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Self-Locomotion By Limewah Subscriber Reward for RMED (Mar 2024) 18+

BOOT SUCCESSFUL.

SELF-LOCOMOTION INITIATED.

With that emotionless, low purr, the shiny rubber figure slowly rose from its reclining position. The bodysuit The rectangular visor that swept around from temple to temple glowed a bright neon blue, as did the tendril-like dreadlocks that sprouted from the back of the head. Their tips twisted and flicked, fanning like anemones. Long thin kangaroo-like ears subtly periscoped and turned, seeking out sound stimuli. Cyan and Teal sea-shades glowed under panels on the arms and legs, as if they contained vast, glittering seas within them.

Markus looked on. The golden furred ring-tailed panda was sliding a stylus along a tablet computer, scrawling out quick notes that he’d have time to decipher later. He was dressed the way a lead researcher ought to be on his lonesome - naked, with just a black bow tie. On his shoulders were two pauldrons full of a dark liquid, with tubes attached to it that traveled down to two large metallic cuffs on his wrists.

“So far so good…”

He was trying not to get too excited. Was this going to be the first successful test of the Neon Drone’s Self-Locomotion?

The drone swiveled over the side of the bench and placed its thick-booted feet on the ground. The right leg wobbled slightly and it inclined to that side.

Markus caught himself holding his breath. Inside the Neon Drone was a simple mannequin, one that was meant to safely serve as a stand-in for a living, breathing body.

The Drone took one step towards Markus. Its right leg wobbled and buckled, and its upper body jerked forward.

The force was enough for the mannequin’s head to dislodge, judging from how the ‘helmet’ was distorting. The front of the helmet was deflating, and the mannequin’s snout looked to be digging into the right cheek.

ERROR. ERROR. INTERNAL DAMAGE TO WEARER DETECTED.

SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION.

SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION.

CONTACTING EMERGENCY-

“Admin 33223, neutral!”

The Neon Drone went quiet.

“Eugh…” Markus sighed. His long golden and white tail slowly moved in front of him. He slipped his stylus back into the tool-belt wrapped and nestled in the fuzz..

The Neon Drone was still standing, at least…it looked comically morbid with that head flopping around loose inside it though, like a zombie with a broken neck.

Markus reached up, letting his fingers find the seam in the soft, almost fleshy synthetic material. He peeled it up and back, hearing the suck and hiss of the insulating seal breaking. The pink tendrils lazily wrapped around Markus’ wrists as he worked, with something that could have been mistaken for curiosity.

But Markus knew better than to assume that. It was a drone, after all - an unthinking machine.

SEAL COMPROMISED.

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry,” Markus said. “I’ll stick you right back in just a tick…”

He peeled the head-piece up and off, catching hold of the mannequin head before it could fall on the floor.

“The one thing I chose to skimp on,” Markus chuckled to himself as he examined the blank white canvas face, with a vaguely canine-shaped snout. It looked like the joint was loose.

It’d be an easy enough fix for now.

He gently set the head-piece aside on the bench, and stood on his tiptoes to slide the head back into place.

“A little epoxy will hold you in place,” he murmured. “You don’t need to turn your head anyway.” As his left hand held the mannequin head where it was meant to be, his right hand moved in. His thumb and ring finger pressed together, and the black fluid in his right pauldron slithered down the tubing and oozed out of the holes. The tarry epoxy bound to the metal joints, and Markus took hold of the head with both paws to keep it steady.

NO LIFE SIGNS DETECTED.

“Well, no, that’s because- huh?”

Markus’ laugh was cut short as he did a double take, looking at the Neon Drone’s head-piece still resting on the table. Its tendrils were still moving, its visor was flashing and pulsing. It should at least have gone into power saving mode…

“Hmm, that’s unexpected…” Markus tutted, curiously. He released his grip on the mannequin head and turned towards the helmet. “Right, let’s put you back on…”

As he lifted it up, there was a stunningly sharp pulse of light from the visor-screen. It stopped Markus dead in his tracks, his body seizing up in paralysis.

HOST DETECTED. RE-INTEGRATING.

“Re… wh…” Markus could barely form the words through his constricted throat… not that it made much difference.

The visor flooded with colour. A blue and cyan fractal cascaded its way into the centre of the screen. At this close distance, Markus could see other tiny spirals twisting off of the big central swirl, bifurcating into their own miniature whorls. Each one of them was impossibly deep, seeming to go on forever, and ever…

Markus had, at some point, added the Hypno-Flash protocol to his usual suite of programmes for drones. It was a common, popular feature.

But… they were user activated, not… working on their own…

BEGIN RE-INTEGRATION.

“B… begin…” Markus mumbled, suddenly able to find the words. Because the spiral had given him that gift again.

No, wait, this was wrong, he wasn’t part of the test, it would be too risky!

“Wait, no… w-we need the mannequin, I can’t w…. Wear…”

THOUGHT IS NOT NEEDED.

RE-INTEGRATION IS REQUESTED.

“Th…thought…” Markus mumbled, dizzily.

He understood what was desired of him.

The tendrils curled around Markus’ arms and torso, bracing in place like a possessive octopus. The screen was still all the panda could see, his animal-brain seeking to keep up with all the new patterns, constantly drawn to the next little spiral, and the next, and the next.

His head swum, and the swimming sensation slithered down his trunk, down between his legs, and his shaft began to engorge.

It pulsed a little with each sluggish step he took back towards the suit.

He could not see the path forward. His paws groped awkwardly at the suit in the standing mannequin, seeking out the seam in the back. Not quite velcro, not quite a zip, but something that could be split apart and peeled, allowing him to unwrap the mannequin in one long, simple motion.

FOREIGN MATTER DETECTED IN SUIT. PLEASE REMOVE.

“Okay… remove…” Markus sleep-talked, gripping the hips of the mannequin and straining as he pulled it upwards. The suit draped downwards onto the floor, though the heavy boots still remained on the ground.

The spirals seemed to flash brighter with each new ‘command’ the Neon Drone gave Markus. Just to make sure he was listening closely. And obeying the requests.

PLEASE INTRODUCE USER TO SUIT.

“Hello suit… I’m Markus…” he mumbled, his snout downturned towards the crumpled up suit, with its invitingly blue interior.

There was no response.

RECALCULATING COMMAND.

PLEASE STEP INSIDE.

“Ohhh…” Markus giggled. A little bit of his saliva dripped inside the suit as he slipped one foot, then the other inside. His steps were a little unsteady and wobbly - after all, the spirals on the visor remained the only thing his sleepy eyes could comprehend.

His eyes were swirling too, ringed ripples of blue and white and cyan to match those shapes in the Neon Drone’s visor.

He’d never worn the suit. It was untested.

Potentially unsafe.

But how could it be unsafe when it felt so perfectly right around his body? It was soft and supportive, and it swelled snugly against his touch, like an inflatable cuff. He lifted up the shoulders and slipped his arms inside. The seam began to seal, sliding up his back and hiding it beneath the synthetic second skin.

The seam around his tail liquified and began to spread downwards, coating it in a thick layer of quickly solidifying epoxy. His whole lower body was covered now, in a perfectly snug fit.

The Neon Drone hugged him tighter, vacuum sealed, even sealing around the curvature of his erect panda-dick.

His thoughts returned, one last gasp above the drowning pleasure of the spirals.

“Wait… c-can’t…”

GOOD DRONES DON’T THINK.

“Good… d-uh…?” Markus blinked slowly, and when his eyes opened, his right eye remained a little more closed than the left. “No, I d…don’t…”

GOOD DRONES DON’T THINK.

How was it… doing… that…? He thought…

No.

Good Drones don’t think. He understood that.

Good Drones didn’t need to think about moving. The suit did the work for them. His hand was resting on his cock, stroking with robotic regularity. A small hole opened, letting a little blob of pre-cum dribble out through the otherwise non-porous latex shapes.

CALIBRATING HOST BODY. PLEASE REMAIN STILL.

“Still…” Markus mumbled, his face blank and dazed, as the drone’s shining tendrils shifted and climbed. Markus tried to follow the spirals as the head lifted up, but that only sent his eyes up into the back of his head. With a groan, he slid into trance, eyes closed, still illuminated by the swirls of colour.

The helmet slid over his head. It, too, was a perfectly snug fit, squeezing him tightly. The seal hissed as the seams joined up, and the drone went stiff and upright.

CALIBRATING HOST BODY.

The Neon Drone quivered, a moan muffled from somewhere deep inside it. The Neon Drone’s thick cock throbbed and dribbled. The cyan and teal panels lit up brighter, strobing in a solo light-show.

The Neon Drone would not let the host body cum any time soon. It needed to keep its host body aroused for the entirety of the calibration session.

Host Bodies did not think. Host Bodies did not come. They were a scaffolding for the Neon Drone, to give it shape, and give it support.

As it stroked its Host Body’s cock, the Neon Drone approached the laboratory’s workstation.

The schematics were still laid out, easily accessible, and there was plenty of material in reserve to work with - vats upon vats of nanomachines and rubber.

Producing more Neon Drones would be a simple, efficient task.