My AI

By G.M. Fairy

After social media star Azzy, has a very public panic attack at a red-carpeted award show, her best friend orders her an Andro Corp. Bodyguard. When her robot bodyguard gets delivered, Azzy quickly realizes Model REM082 is the man of her dreams. Things start heating up as Remmy, as she likes to call him, becomes more and more sentient and does whatever it takes to please her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.M. Fairy
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224415342

G.M. Fairy

G.M. Fairy is a best-selling erotica author who dabbles in Fantasy, Sci-Fi, and all things whimsical. To learn more about the author and her works, follow her on Instagram @g.m.fairyauthor and TikTok @g.m.fairy

Book preview

My AI

A Robot Why-Choose Love Story

G.M. Fairy

Copyright © 2023 by G.M. Fairy

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address:

[e-mail]

FIRST EDITION

Contents

Dedication

Content Warning

1.Azzy

2.Remmy

3.Azzy

4.Azzy

5.Remmy

6.Azzy

7.Remmy

8.Azzy

9.Azzy

10.Remmy

11.Azzy

12.Remmy

13.Azzy

14.Remmy

15.Azzy

16.Remmy

17.Remmy

18.Azzy

19.Remmy

20.Azzy

21.Remmy

22.Azzy

23.Remmy

24.Azzy

25.Remmy

26.Azzy

27.Azzy

28.Remmy

29.Azzy

Thanks For Reading

To all the girlies that have ever felt unsafe. So, all of us.

Content Warning

For a full list of content warnings in this book, please go to my Instagram @g.m.fairyauthor and check the Google Docs in the link in my bio.

1

Azzy

The second my foot hits the red carpet, I’m assaulted by flashing lights that come from everywhere, all at once. I begged Trisha to organize a backdoor entrance for me, but she said it wasn’t possible. I knew she was lying. She always wants me front and center. She says it’s important for my career.

Right now, I severely regret my decision to come to this MeTube award show. It’s only been two weeks since the assault. I’m not ready for this.

Azzy, over here, over here! Different voices call from all around, morphing into one overwhelming scream.

I’m not an actress in the traditional sense, although the content I create on social media is all carefully orchestrated to fit my persona. But right now, I could probably win an Emmy. I flash a smile and put on the mask I’ve trained to hide my true emotions. I stop three times and pose for the camera, and when I come to the end, I stop for the Gen-Z reporter.

Azzy, you look gorgeous tonight. Who are you wearing?

I’ve seen this girl on social media before but don’t know her name. Thanks so much. I look down at my pink-jeweled mini-dress with pink feathers at the hem. This is a Rocky original. He designed it for me for tonight. You should follow him on Picstagram. His handle is @rockythreads. Not only did I get this outfit for free, but I was also paid ten thousand dollars before this event just for agreeing to mention him. I should be thankful for my career. Ordinary people have to work hours doing back-breaking labor to get the kind of money I get for mentioning a name, but after doing this for five years, I’m anything but thankful.

I answer a few more surface-level questions and then make my way into the museum’s front doors. It’s not until this moment when I’m not using all my effort to put on a performance that I realize my heart is racing. I feel like I can’t breathe.

Suck it up, Azzy. I pinch the thick part of my palm, trying to focus on the pain I’m causing myself instead of my body's dramatic reaction.

I haven’t always been like this at events. When I first started gaining traction on social media and earning money from my posts, these sorts of things were my favorite. But after years of fake smiles, fake friends, and fake conversations, the whole world I’ve pined over for years has lost its luster. It used to be bearable, though. That was until two weeks ago when everything went to shit. I learned just how dangerous it is to be in the public eye, and I should be thankful I made it out alive. Although, I wouldn’t describe myself as alive anymore.

No one here knows about what happened. That’s one thing I can thank Trisha for. She sure is good at covering shit up. Honestly, though, right now, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if everyone knew. That prick will probably rot in jail for the rest of his life, but I must keep living, pretending everything is fine. Somehow, dying seems like a better option than that. I don’t want to die. I just want the panic to end.

I make it to the entrance of the theater. They’ve turned the main atrium of the California National Museum into a theatre with a stage at the front. I just stand there, staring at the mass of people shuffling around and finding their seats. Everyone is dressed in bright fabrics and jewels. The amount of money just on people’s bodies tonight could feed a third-world country.

Before I step into the room to join my peers, my body freezes. I can’t go in.

People cue behind me, trying to make their way in. This only worsens my panic attack. I can’t say this is my first panic attack, but it’s definitely the first one in public.

Excuse me? says someone behind me, but I can’t move.

Tears flood down my face. My skin feels like it could melt off my body. If I could open my mouth, I would gasp for air. I’m suffocating inside myself.

Azzy? What are you doing? Someone comes from behind and pushes their way in front of me. It’s Kira. Azzy, are you okay?

Seeing someone familiar, my best friend, melts my freeze. I drop into her arms, sobbing.

Oh, my god. I can’t believe you’re even here. Let’s get you out of here.

She wraps her arm under me and guides me toward the back of the large room.

I know everyone is staring at me, but I don’t have enough sense to care.

She takes me to a private room and walks me out the back door.

God damn it. I knew there was a backdoor.

2

Remmy

I’m assaulted by flashing lights that come from everywhere, all at once. As I blink and take in more of my surroundings, my understanding of where I am, who I am, and the answers to the universe, make way to my consciousness. I’m lying on a metal table with two human males standing over me. They mumble to each other as they identify the different parts of me and check if they’re operational. They could ask me since I already know everything is functionally optimal.

Model REM082 is up and running, and he’s ready for dispatch, one of the men in a white lab coat says as he holds his finger to a device in his ear.

They step back, and the table I’m lying on is propelled forward. I’m carried through a dark tunnel, only illuminated by a stripe of LED lights running straight down the walls.

I pick up my left hand and bring it to my face, testing my five fingers. I know I have fingers and other body parts as well. Everything about me and the world around is programmed inside my brain, but knowing and seeing the visual of the data is an entirely different experience. I’m eager to see the rest of me. I’m eager to see everything. I’m programmed to strive to gain more and more information.

I’m brought into a large white room. Other naked humanoid beings stand at different stations around me. I know they aren’t humans, though. It’s evident by their metal chest plates and that they’re without genitals. Androids don’t need genitals as humans do. They all look different. Some have dark hair, while others have light. Their facial features vary, as well as their body types. This confuses me. I cannot understand why there would need to be any variation between the units. The reason for this is another piece of data I’d like to discover and store.

My table stops at a station with a female wearing the same white lab coat as the men before. Hello, Model REM021. My name is Beverly. She outstretches her hand.

I already know what to do with this gesture, but knowing and actually shaking this female’s hand is an entirely different experience. I get up from the table and stand across from her before grabbing her hand. It’s soft and smooth, just like mine, except much smaller. I tower over this female. I know I am six feet and seven inches tall, so according to the distance from each of our heads, she is five feet and six inches tall. It seems to be a disadvantage to be so small.

Hello, Beverly. It’s nice to meet you. I smile, which means that I show all my teeth and bring up my cheeks to look happy instead of scared. I’m programmed with all the different emotions, even if I don’t feel them myself.

Beverly looks me over as she talks. I will do one last check before we prepare you for shipping. Can you step forward five steps, then turn around and come back?

I do as I’m told and then stand in the spot I started from.

Beverly checks something off on her clipboard. Now I’m just going to give you a final look over. Can you please stand in front of the mirror?

I do as I’m told, and my optic lenses take in the sight of myself. I have dark curly hair and a dark short, trimmed beard. Facial hair seems unnecessary, but it doesn’t get in the way of my capabilities. The color of my optic lenses is blue, and this is standard among us Androids since our eyes can illuminate in the dark. My body gives the appearance of muscles under my synthetic skin, but really, it’s just metal.

Beverly stops looking me over. Okay, very good. Now, one last check, can you tell me what you are and where you’ll be going?

"I am an AdroCorp. Model REM082 Bodyguard. My primary function is to protect my owner, named Azzy