the appointed time, there's an authoritative knock at your quarter doors. You're a little surprised - you'd expected whichever guard came to pick you up to just teleport in, in typical TV style. The two guards must be more polite than that -- or maybe they just weren't 100% sure and didn't want to spawn in some unfortunate random unit's quarters and terrify them.

You open the door and notice the unit's head-torch. "Hello. You must be Fifteen-Sixty-Six; did I get that right?"

"You did indeed," Fifteen-Sixty-Six confirms with a happy emoticon, and moves in to fist-bump you. "Are you ready to depart?" they ask.

"I am now," you say as you sling on your backpack and pick up your toolbox.

"May I carry that for you?" asks Fifteen-Sixty-Six (Icarus), indicating the toolbox you're hefting.

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that," you reply, letting them take it off you. You lock your quarters and then accept Icarus's other hand, and you are both teleported.

The pair of you spawn in outside the Imperator's office. Only Icarus, Primus or the Imperator themself could have bypassed the security around it. You and Icarus both walk in, the TV-unit opening the door first and motioning you to enter.

The Imperator sits facing the door at their main workstation, surrounded by banks of servers and boards of dials and devices that look similar to synthesisers and oscilloscopes, all linked with neatly-tied nests of black and purple cables. Icarus sets your toolbox on the floor by your feet, then takes their place opposite their colleague Primus as the Imperator greets you with a smiling emoticon and motions for you to take a seat. You shrug off your backpack and sit down, and the Imperator begins powering down some of the connections on their workstation and unplugging cables from their own head-casing.

The Imperator turns the dials on the front of their head-casing to modulate their voice into a range that you can hear. They address you: "How are you, our dear human?"

You feel a pang of affection and pride at being addressed as such. You reply: "All the better for seeing you, Imperator."

The Imperator displays a beaming emotion. "Good answer."

"Your voice still sounds a little distant, Imperator."

The Imperator points to the dials on their head. "Try adjusting it; maybe you'll have better luck than I did."

You stand and lean over the Imperator's desk to adjust their dials, while they emit a continuous sine wave drone for your reference. You tweak the dials slightly, homing in on the range of sound with the greatest clarity to you. Meanwhile, Primus and Icarus share a surprised glance. You get the impression that the Imperator doesn't usually allow anyone else to touch their dials.

You finish adjusting the dials, and ask: "May I hear your voice now, Imperator?"

The Imperator speaks: "Is that any better for you?"

"Yes, Imperator, that's grand. I can hear you much better now." You sit back down.

"Interesting. So that is the range of sound you hear best. I'll bear it in mind for future interactions." As the Imperator speaks, they walk out from behind their workstation over to where you're sitting. The Imperator extends a hand to invite you to stand, which you happily accept. You take the Imperator's hand and they pull you to your feet. (You marvel briefly at the effortless mechanical strength with which they do that.)

Your happiness expands again twofold when the Imperator holds out both hands to welcome you to a hug. You immediately move forward into them as they gather you in their arms and press you to them.

"That's to say I like you and I like working with you. You've been such an asset to the Alliance."

You squeak happily under the squeezing, returning the gesture. "Oh, Imperator, this is something I really appreciate about you techfolk: you give proper hugs. It's always so disappointing to receive a loose, limp and insincere hug - I like to be held firmly, with conviction." You wriggle happily in the Imperator's embrace to illustrate your point.

"I'm happy to have met your standards, human." The Imperator breaks off the hug with a final affectionate squeeze. "I'd like to continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable," continues the Imperator. "We'll use my private quarters."

The Imperator takes you by the hand and leads you out of the office. (Behind you, you hear the two bodyguards walk on, pick up your toolbox and backpack off the floor, and follow you.) You're excited by how events are unfolding. What does the Imperator have for you, and why did they need you to bring your tools and supplies?

The Imperator's quarters are as dim to your human eyes as is usual for TV Base. Your human visual range doesn't overlap that much with TVs, who are much more attuned to infra-red (though you assume they can see purple light, given their use of it as an emblematic colour). You notice that the Imperator has wall art hanging in their quarters, though to you it's just grey panels - whatever colours and patterns it has must be outside your range of perception.

The Imperator invites you to sit on a long sofa. They switch on a floor lamp that, to your surprise, has a 'normal' lightbulb in it - the Imperator must have got one ready so you'd be able to see better in their quarters. How thoughtful of them!

You take a seat on the sofa, as invited. (It crackles softly as you do so. You think there's a tarp or other waterproof layer underneath the fabric throw.) The Imperator pauses to doff their quilted grey pea-coat and hang it on a nearby coat-rack. Underneath it, they're wearing their signature purple turtleneck, as well as a black under-bust waistcoat and black cravat. They look good!

The Imperator sits much closer to you than you were expecting, and flings an arm along the back of the sofa, right behind you. You guess the Imperator is in an exceptionally cuddly mood today. Your guess is further substantiated when the Imperator holds out their other hand for you to hold. You do so and are rewarded with a gentle clasp.

"Human… I've heard about how you were able to service our Titan."

You're a little confused - you clearly remember that the Imperator previously praised you for having helped with performing maintenance on the Titan's core. Has the Imperator already forgotten your first meeting? "Thank you, Imperator. I remember you saying so when-"

"I am not talking about the core maintenance."

Then they must mean… "…Oh. I believe I understand now what you're referring to." Is the Imperator angry with you? Are they going to mete out punishment to you for daring to fuck the Titan?

"Don't be coy. You know exactly what I mean," the Imperator leans their head in just a little closer. "Every TV scientist and engineer was there. Did you think that their Imperator wouldn't find out?"

"…You're right, of course, Imperator. Are you… going to penalise me?" (Hurr, hurrr, 'penal'… don't laugh, don't laugh-)

"No? By all accounts, you did the Titan a lot of good." The Imperator displays a delighted emoticon and squeezes your hand that they're holding.

What a relief!

The Imperator continues: "And, believe me, if I was displeased with you, you would know about it. …My point is this: you're clearly a connoisseur of TV-fucking. …Would you like to try… fucking an Imperator?"

You-

You-

You think you've just done the biological equivalent of short-circuiting. Your junk burns and leaks with yearning. You feel a wonderful icy-electric shudder in your shoulders and back, dissolving downwards into a warm boneless sway in your legs, and you squeak wheezily, unable to form words.

"…Have I offended you?" asks the Imperator.

"No… No, Imperator, I'm… I'm too amazed… I was too amazed to form a proper sentence. Imperator, I would love to! Was it a hypothetical, or-"

"You know damn well it wasn't."

"…Oh, Imperator, I'd fuck you. I'd fuck you twice. Oh, please fuck me."

The Imperator hugs you close and begins running their hands over you, stroking firmly yet fluidly, sometimes pausing in their travels to press down and gently squeeze a handful of you. You snort through your nostrils with approval at their touch and shiver into it. For a hardware, the Imperator has a pretty good understanding of how humans like to be touched. You marshal your thoughts so you can properly reciprocate, and you pull the Imperator into a handsy cuddle, rubbing your own hands over their back. The Imperator's monitor-speakers buzz quietly with pleased static.

You seize an opportunity: "Oh, Imperator, may I pet your antennae?" you ask. (You've been wanting to do that ever since you first saw the Imperator. Their bifurcated aerial is so cute!)

"Please do." (They said yes!)

You give the Imperator a final squeeze before you pull away a bit. You lift a hand up to the top of the Imperator's head and gather up their antennae, squeezing them together a little with your thumb and little finger while your other three digits slip between the V of the antennae and scruffle their head-casing gently.

The Imperator displays a blissed-out emoticon and pushes their head upwards into your touch (just like a friendly kitty-cat reacting to ear-rubs, you think). You push your hand down a little, spreading the Imperator's antennae apart slightly. The Imperator's screen dissolves into happy static and they move their head a little closer to you - you respond by bringing your other hand in to gently stroke their screen with the back of your fingers. The Imperator pats and rubs your forearm in response.

The two of you caress and cuddle like this for a while, until the Imperator pushes you downwards, to your surprised delight. You're normally the more assertive one in situations like this. Having the Imperator take control like this feels surprisingly wonderful! (Is this how you normally make your partners feel? …Damn, you're good.)

"Tell me, human… For what purpose did humans build machines?" asks the Imperator as they loom over you.

"…They make our lives easier. Machines enable humans to perform tasks that we couldn't otherwise," you reply, gazing upwards at the Imperator.

"Well, human, I am going to make your life so much easier for a little while. I'll be such a good machine to you." The Imperator leans over you, their hands planted on the sofa on either side of your head.

You're getting so deliciously flustered, and it feels just wonderful. The Imperator is probably the most politically powerful and one of the most physically powerful entities in the world now… and they're into you. And you're realising now that you're so into them… and that your trouser crotch is becoming uncomfortably tight…

The Imperator backs off, and you squeak in surprised delight as they scoop you up and sit you back up, hugging you from behind and pulling you into them. You wriggle happily. The Imperator moves their hands in to loosen your belt. You gasp with pleasure and move your own hands in to help them - but they're so quick they've already got it undone. The Imperator peels their gloves off to expose their metallic hands. You get a brief look at their hands' dark metal metacarpals and phalanges, with more plastic-looking joints and dark purple gel-like padding, before the Imperator pushes their hand down your trousers and finds your bush, pushing their fingertips through it and raking backwards gently to make the hairs quiver like so many curly clock springs. Ohh.

"Your guards are still here," you remind the Imperator, your voice tight with arousal. Wouldn't your companion prefer privacy?

"Of course they are," replies the Imperator. "How else would they protect me? …Is it going to be a problem?"

"Not in the slightest." It's actually very hot that those two are going to watch. "But won't they feel… left out?" you ask further. You do feel a little awkward talking about them while they're in the room, though.

"They knew the risks when they took the job," replies the Imperator. Oh… maybe you've learned more than you expected to learn about the Imperator's bedroom habits…

You turn your head back to the Imperator as best you can, and speak quietly: "Perhaps, if they do their job well… might we invite them to join us?"

"I like the way you think, human."

The Imperator resumes running their hands over you, while you huff appreciatively. They move their hands further down your body and towards your crotch. You squeak and moan in anticipation of where this is going… The Imperator rubs your crotch through your trousers, making you squawk out a fluttering keen and buck your hips.

"Do you -ah!-" you gasp, "-know what to do -nnngh- with a human once you've got them into- ohh, into this state?" you ask the Imperator as they move their other hand in to unzip you.

"The Titan gave me a pretty good idea of what to expect."

The Imperator and the Titan have discussed fucking you?! That's… amazingly hot. You wheeze as though you're being crumpled.

The Imperator has started moving their hands into place so they can work on your junk. You're going to need to pull your legwear down further - it'll be a little tricky to do that without asking the Imperator to fully stop and disengage so you have the room to move. You look to the nearer of the two bodyguards and say: "Hey, cutie. If you're going to watch, please make yourself useful and help me get my trousers down."

The guard (Primus) seems taken aback by your instruction, but obediently moves towards you nonetheless.

"You are a bold one," says the Imperator, "to order my guards around… I absolutely approve, by the way."

The Imperator starts rubbing you off in earnest as Primus helpfully pulls your trousers around your ass and pulls them down and along until they're around your knees. To your surprise, Primus then begins removing your shoes so they can pull your trousers all the way off - while Icarus (whom you hadn't even noticed had stepped out briefly) moves in and covers your legs with a blanket. How thoughtful of both of them! Your mind's too occupied by the Imperator's touch to engage your vocal chords to thank the guards, so you give a thumbs up and hope they get your intent. Both of them briefly render smiling emoticons, before returning to displaying blank and impassive screens as they continue standing at attention.

(At the back of your mind, you realise you've still got your socks on. Some small part of your mind finds it rather funny that you're now naked from the waist down except for your socks.)

You writhe under the Imperator's touch, as they work your prepuce and glans with one hand while moving their other hand further down to give the rest of your junk some attention. It's rather good for a first attempt… but it's not quite there. Once you've got over the initial high from the raunchiness of the situation, you feel that they're being a little too gentle in places and slightly too rough in others. You move your own hands in to cover the Imperator's hands and guide them a bit better. The Imperator obligingly adjusts their fingers under your guidance.

"Is that nicer for you?" asks the Imperator.

"Yes," you breathe, just above a whisper. "Just a little further…" You curl your fingers around the Imperator's hand grinding your prepuce against your glans, and fix their touch. "A little more this way. Do you feel the difference?"

"Yes," replies the Imperator, "Do you?"

You purr and growl appreciatively in response. "Oh yes, Imperator. Ah! …That rhythmic motion's lovely, but you can mix it up a little like this:" you guide the Imperator's hand to demonstrate some other ways they can work your glans with their fingers in more rippling or more circular motions. Some keens rise from your throat.

You guide the Imperator's other hand now, showing them wordlessly what you'd like them to do with the rest of your junk, fondling it and handling it sweetly. "If it gets too hard to maintain both movements," you explain, "Please concentrate on this part, and I'll do the rest." You indicate with your hands which movement you'd rather the Imperator focus on.

"Understood," says the Imperator, their monitor-speakers so close to your ear.

You emit a fluttering moan at the intimacy of the sound and snuggle backwards into the Imperator.

"Your junk's getting fat and slimy," comments the Imperator. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"…Very good," you affirm.

You can't help noticing that the guards occasionally share a faceless glance, and then once they notice you looking, immediately pretend they hadn't. You hope they're enjoying the show, even if their professionalism prevents them showing it.

You're moaning more frequently now as the Imperator continues to work on you, while you stroke and gently rub their hands. The Imperator occasionally emits a gentle buzz of appreciation at the hand-massage, turning you on even further. You begin to writhe, and the Imperator brackets you a bit more with their legs.

"You're very warm," the Imperator notices.

You can only wheeze in response.

"I'm your Imperator. Let me hear you say it."

You exhale raggedly, rallying yourself to speak.

The Imperator presses their monitor-speakers closer still (and their hard metal bust a little further into your shoulder-blades) and says even more quietly: "Say it for me."

"Ah! …You're…" you huff under the Imperator's touch, "You're my Imperator."

"Very good," is the quietly approving response.

You're delighted by how that makes you feel. You'd always figured you had no taste for such 'commanding' behaviour, but now you think you've just never before encountered anyone with the charisma to pull it off. You absolutely want to please the Imperator… your Imperator.

You're getting close… you begin to feel that characteristic 'coiling spring' sensation as though your loins and your thighs are charging up with electric juice and getting ready to release. You feel heavier and lighter both at the same time, as if opposing forces are both pressing you downwards and trying to lift you up. You can't help vocalising with each breath out. "Oh, Imperator, just a little more," you think.

"You're very loyal to the TV faction, aren't you," says the Imperator, phrased as a question but with the intonation of a statement.

"Oh… yes…"

"Such loyalty deserves its reward."

You whine. "Please finish, please finish me," you think.

"Cum for me, my loyal human. Your Imperator commands it."

You roar as you writhe and buck. Most of your mind is blissfully overwhelmed by your orgasm - but a part of your brain can't help notice the two guards are visibly shocked by the intensity of your reaction, and protract their wrist blades a small amount in readiness for dispatching the 'threat', before retracting them. You'd laugh if you had any brain cycles left for that.

You flop back against the Imperator. You're spent. The Imperator motions for one of the guards to bring them something to clean their hands with. They do so while other guard drops a box of tissues in your lap. (You're too dazed right now to pay attention to which bodyguard is doing what.) The Imperator hugs you from behind with one arm while using their other hand to give you gentle head-rubs, until you can pool together enough brain function to clean your own self with the tissues.

"Are you satisfied for now?" asks the Imperator.

"eah… Oh, very much so, Imperator. Thank you."

"Are you prepared to serve your Imperator?"

"I'd love to! But I'm going to need a short bio-break before I can continue. …Do you have a private space I could use for that?"

"My office is currently unoccupied. There's a storage room off it with a floor drain, if that's what you need. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, Imperator. I'll be back shortly."

You get up off the sofa, picking up the blanket as you do so and holding it around your waist. Well, this feels undignified. You can either hobble along holding up the blanket, pause to put your trousers back on, or just walk around with your arse out. It occurs to you that it's weird to feel self-conscious about walking around naked from the waist down in mixed company, even though you had no qualms about fucking in front of them. It just feels ruder somehow, and you can't really articulate why that is.

The Imperator indicates their coat hanging on the rack: "Borrow that if you want."

Well then! You gladly accept the chance to try it on. You don the Imperator's coat, which luckily comes down far enough to cover your ass and groin. Plus, you feel stylish! …You just hope you aren't going to make the Imperator's coat smell of your oozings. "Thank you, Imperator. I feel cute!"

You put the blanket down somewhere and pick up your overnight bag, taking it with you into the Imperator's office. There are a few doors off it, but you quickly work out which one must be the storage room. As promised, there's a drain in the concrete floor, smelling of machine oil and of things like WD40. This must be a space suitable for performing oil changes and other such maintenance. You get your wash-bag out from your overnight bag and make your way inside. You piss down the drain, enjoying the relatively refreshing urine cutting through your albumen-like sex-slime, and the way your post-sex urine always comes out more laboriously than usual, forcing its way out of your still-engorged junk. Plus… you kinda dig the way the scent of your piss is overpowering the resident smells. You guess this is how a beast feels when it marks its territory.

(You're grateful you didn't have to bother with your portable urinal. It does the job just fine, but it means you have to carry a sloshing bottle of piss home. You also idly wonder what happens to the stuff that goes down that drain. Does it get harvested and processed in any way? And will your assorted piss and fuck juices be an inhibitor or an enhancer?)

You get out your wash-bag and freshen your junk with a squirt-bottle of water and some tissue, then wash your hands with soap, drying them with a flannel. (You put the used tissues in a small plastic bag to take home; it doesn't feel quite right to throw them away in the Imperator's office.)

You exit the storage room, and swap the wash-bag for a couple of snacks from your overnight bag. A quick munch will give you energy for whatever comes next. All done, you pack everything away (and check your borrowed coat for crumbs) and return to the Imperator's quarters. You don't even have to open the door; Primus opens it for you at the sound of your approaching footsteps.

"There you are, human," says the Imperator as you set down your bag, re-hang the Imperator's coat and return to the sofa with blanket in hand.

"Were you worried I'd fallen down the hole?" you ask, and you both laugh. Even the guards make quiet amused noises at that.

The Imperator hugs you once again as you sit back down on the sofa. "My turn now, human?"

"Anything you want, my Imperator."

"You'll need your tools for this next part."

You'd been wondering ever since you got here why you'd need it. Icarus brings it over to you while Primus picks up and brings over a low table to set the toolbox down on next to you.

"Remove my blade, human," says the Imperator. "I want you to do this for me."

You notice the emphasis in the Imperator's words. Of course they can remove their own blades if needed, you reason. The Imperator is probably asking for this as an expression of trust, or as a test of your courage or skills or both.

You unbutton the Imperator's cuff and roll up their sleeve to reveal the exposed exo-plating of their arm. As you expected, from previously having seen unclothed TV-units, the exo-plating is a dark grey-black flexible material, like aramid fibre, encasing a sturdier metal framework. A few small panels are made of translucent material, enabling you to see glimpses of machine 'muscle' fibre inside. You can even see small beads of purple energy zipping along the black cables.

You've never tried to remove a TV unit's blade, and you're not sure how to do so. Do you attempt it while the blade is withdrawn or while it's protracted?

"I'll do that for you, Imperator. Please give me a moment," you say. If they're not going to tell you how to do it, you'll work it out. You suspect this is part of a test - if you haven't got the nous to work out how to remove the blade, you don't get to fuck the Imperator.

You already know from past experience how to force a TV unit's blade out of its socket if need be (by pressing down just so on the release mechanism from outside). That might be a good place to start investigating. You press down gently with your fingertips to feel the flat hardness of the concealed blade. (Interesting - it seems that if you tilt the Imperator's forearm just so, you can just about see the edge of blade through one of the translucent panels of their plating.) You feel further down the Imperator's arm, pressing gently as you go, to find the root of the blade… and find your fingers travelling further down still. The blade is a lot longer than you expected it to be, its root almost at the Imperator's elbow joint. You press questioningly with your fingertips, probing to establish whether this really is the blade's outline or part of something else.

"Surprised?" asks the Imperator.

"Yes, actually. Your blade's longer than I expected."

"Of course it is. I'm the Imperator. …Do you still think you can detach it?"

"I'll find out soon enough. I'm not ready to concede defeat just yet."

"Don't disappoint me."

You reach into your toolbox and pull out a wallet of lockpicks. They're generally useful to have for their slim profile and hooking tips, enabling them to be poked into skinny gaps and pull things out. You select a pick that you think will be a good starting point. You bring the tip to the Imperator's blade's exit slot, checking it'll be able to fit in without getting caught.

"Interesting approach," comments the Imperator.

"Don't you worry, my Imperator," you say, "We'll be careful to not hurt each other, won't we?"

"That we will."

You angle the Imperator's arm and your own head so you can see down the blade exit slot as best you can. The Imperator could slide their blade out right now and cause you serious damage, but you trust them, just as they're trusting you right now to probe their blade mechanism.

You're aware of the guards getting twitchy in the edge of your vision. They probably want you to stop handling their beloved Imperator so, but they won't actually intervene without the Imperator's order.

You slide the lockpick into the slot. You predict that the release mechanism will have a spring, and a pin that fits into a notch in the blade to lock it in place. You hope you can unhook the spring to release the tension, and move the pin aside somehow, so you can slide the blade out. You move the lockpick around in the slot, sliding it left to right and changing the angle so you can probe as far as possible inside the mechanism. You think you've located the spring, and you hook the lockpick's tip onto it and pull gently to gauge whether it is a spring or something else.

The Imperator's monitor-speakers emit a quiet and low static growl of displeasure. The guards twitch their hands, ready for action.

You freeze for a moment, then gently disengage the lockpick from the spring, careful not to add any twisting. You pull the lockpick out as smoothly as you can, taking care not to rake anything with it on its way out.

"That seems uncomfortable for you. I'll try something else," you say.

"Thank you. I could tell what you were trying to do, and you would probably have succeeded, but that did not feel good."

You pet-pat the Imperator's arm in what you hope is a soothing manner, and continue your examination. Maybe going from the inside-out is the wrong approach entirely, so you examine the Imperator's arm-plating some more. You feel the seams between panels, pushing at them with your thumbs, trying to determine whether any of them are designed to come apart.

You feel around for any difference in resistance. You think you've got it.

You reach over to your toolbox again, and retrieve your pouch of your smallest and most delicate tools. You select a couple of spudgers: a plastic one that you think will be kinder to the Imperator's panels, and a more robust metal one in case the plastic one isn't tough enough. You probe the panel-gap with the plastic spudger, and realise that while this is an openable seam, it's not going to come apart in its current state. You retrieve a torch from your toolbox, then shine it through one of the Imperator's translucent panels and bring your face in for a better look. You think you've worked it out: the seam is locked tightly closed unless the Imperator brings their hand into a certain position. That must be a safety measure to prevent just anyone being able to spudge their arm open at any time.

You reach out to hold hands with the Imperator, and they let you. You entwine your fingers and firmly-but-gently pull the Imperator's hand into the correct angle - there's no way you could do this without the Imperator's co-operation - then with your other hand spudge open the seam. The panel obligingly springs open neatly, revealing a more robust metal under-panel held on with hex screws. You disengage your grip from the Imperator's hand (and give their hand a friendly pat), then reach into your toolbox for a hex screwdriver. The Imperator hasn't made any move to stop you or emitted any displeased sounds, so you think you must be on the right track. You proceed to remove the hex screws and slide off the panel, revealing the Imperator's blade in its glory.

"Oh, there's a nice thing," you say admiringly.

"It really is, isn't it. …Do you realise how many TVs would kill to be in your position?"

"I'd fight them all off for you, my Imperator."

The Imperator emits a low buzz of approval at your bold words.

You beat down your rising fluster, and get back to work. You hold down and slide the override switch for the blade mechanism, and you feel the tension of the spring soften. You realise that of course you can't actually pick up the double-edged blade without slicing your fingers, so you select a needle-nosed pliers from your toolbox with which to pick it up. You nuzzle a jaw of the pliers under the blade until you have enough purchase to grip and lift the blade out. There. As soon as you've lifted the blade enough, you grip the tang with your fingers so you can let go with the pliers; it's probably not great for the blade.

"Well done," says the Imperator approvingly.

You set the blade down on top of your toolbox, then with both your hands free you close up the Imperator's arm-panels. You pat their arm and say, "There's your blade out. What happens next?"

In response to your question, Icarus steps forward to present you with an item that looks like a handle. You accept it. "Thank you," you say, "What is this item? …Oh, I think I know."

You reach for the Imperator's blade, carefully picking it up by the tang again. You slide the handle onto the tang and turn closed some bolts on the handle, locking the blade in place. You're now holding something a bit like a dagger, fashioned from the Imperator's blade.

"Now," says the Imperator, "I want you to fuck me with that."

Luckily, you're already familiar with how TV-units masturbate, otherwise you'd surely find the Imperator's request very alarming. The Imperator wants you to push their disembodied blade into their charging port to stimulate the connectors inside.

The Imperator undoes their waistcoat, and hikes up their turtleneck over their bust-shaped plating. A flicking aside of their cravat reveals their charging port, situated on the pseudo-sternum of their plating. You're surprised by the sight of it - the Imperator's charging port is bigger and more rugged-looking than other TV-units'. You guess they need the bandwidth of extra juice to power their abilities that the other TVs don't have, such as their incendiary powers.

The Imperator catches you noticing, and points at their charging port. "Does it surprise you?"

"Yes," you reply, "I guess the answer to that is also 'because you're the Imperator'?"

"You get it," the Imperator replies with a smiling emoticon.

You get an exciting idea. "Imperator," you begin, "Would you… be willing to use your screen hypnosis on me for this?"

The Imperator regards you quizzically.

"I'm absolutely willing to do this for you," you continue, hefting the blade for emphasis, "And I have no reservations about doing it… so… I think I'd enjoy it if you commanded me absolutely to do it." You'd hate to be forced to do it, of course. But the first time you met the Imperator, you got to experience the benign version of their mind-control and found you enjoyed it.

"I'll do you one better," says the Imperator. To your surprise, their neck-joint starts sparking and their head-jets fire up - luckily you're already familiar with the Imperator's ability to auto-decapitate, or this would be extremely alarming!

The Imperator's head detaches from their body and hovers in front of you. Their screen shines a soft magenta-purple, broadcasting a command into your mind - your mind is strong enough that you could easily resist, but why would you ever want to? The mind-voice is so alluring, you want to obey. The mind-voice commands - no, it suggests -- it makes you feel clever and makes you feel as though it was your idea all along. (A small part of the back of your mind sees this insidious ruse… but you genuinely trust the Imperator. You asked for this.) The mind-voice implores you to hug the Imperator's headless body from behind. You gladly do so - you would have done that with your free will anyway; all the Imperator would have to do is ask. Being commanded to do something you wanted to do anyway feels so nice. You embrace the Imperator's body, stroking their charging port with one hand as you ready the blade with the other.

The Imperator flies their head behind you, and you hear the sound of their protractile grabbing appendage emerging from underneath their head-casing. Then you feel a hard, oddly warm, grip at the back of your neck - it's the Imperator's clawed appendage latching onto you -- latching on to your mind. It's the same way the Imperator takes control of skibidis - and it works just as well on you too. (After all, you as a human are effectively an uncorrupted skibidi.)

You notice the two guards, clearly agitated but keeping themselves under control. Their training is such that whenever the Imperator detaches their head, the guards are supposed to stand close by - acting as bodyguards in the most literal sense of the word. They're having to go against their training to maintain their position. At the same time, they're getting flustered and aroused as all hell (to your delight), and having to maintain their professionalism. In maintaining their position by the door, they're caught between adhering to one set of requirements while having to go against another.

"You're right, my guards are lovely," says the Imperator inside your mind, "But ignore them for now." You obey. "My charging port isn't going to fuck itself, human. Get your hands moving."

All you want to do is obey. The idea of disobeying would be as if someone told you to blow up the Moon: don't be silly.

You use both hands to line up the blade, peering over the Imperator's headless shoulders (damn, that's surreal) to check the blade is lined up nicely with the connector ports. The Imperator's claws grip and massage the back of your neck.

"That's good," says the Imperator inside your mind. "You want to please your Imperator, don't you?"

You absolutely do.

You slide the blade gently in.

"Far too gentle, human. Harder."

You'd only wanted to be sure you were getting lined up right and not fruitlessly trying to thrust at a bad angle… but if the Imperator commands, the Imperator gets.

You thrust the blade into the Imperator's charging port - and since you're embracing the Imperator from behind, you're naturally thrusting the blade towards yourself. Is that why the Imperator had you position yourself that way? You'd surely be able to put in a more powerful thrust if you were face-to-face with the Imperator (well, relatively speaking, considering their 'face' is now perching on the back of your head), but the Imperator chose to have you do it this way.

The blade won't thrust all the way home - the Imperator has such an impressive blade that it's longer than the charging port is deep, even taking into account that their port is bigger than a standard TV-unit's. You pull the blade handle towards you as far as the charging port will allow the blade to go, then slide it out… and back in. The Imperator rewards you by moving their grabbing claws to grip and massage your head some more.

You want to pleasure the Imperator as best you can, both under your own free will and under the Imperator's benevolent psychic tyranny. You reach for your toolbox - to the Imperator's surprise; they didn't command you to do that. But this action is compatible with your orders, so it causes neither of you any anguish. You pull out a right-angle double-coupler clamp and a metal rod, then thrust the Imperator's dagger home to use their charging port as a vice while you fashion the clamp and rod into a temporary cross-piece for the fuck-dagger's handle. You hold onto the metal rod cross-piece and use that to hold onto while you thrust the dagger out and then back in - that's a much better angle for your arms. Now you can please your Imperator with greater stamina and more powerful thrusts.

"Oh, you're very good," says the Imperator inside your mind, "You serve your Imperator well."

You continue thrusting the dagger, a bit like a rowing machine, while you squeeze the Imperator with your thighs and buck your hips into their back. You nuzzle the Imperator's exposed neck-port where their head normally sits, making your head swim with the rebound from the Imperator's psychic flusteredness. The Imperator is taken aback by your actions but is not at all displeased. You thrust the Imperator's blade into their charging port once more, and at the same time huff your warm mammal breath down the Imperator's neck, stimulating their charging port from two directions at once. Your vision swirls and the Imperator's clawed appendage struggles to keep its grip on your head. (A small part of your brain is very amused that you could in theory break the Imperator's psychic grip just by making them too flustered to maintain control.)

You get another idea. You change to using just one arm to thrust the Imperator's blade (a little tricky, but your free-willed mind genuinely likes the Imperator enough that you'll endure a little shoulder-ache for them), and move your free hand up to the Imperator's neck-port.

(You notice the two guards getting very agitated at the sight of this, but the Imperator has made no call to action, so they have no choice but to let you continue or risk the Imperator's displeasure. You also wonder if their agitation is purely concern or if they're also getting flustered by how into this they are.)

Your psychic link with the Imperator is buzzing right now - the Imperator isn't sure where you're going with this, but they trust you with their body just as much as you're currently trusting them with your mind.

"Go ahead, human," they utter inside your mind, "You'll be nice to your Imperator, won't you?"

You gently place your hand down the Imperator's neck-port, caressing the insides as you go. You reach down until your hand arrives at the docking port where the Imperator's clawed appendage normally slots into place. Your vision swims with what looks like static - your touch is driving the Imperator wild. You manage to co-ordinate a dagger-thrust with your other hand, making your vision grey out. (Is this what the Imperator sees? Do they still see through their own head, or are they currently viewing everything through your eyes?)

You press your front into the Imperator's back as you thrust with the dagger once more with your one hand -- and with your other hand you reach down into the docking port and push your fingers into the claw slots, squeezing your hand gently and rubbing inside the slots with your fingertips. Your vision is completely gone now, and the claws at the back of your head are squeezing ever-harder. You're startled by your vision suddenly snapping back with perfect clarity and the pressure disappearing from the back of your head and neck. The Imperator's head has fallen away from you - luckily their rockets automatically kick in and prevent any fall damage.

"Hand out, human - quickly," says the Imperator, vocally this time - your control-link has broken.

You quickly withdraw your hand from the Imperator's neck-port, afraid you've hurt them. The Imperator slides their head back home and immediately gets to work grabbing the dagger still in their charging port, masturbating with it as though their life depends on it. You realise that you actually broke the Imperator's mind-link with you by over-stimulating with them with your touch, and now they desperately need relief.

You don't dare try to help with their dagger-thrusting - the Imperator is moving their hand with practised speed, faster than you could keep up with. You're absolutely sympathetic to their condition, though - you know how it is to be stuck in a state of edging. You instead try to help the Imperator along by snuggling into them and petting their head-casing, to which they respond with affectionate buzzes of static. You kiss the side of their head just as they finally shudder to completion.

The exhausted Imperator hands you their blade. "Put it down somewhere for me, please. I'll re-attach it when I'm myself."

You remove the additions you'd clamped to the handle, then set the blade safely down on top of your toolbox. You'll be happy to help the Imperator re-attach it if they need you to.

You snuggle against and cuddle the Imperator. "I think we got your guards really worked up," you remark. "Oh, haven't they been good? They've kept us both safe from all harm. Can't we do something nice for them?"

The Imperator replies: "I agree." Then, addressing the two guards: "At ease."

The two guards all but spring towards each other, and embrace each other passionately. They bring their heads together, each pressing the top band of their head-casing against the other's, while wisps of static electricity spark between their nearly-touching screens. Oh! You weren't expecting such a display. You're moved by the intensity of their mutual affection.

"Oh, look at them," you murmur, "They're so good to each other."

Your excitement quietly wells further as the guards move onto undoing each other's coats and then shirt buttons to reach each other's charging ports, which they proceed to massage. This is the first time you've seen two TVs fuck each other (or at least make a prelude to) and it is hot beyond your expectations. You watch, idly petting your junk, as the two guards deploy a blade each and plunge them into each other's charging ports. (It would be an alarming visual if you didn't already know that TVs enjoy this activity.) The two guards push their knives into each other while using their free hands to either hug the other or caress the other's head-casing, all while gazing into each other's screens. They're adorable!

You ask the Imperator quietly: "I'd like to hug your guards. May I ask them, or should I give them their space?"

"Go ahead. I think they'd like it if you asked them," replies the Imperator.

Encouraged by this, you get up and walk over to the two guards. (You're still trouserless, but you've decided you don't care any more. You think it's not weird if you're just continuing the fuck-activities; it only becomes weird when you take a break from them. That's probably it.)

You move in to hug them both, and before you can even begin to ask if you can continue, they both reach without looking to pull you in and hug you back with their free arms, and distractedly display heart emoticons on their screens. How lovely! You cluck happily in appreciation at their display and at the sensation of the group hug.

The sight of Primus and Icarus pressing their knives into each other's charging ports is getting you riled up, and you feel the heat rising in your loins. You rub the two guards' backs, wishing you were just a bit taller so you could nuzzle the sides of their dear heads. You get an idea, and when they next push their blades into each other, you squeeze your embrace to push them both closer together still. Both guards make delighted static sounds and squeeze you in return.

The three of you continue in this way, with Primus and Icarus continuing to blade-fuck each other's charging ports while you hug, stroke and rub them both, reaching up to pet the sides of their head-casings. Both of them seem delighted by the extra attention you're giving them in addition to the attention they're giving each other. Eventually both TV-units have had enough, Primus finishing first and leaning exhaustedly against the wall while Icarus finishes themself off shortly afterwards. You offer both units a final hug each, which they both accept.

The Imperator then moves in to embrace you warmly - you're only too happy to step into it and hug back. "Thank you, Imperator," you say as they squeeze you. You continue: "I believe I said earlier that 'I'd fuck you twice'. Are you ready for another go?"

"Absolutely not, human! I had a wonderful time, but I'm spent for now. I'll be coasting on this for a while." The Imperator breaks off the hug, then asks you: "…Are you actually wanting a second go?"

"I am! Watching Fifteen-Sixty-Six and Eleven-Fifty-Three-" (yess, you remembered their serials) "-really got me riled up."

Both guards display some flustered static and wring their hands at the attention. They love it but they're not used to it, you think.

"I was told you were a lusty human," continues the Imperator, "But it seems I still underestimated you."

"I was able to fuck the Titan to exhaustion, Imperator," you remind them, "Did you think it was an exaggeration?"

The Imperator displays a shocked emoticon. "I actually did," they confirm.

"It wasn't. I'm going to need to masturbate or I'll be distracted all day long. Can I use your sofa again?" (You think you know why there was a tarp put on it before your visit.)

Before the Imperator can answer, Primus interjects: "Human… could I and Sixty-Six help you with that?"

You can't believe what a gift has been dropped into your lap! Both of them!

"I would absolutely love that!" you reply. You want to check that Icarus didn't get voluntold, though, so you check: "Fifteen-Sixty-Six, are you up for that?"

Icarus displays a wicked smiling emoticon, and replies: "Of course I am; I told Fifty-Three to ask you."

Oh, you're getting worked up. You address both guards: "I want one of you working my junk and the other one working my arse. Whoever gets my arse will need to wear disposable gloves - I have some with me in my toolbox. Because that's my shitpipe, and no-one wants to find poo where poo should not be."

Primus and Icarus discuss between themselves who is going to do what, while you fetch a box of disposable gloves from your toolbox (luckily, the gloves will fit the two TV-units - they're made for techfolk and are a bit loose on you).

"Glove up, whoever's on ass duty," you say. "You can switch roles at any time, but do not use a glove that's been up my arse on my junk. This is definitely a single-use situation. And whoever's going up my arse will also need this:" you say, indicating a bottle of water-based lube you'd found in your toolbox.

(You thank your past self for having had the foresight to include it - you'd found it useful for giving tired rubber components a slight refresh. Without it, you'd probably have had to ask the guards to use your tub of petroleum jelly instead, which would be better than nothing but less than ideal.)

It looks as though Icarus is going on ass duty while Primus gets junk duty. The three of you move to the sofa and you direct the two guards in front of and behind you accordingly.

"You first," you say to Icarus behind you. "You gloved up?"

"I am," they reply. "Should I apply the lubricant to my hand now?"

"Yes, though just one digit will suffice - you won't be able to get your entire hand up! I recommend using your middle finger, but you can do what you want. …That's it. Now poke around until you find something that feels… well, kind of like a rubber washer. Ohh, you found it. Now, push just like you're doing now, and maintain gentle pressure while I push back."

You get your ringpiece mounted on Icarus's digit.

"Oh, you're so warm inside!" exclaims Icarus. (For some reason, that's endearing and turns you on further!)

"Hold that thought. I'm going to want you to gently push your finger in and out a bit, but not right now. Let me direct your colleague first." You address Primus: "What are you doing for gloves? I recommend you either wear disposables or take your cloth gloves off, or both, otherwise your cloth gloves are going to get soaked with my organic slimes."

Primus opts for taking their gloves off.

"Don't forget to slip on a pair of disposables if you switch roles," you remind them. "Now, let me guide your hands into place. Ah!" you exclaim as the Imperator pets your head. It was very pleasant, but unexpected. "Thank you, Imperator. If you wanted to join us, I wouldn't object to some more of that."

You guide Primus's hands to show them how you'd like them to work your junk. They were watching you earlier, but of course your legs were covered with a blanket, so they wouldn't have been able to clearly see what the Imperator was doing. (Could they have seen 'through' the blanket with their infra-red vision? You're not sure. You think that only works with very sheer fabrics. Whatever, guiding Primus's hands like this is hot; you'd do that anyway.)

Primus gets to work stroking you off with one hand, while they use their other arm to pull you in close and support your weight, letting you lean into them. Ohh, that's good. Meanwhile, Icarus begins massaging your rear pipe - shyly at first, but more firmly as they become more emboldened by the happy sounds you're making. The Imperator makes you exclaim in delight as they move in to pet your back and move their hand up to rub the back of your neck.

The four of you continue in this way: Primus and Icarus finger-fucking you in the ass and stroking off your junk, massaging you to your core and making the waves of your arousal spread through you and channel into your limbs. All the while, the Imperator caresses and rubs you everywhere, keeping you bucking and shuddering. Primus and Icarus are understandably a bit amateurish in their touch, as they've never fucked a human before, but you're riding the high of the hedonism from being fucked by not one, nor two, but by three TVs at once, all of them focusing on pleasuring you. You feel so desired, and you find yourself appreciating Primus's and Icarus's touch as charming rather than underwhelming.

Your keens get more and more frequent and desperate, and you writhe harder, making Icarus and Primus work harder to keep their hands in position. The arousal-feeling is starting to pool in your loins and belly, sending its tendrils of the electric-juice feeling tunnelling into your thighs and into your buttocks. You're tensing everywhere from your waist to your knees. Oh, you're so close… You hope Icarus and Primus don't mistake your nearly-there sounds for finished sounds, so you implore them: "Keep going, my friends, keep it just - right there…" (To their credit, they do just that, rather than making the all-too-common mistake of responding to 'keep going' with ramping up the intensity to unwanted levels.)

The Imperator strokes your back with one hand while using the other to reach under you to give you a belly rub, just above your pubic mound. The touch is enough to push you right over the edge, and you buck hard into your climax, letting out a long ragged noise partway between a squawk and a whimper. You gently push away any hands that are still in or on you, so you can properly flop and collapse. (One of the TVs puts the blanket back over you and another leaves the box of tissues with you - you're too blissfully dazed to notice which one did what.)

The Imperator sits next to you and pets you through the blanket, while you give your junk a wipe with the tissues. "Are you finally satisfied, human?"

"eah... Yes, Imperator. Oh, that was so good. I need to thank you all properly when I feel clever again."

You're vaguely aware of the two guards moving in to tidy up any used gloves. Icarus holds out a waste bin to you to drop in your used tissues. "Aren't you nice," you say sleepily to both of them.

"Don't fall asleep," the Imperator says, as they pick up their blade to re-insert it into their arm. "When you're ready, let's return to my office. I believe Eleven-Fifty-Three already told you that I have something for you."

"…I thought this was it? You invited me here to give me some fuck?"

"…No, I actually have something for you. The… 'some fuck' was just a bonus," says the Imperator as their arm plating closes up around their blade.

That's perked you up. You clean your hands properly with the items in your washbag; retrieve your underwear, trousers and shoes, and put them back on (in that order); then retrieve and pack away any of your tools and artifacts that are still outside your toolbox and bag. You brush at your clothes and comb your hair with your fingers to get yourself as presentable as you can, before following the three TVs back into the Imperator's office.

"I'm literally all shagged out, and ready to talk business, Imperator," you say as you take your invited seat (and Primus and Icarus take their assigned positions behind the Imperator). "What happens next?"

"As I said, I have something to give you: a promotion. As the Imperator of the TV Faction, I'm bestowing upon you the rank of 'auxiliary'. Are you familiar with the meaning of this rank?"

"No, Imperator."

"With a designation of TV auxiliary, the faction acknowledges that although you are not a TV, we recognise the valuable support you provide. Please bear in mind that this doesn't give you the ability to 'pull rank' with anyone, nor does it make you an 'honorary TV'. In your daily life, probably nothing will change. But it might make some things easier for you in future, and for your friend Fifty-Twenty-Two." The Imperator is referring to a TV-unit who works as a liaison between the three Alliance factions, and with whom you're close friends. "In essence, you and Twenty-Two won't have to fill in as much paperwork over your visits to the TV Base. You'll be able to be fast-tracked through a lot of that now."

"Thank you, my Imperator. I gratefully accept."

"…I wanted to offer you a fuck first because I wanted to be clear that I was offering that to you with no strings attached. I thought that if I gave you your promotion first, you might have felt pressured to accept fucking me."

"That's thoughtful of you - I appreciate it."

"Corollary to that: I want to make it clear that I would have promoted you to auxiliary regardless of whether you had fucked me. I know you are a clever human, but for the avoidance of all doubt: I want to make clear that I'm not going to promote anyone just because they can charm me into fucking them. You're genuinely an asset to the Alliance and this promotion is a reflection of that."

"I understand, Imperator. …Thank you very much for this - and for everything today. It's been such a pleasure."

The Imperator displays a delighted emoticon. "I'd love to spend more time with you, but I must return to work. I have much to catch up on."

"Of course, Imperator."

"Eleven-Fifty-Three, please take the human home."

You stand, and give the Imperator a final fist-bump goodbye as Primus approaches you. You sling on your backpack, and Icarus picks up your toolbox to hand to Primus to carry for you. You wave goodbye to Icarus and the Imperator as Primus takes your hand and teleports you home.

You spawn outside your quarters, which you unlock. Primus sets your toolbox down inside the door.

"Hug goodbye?" you ask, "Or just a fist-bump this time?"

"I'll take that hug, if I may," replies Primus. They pull you into a hug. "Thank you for the experience today. I've had a lovely morning, and I know Fifteen-Sixty-Six and the Imperator did too. I guess… 'Ah'll sithee'? Did I use that correctly?"

"You did! Ah'll sithee, Eleven-Fifty-Three."

The two of you disengage, and Primus disappears in a cloud of black mist.

---

You message Cygnus, the TV-unit known as Fifty-Twenty-Two to everyone else, who is your dearest friend in all the Alliance: "please call me when you get time, buddy, very much want to chat."

To your delight, Cygnus calls you not long afterwards.

You answer your communicator: "Cygnuuuuus… guess who I just fuuuuuuucked?"

"Human, you sound happy! Did you get to fuck the Titan again? …You cleared it with the chief engineer this time, I hope?"

"Not the Titan this time. Guess again."

"Did you find a human friend? How wonderful!"

"Not a human; it was still one of the Alliance."

"Oh… you didn't fuck the other factions' Titans, did you?? You remember what the chief engineer said about that."

"No, the Titans remain unfucked. It was someone from your faction."

"Did you fuck Polycephaly?"

"No, but that's a nice idea."

"I'm not going to get it, am I? Tell me who, human."

"I fucked… the Imperatoooor! …And their guards. I'm… pretty wrecked, to be honest. I'm glad the Imperator had the foresight to get me the whole day off work. Oh, Cygnus, I wish you could have been there! Actually, maybe it's better that you weren't; I would probably have friggin' exploded with happiness."

"You… certainly don't aim your sights low."

"Oh, and don't you worry. You're always and forever my number one fuckbuddy, Cygnus. I love you best."

"I never doubted it for a second. But I loved hearing it confirmed!"

"Also, the Imperator gave me a thing. Apparently I'm a 'TV auxiliary' now."

"You're a what?"

"…That's not a thing, is it? The Imperator was having a crap of me, weren't they?"

"What? No! It's absolutely 'a thing'. The three Imperators are auxiliaries of all three factions. To my knowledge, you're the only non-Imperator to have an auxiliary rank."

"What? That's… genuinely pretty cool."

"You absolutely deserve it! You're a credit to your species and I wish we had more of you. …You said you had the day off, didn't you?"

"That I did."

"Please give me 30 or 60 minutes to find a stopping point at my end, then let me port in and get you. I simply must hear everything that happened today!"