Editing Note: These two versions have NOT been subbed by Tanya and her Subbing SWAT Team. Any and all odd spelling, eclectic grammar and outright crimes against litrature are mine and mine alone.

To the casual observer, it seems quite obvious what we’re looking at.

Silver Fox, with striking smile and casual laugh. Baby Doll, her perfect oval face framed by ink black hair, hanging on his every word, laughing at every cue. They’re not loud, they don’t deliberately draw undue attention but - as the impeccably appointed first class carriage races into the stormy north - their untold story mesmerises.

Even if he could be a young father to this child-like woman, from the way Baby Doll looks at him, the way she touches his arm, his hand, his face; it’s clear she’s no daughter. And, as striking as she is, he is also commandingly handsome - with that indefinable ease and healthy glow of comfortable wealth, private health care, expensive exercise and organic food. Silver Fox has no ring on his finger, nor the tell-tale pale indentation where one might recently have been removed. And, while he’s clearly older and somewhat less demonstrative, his is also not a father’s touch - nor that of a husband. There’s a hesitancy, a still learning caution - the newness that comes from unfamiliar controls and uncertain handling.

It’s a touch any woman might imagine, if not long for.

So, a sugar daddy and his side-action perhaps? Or an as yet untamed man-child, still clinging to his own fading youth by clutching at a series of interchangeable young lovers. A sad but sadly all too familiar tale. Whatever this is, it fizzes and pops with static energy and potential. As the compelling couple stretch over the separating table on this fast moving train, their physicality reeks of intimacy, expectation and soon to be delivered promise. In an increasingly drab world, filled with beige and grey, these two are painted in primary colours. Everyone who sees them, looks again.

Young men mutter darkly at the unfairness – with such a perfect angel so obviously in thrall to grey sideburns and a nice, thick wallet. Older men grumble miserably about how they might also touch the firmness of youth if they were not so loyal, or logical, or limited in opportunity. And the other young women in the carriage? They glance at him and admit to the possibility, even while condemning her with casual, not entirely honest assumptions of motives and methods. In that they share much with the older woman also resentfully look on, but who might also stipulate they were never quite as perfect and, in truth, would happily exchange places with Baby Doll if he were to so much as curl one of those well-groomed fingers in their direction.

Thus, in mutual adoration and mostly oblivious to the watching eyes, Silver Fox and Baby Doll manage to command the attention of everyone in the well-appointed carriage while not appearing to have eyes for anything but each other.

*

Stranger sits at the small bar at the Southern end of the North-bound carriage. She’ll be last to reach that distant Terminus but this elevated position provides a perfect place from which to look into the future they all glide towards on magnetic wheels.

The news drones on the flat panel behind her. Yet another tech company issuing yet another urgent recall for yet another faulty product sold as grade-A, but issued in Beta. But Stranger is more interested in her fellow travellers. She idly imagines their lives, extrapolates their stories - fills in the blanks from the limited cues of barely heard conversation and her own not so casual observation. But, even as she assembles her collection of imagined stories, Stranger’s eyes keep turning and returning to the middle of the carriage. To the young woman and the mesmerizing man with the perfectly photogenic silvering hair.

As is her way, she tries to undercut that instinctive attraction with gently, unkind humour. She imagines him to have ugly toes and impossible to ignore halitosis. She lowers his imaginary IQ to parity with a pot-plant and supposes a sex life measured in splintered seconds. And with each imaginary black mark she appends to his permanent record, Stranger smiles at her own petty predilections, while his impossible to ignore magnetism continues to act as an almost irresistible siren call to her deepest longings and lusts. Like everyone else in the carriage, Stranger struggles to look away and, when she does, her betraying eyes always pull her quickly back.

Any mammal that can sit in a room with the flickering of a TV screen at the corner of their eye and not look is some kind of evolutionary freak. Most of us are the distant sons and myriad daughters of once, former and future prey. We know in our bones that to ignore the flicker of movement in the corner of our eye is to court death. Which is why the flickering news feed above the bar constantly pulls Stranger’s eye. The same can probably also be said for that sixth sense that alerted our ancient ancestors to watching eyes and stalking fears. But Silver Fox seems almost aggressively disinterested and unworried by the furtive looks aimed his way from every mark on the surrounding compass. Of course, she’s sexy enough that such looks probably overwhelmed her internal radar years past and no doubt Silver Fox also feels this to be no less than the attention he deserves. For a man like that, people not looking would be the trigger. Still Stranger tries not to be caught in her growing obsession, even as she spends more and more times imagining what it must be like to be the woman on the receiving end of his warm, brown eyes.

*

Stranger pulls hers wandering eyes away once again, seeks liquid distraction. She taps on the glowing menu beneath the clear plexicast surface of the bar. Double distraction, with ice. As the chrome servitor spins and whirs to smoothly provide, Stranger tries to focus instead on the droning news report. But endless proclamations of dangerously faulty AI seem to come every other day now, and the more the news feeds make every story urgent and breaking, the more they all become no more than background static.

Rain streaks along hardened glass, it races in organic counterpoint to the smooth forward thrust of the train. However, even distorted as it is, it offers Stranger a no more interesting and no less abstract view of the world than the one rendered in 24k perfection above her head. Then, inevitably, there he is again – that deep laugh, the deep crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the playful reach for her hand as Baby Doll stands and her unfaithful feet carry her away from him down the centre of the racing carriage towards the bar and the Stranger sitting at it.

*

As she slips onto the stool one over from the Stranger, Baby Doll offers a casual smile before her attention shifts to the options flickering to life beneath her perfect little fingers. Meanwhile, in the reflection of glass and bottles, Stranger sees a hundred different Silver Foxes, with not one of them seeming aware Stranger even exists. Careful side-eye also tracks his lover’s youthful movements. Her sparkling eyes, the subtle pursing of those rose-red lips as she considers her limitless choices. Beyond that first forced politeness, Baby Doll also doesn’t seem remotely aware of the woman sitting one chair down and wishing their places were reversed. She does not seem at all concerned that she is not the only one currently thinking about just how to delight the man waiting mid-way down that racing carriage.

Even as Stranger smiles at the strangeness of it all, Baby Doll’s previously defective radar finally fizzes unhelpfully back to life. She feels jealous eyes upon her and turns, catching Stranger in mid-fantasy and forcing her to quickly cover.

“Table Broken?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re table? Broken?”

“Oh, no. I just… I wanted to stretch my legs.”

Damn. The girl really does have astonishing legs. To notice him noticing those legs. To feel the brush of slightly rough fingers on silky smooth skin. To wrap those perfect legs around him. To -

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Stranger’s eyes are dragged back from their involuntary Judas gaze.

“Sorry, what?”

Flustered, caught in the moment, trapped by the unthinkably direct way Baby Doll has shattered the social contract and construct for even this liminal space. And she isn’t done.

“He is, right? Beautiful.”

“I, Uh… I…”

As the servitor spins to serve, Baby Doll seems oddly untroubled. She casually offers Stranger the same smile that just moments before made him smile like she was his whole world.

“Or don’t you think a man can be beautiful?”

“No… Uhm… I mean …”

“Sure, he’s handsome, and sexy and… hot, right? But look at him, he’s also beautiful.”

“Sure. I guess.”

Baby Doll laughs, the confidence of youth and youthful perfection - as yet untouched by gravity.

“You think I haven’t seen you looking?”

Mortified, Stranger struggles to catch up, to keep up, to dream up some kind of plausible defence for the sin she knows she’s guilty of committing. But Baby Doll cheerfully waves her hand at the rest of the gathered jury and co-accused.

“Everyone looks, all the time. But why must I worry? He only ever looks at me. Only me. Just me.”

Baby Doll nods back down the carriage, more instruction than invitation this time. Sure enough, Silver Fox looks right at them, right at her. Looking with an intensity that is almost overpowering.

“See? He’s mine. All mine. Every inch of him, just for me.”

“I see that.”

Baby Doll considers Stranger now, weighs her words.

“No, I don’t think you do. But that’s okay. No-one does. Not really.”

She seems almost sad before the flicker in the corner of her eye pulls attention to the screen above, to the rolling news. A single exclamation bisects her perfect brows, right there at the bridge of her perfect nose.

“It’s never good news, is it?”

With that she scoops up her order and sways back down the carriage towards a smile that rises like a sun greeting her dawn.

Unexpectedly released from what seemed to be an increasingly deadly social trap, Stranger carefully turns back to the bar, carefully pulls up the bar-top menu, carefully looks for a brow smoothing alternative. She selects a music channel and very, very carefully does not look back at the tiny girl and her beautiful companion… not even when he laughs.

*

Miles slide. Time passes. Stranger retains her bar-side perch. People come and go.

Through it all, the earth bound lord of light and his burning star sit like a black hole - sucking in every glance, every stolen look, every lingering stare. With the drone of endlessly interchangeable new music now swirling above her head, Stranger seeks to speed the miles and fight the lustful urges by punching in and swiftly receiving yet another drink. The lifeless mechanical servitor possibly the only thing in the carriage not constantly rotating back towards due-lust.

Stranger is just lifting the fresh drink to her thin lips when Baby Doll once again pops up and props herself at the polished bar. Offering a brief we must stop meeting like this smile, she swiftly punches in a fresh order. As the servitor glides and spins, Baby Doll keeps her eyes on the menu but speaks between perfectly voluptuous but almost unmoving lips.

“I need your help”.

Stranger blinks, not even sure she’s the intended target for those half-spoken words.

“Please…”

Before Stranger can even be sure, let alone engage, Baby Doll scoop up her fresh drinks and turns back to her silvered companion. Her still incandescent smile only seems hollow if you’re suddenly listening for that one flat note amid an orchestra of sound.

Left behind on the bar-top behind her, a thin, black-metal card - wallet sized, reeking of money. In the centre, one word. Libidne and a discreet, embossed QR. When someone whispers you lean. Without even thinking about it, Stranger accepts the illicit nature of this moment and carefully moves the card towards herself, shielding it from observing eyes. Just the briefest reflected glance sees Baby Doll slip back into the booth - her perfect smile called and raised by her seemingly perfect companion as he leans in for a welcome home kiss. Stranger blinks behind her thin glasses. She resisting the urge to be furtive and re-positioned the card, taps her thin frames and sits back. On autopilot now, Stranger sips her drink as her adaptive glasses transport her to a Virtual world.

*

The first thing rendered in ultra-high-def is that word again, Libidne. This time it’s accompanied by a helpful translation for the members of the class who don’t speak that dead language: Lust. As soft music plays through the magnetic induction above Stranger’s ears, two people emerge, left and right. He could be David, she might be Aphrodite. Both are undoubtedly models of physical perfection and both are as naked as the day they were created. They stand as Adam & Eve once did, apple uneaten, seemingly unconcerned, perhaps even unaware of their own nakedness. They each wear only a subtle smile with eyes that shine and invite the looker to look… and enter.

Shifting, nervous at this private offer being made in so public a place, Stranger taps her frames again. Reduced opacity drops the north-bound carriage further into the grey as Adam & Aphrodite both turn and lead Stranger deeper into their world and all it has to offer. As she is pulled in their naked wake, voices whisper in her ear, an echoing stereo, male and female; whispered, inviting.

“Lust is life, life is lust… and when perfection is possible, why settle for less?”

Stranger now finds herself in what appears to be an endless deep blue void. Adam & Aphrodite turn to her again, those naked smiles, naked perfection and life-filled eyes that seems to promise and invite and are clearly filled with naked willingness as they stare into Stranger eyes and through them to her lustful soul.

“But just what is perfection?” Adam’s voice resonates and ripples, deep enough to stir, warm enough to entice.

“And is your perfection the same as mine?” Aphrodite’s voice has a husky quality to add fire to her other warming enticement. Together the two still naked avatars tag-team Stranger as if their sole purpose was to share this truth with her and only her.

“Using our advanced digital selection, customisation, sculpting and personalisation tools, why not feed your Libidne with a companion designed just for you.”

As the treacle-sweet and butter-smooth sales pitch continues, Aphrodite sweeps her hand from left to right, again and again. Adam mirrors her, right to left. With each sweep they are different. Blond, brunette, redhead. Blue, green, brown. Tall and short. Road-racer lean and muscle-builder brawn. Shaved, unshaved, hairy, silk smooth, square jawed, sharp eyed. Each iteration is different, linked only by shared physical perfection and those shining, seductive eyes.

At last it’s just Adam and Aphrodite again. Having tracked her eyes and read her every desire from the flickering dilation her soul windows, they now know who she is and exactly what she wants. Adam is the vision of perfection who steps across the space and leans down so he can whisper directly into Stranger’s ear.

“Tell me about yourself… Tell me what you love. Tell me what you desire. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you lack. Tell me… everything.”

There’s that smile, the crinkle at the corner of all too human eyes, an unspoken promise as Adam steps past her, close enough to touch, close enough to smell, close enough to taste. As she turns to follow, Stranger is presented with a massive multi-dimensional display - shifting images, text, video, media and seductively flowing algorithm. As Adam stands and smiles and waits for her desires to be spoken, Aphrodite voices the ‘hard-sell’ – woman to woman.

“Not only is every companion a model of physical perfection but, using the most advanced AI ever developed for an intimate application, your perfect companion will also perfectly meet your every emotional, intellectual and ideological need.”

Adam nods, as if agreeing with a perfectly framed argument. He looks directly into Stranger’s eyes and speaks with his own soft baritone conviction.

“I’ll talk about what you want me to talk about. I’ll enjoy what you enjoy, I’ll love what you love and hate what you hate. I’ll never look away, I’ll never judge, I’ll never leave … I’ll love you forever. I’ll do whatever you want… Anything, everything… Forever.”

The lights and screens dim and once again it’s just Stranger, Adam and that mesmerising smile. She can hear her own heartbeat, the dry mouthed swallow. It’s just him and her and anything, anything seems possible. That feeling lasts for an electric moment and a million lust-filled years before virtual spotlights fade-up and encircle her. In every spotlight beam a naked form, all the men previously offered - man-mountain and long distance runner, dark and light, lithe and full-frame - every single one naked physical perfection. They all look at Stranger with that same intensity, that same smile, those same willing eyes.

“Pick me.”

“Pick me.”

“Pick me.”

One by one the spotlights fade and with their fading the multitude of offered companions also disappear from view until, once again, it’s just Stranger and Adam; the first, unsullied, perfect man.

“Pick me… Please…”

He smiles his forever promise as the light above his head slowly fades.

Stranger is left breathless and palpitating with that word. Libidne. Lust. Below that a new invitation. Enter. “Pick me”. And because such people cannot help but always remind us who deserves credit, powered by LibiNet.

*

Blinking, thoughtful, Stranger taps her frames and the yet un-entered virtual world fades. Blinking, chewing her lip, Stranger glances back down the north-bound carriage.

Silver Fox talks with hands and eyes, the casual confidence of man communicating with effortless passion, precision and privilege – opinions laid out, judgments rendered, jokes presented for laughing approval. In turn, Baby Doll smiles and laughs and agrees; as if to do anything else would be… problematic.

Another blink as Stranger’s cogs whir and spin.

She sees her fellow travellers through very different eyes now and that’s when Silver Fox finally feels the weight of Stranger’s stare and looks up to glare across the carriage at the interloper intruding on his intimate time. Silver Fox speaks with sudden clear anger and Baby Doll gives Stanger only the briefest glance before she starts to talk, placate, deflect, diminish. For her part, Stranger hurriedly turns back to the bar where she finds herself looking once again at the metal card, the gateway to everything she might desire and what now seems increasingly like a cry for help.

Stranger toys with the black card, a single finger moves it backwards and forwards. At last the card is moved deliberately to one side and Stranger’s fingers dance across the surface of the bar as she pulls up the seemingly endless media choices and reselects News.

As the channel switches Stranger is straight away presented with the sight of a harried man behind a podium. The spokesperson carefully spins plates so viewers, consumers and - above all else - shareholders believe the serious nature of this issue while simultaneously not placing the blame at the feet of his ambitious, careless and always profit-driven corporate masters.

“…Obviously, we’ve invested millions in AI development and this issue is simply a small, unavoidable bug. However, we do strongly advise all users to contact our service representatives and arrange to return their… companions as soon as possible.”

On the podium beneath the fully dressed, imperfect, sweating man is not the Latin word for Lust. Nor is it the ubiquitous humble-brag. No powered by here, just an expensive, minimalist logo and a company name. One composite, created word. LibiNet.

*

When Baby Doll once again leaves a still frowning and clearly angry Silver Fox, Stranger is tense and ready. She does not look at the younger girl, does not move, does not give any tell-tale indication to external eyes, even while she tries to inwardly radiate willing attention. For her part the younger girl seems to once again consider the menus while she mutters through quivering lips.

“Did you see?”

Stranger nods, slight, careful.

“Do you understand?”

“I… Maybe… I… No, not really.”

Baby Doll glances back at her still glaring, companion. This time he’s locked in, a singular possessive focus. She doesn’t look up at the rolling news scroll but, as the obviously terrified girl makes another placating gesture towards her companion, Stranger can’t help but see. Dysfunctional AI… full product recall… Seeing that Stranger is starting to see, Baby Doll bites back obvious anger.

“They don’t just make them beautiful… They make them smart.”

Baby Doll throws another ‘I’ve got this, baby’ gesture at the glaring older man as the full horror sets in.

“He knows?”

“He knows”

This time she can’t help it. When Stranger’s betraying eyes pull her northwards towards the threat, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Even his scowl is perfect, perfectly formed, perfectly eloquent. Stranger quickly looks away, back to Baby Doll who sees just how swiftly her last and best hope is catching up.

“So can’t you -”

Baby Doll barely clings to her composure as she snaps out her fearful interruption.

“He’s bigger than me, he’s stronger than me…” A hard swallow. “He’s a man. He’s all man. You saw, they promise forever. That’s the promise, that’s what’s expected. It’s coded in… If I… When he realises forever ends today… I don’t know what he’ll do… but I’m sure I won’t live to see it.”

Baby Doll glances back at her increasingly agitated ‘companion’. His nodding head, flashing eyes and angry snarl make eloquent demands.

“I don’t know if the jealousy’s built in or if I ticked the wrong box, but he saw you talking to me and assumed…” Baby Doll looks Stranger up and down “I tried to tell him you’re not my… type but… I don’t know, their whole world is based on sex so maybe that’s all they see.”

“Men or robots?”

Even in the middle of her life and death crisis, Baby Doll still snorts a bitter laugh.

“Yes.”

She shifts now, turns to face Stranger, speaks again with demonstrative gestures and insistent body language. Scared or not, she really sells it as her words in no way match her actions.

“When we get off this train it’s over for me. I promise you that. Please, you have to help me…”

Baby Doll throws Silver Fox a perfect PR smile. It speaks of love and reassurance and the clear delivery of fierce rejection. Then it’s back to Stranger for a final uncompromising refusal, delivered through perfect clenched teeth.

“You have to help me, please…”

With a last silent plea from terrified eyes, Baby Doll turns away from the bar and sways back down the carriage. Silver Fox accepts her submission and affirms his possession and territorial rights by roughly pulling her into another passionate kiss. The Aphrodisiac of challenge denied, honour restored.

As Baby Doll embraces the lust and further deflects any residual suspicion, Stranger watches in the reflection of the bottles - caught now in a crisis not of her making - an unasked dilemma of life and death; an innocent woman trapped with only a fellow traveller to turn to in her hour of most desperate need.

*

There’s a certain bustle in the carriage now, a flexing and stretching - the anticipatory futzing and fussing of people ready to step back into the real world. As Stranger still considers her impossible choices the Servitor puts bottles and glasses away, returns the bar to default - diligent, mechanical, tireless… inhuman.

Down the carriage Silver Fox is also up and preparing for their onward journey. Demure beside him, Baby Doll slips into a long black coat as he lifts down a small travel case. She glances Stranger’s way one last time, one last, mute appeal. But then Silver Fox again demands her full attention. Baby Doll is led towards an uncertain future by a man who does not even glance in Stranger’s direction – the competition for his woman’s affections long since vanquished and the challenger forgotten.

With a whistle and a buzz of in-carriage announcement, they pull into the Northern Terminus. As other travellers move quickly to the sliding automatic doors, Silver Fox leads Baby Doll off the train with the meat of her perfectly sculpted bicep held fast in his encompassing hand. Possessive connection. She might be imagining it, but Stanger is sure Baby Doll throws one last, despairing glance before she is steered into the misting rain.

Stanger finds herself the butterfly pinned to a board. She does not need to be pressed against the insulating glass to see the shadows of shapes quickly leaving the train, nor is she yet fully sure what she just co-signed with her frozen inaction. Stranger looks down at the now clean bar. The black metal card sits in silent reproach. What kind of woman lets another woman be led away like that? What kind of sister ignores the silent scream of a sister in need? What kind of woman let’s any man act that way, never a man that not a man at all but rather a faulty appliance in desperate need of recycling.

Suddenly flashing on the memory of every furtive and fearless look, every muttered comment, every hungry eye and lustful approach in a life never free of such; remembering every dark walk with keys clutched in terrified fingers; remembering just how helpless she has always felt in a world filled with men who take what is not theirs and feel it is their right; flashing on all of that in a single instant, Stranger decides. She scoops up the card, she screws her courage tight to the maternal sticking place and hurries after the terrified young girl and her potentially murderous sex-toy.

*

Stranger steps quickly off the train, look past, over and through various cheerful reunions, dragged cases and confused, transitory passengers. She’s still not sure what she will do if she sees them but, now the decision is made, her fierce determination is self-fuelling and self-fulfilling.

At first it seems she’s too late. There’s no sign of the desperate young woman or the man in whose growing shadow that poor woman-child walks. But then she spots them. There, on the opposite platform. The old wrought iron bridge is both a connection between platforms and a link to the long gone ages of steam and electric. Baby Doll and Silver Fox stand at its foot, in the shadow and all is clearly not well. Baby Doll talks fast, animated. She tries to explain, tries to convince. With her arm still gripped tight, Silver Fox gestures and points as an obviously angry stream of bile pins the smaller girl in place every bit as much as his white-knuckle grasp.

Stranger acts even before the thought is full formed. She hurries quickly down the platform and scampers over the old bridge - stretching up pairs of steps in her urgency to do… something, to be a sister, an ally, if possible perhaps even a saviour.

As Stranger walks above the shining tracks she nervously confirms Baby Doll is still prisoner of an increasingly aggressive Silver Fox. Even as Stranger watches, Baby Doll reaches for her angry lover with cool, careful words and calming gestures. But the bigger man snarls, slap her hand away as if it were a lunging snake. He follows through with a sweeping slap - underwritten by now coldly furious eyes. For her part, Baby Doll seems unable to do anything in reply. She just stands, takes it; the hand print on her face already starting to form as she clutches her own hand to her chest as one might a fallen bird. Stranger shortens and speeds her stride as the vastly bigger man spits fresh fury down at the cowering girl.

With his back to her, Silver Fox doesn’t see her coming and even as she reaches the far platform, Stranger is still not fully sure what she intends. Baby Doll does see, but doesn’t share this knowledge with even a single unfaithful flicker. But there’s new hope in her now. As Silver Fox continues to rage, Baby Girl stays silent, accepts his demonstrative anger, pins his attention to her own sticking place while the Stranger she met on the northbound train hurries quickly towards them.

In the end it barely take any actual effort. Just the same kind of treatment she might give a pavement hog who doesn’t have enough respect to offer space on a busy street. A dropped shoulder, a brief flexing of Yoga hardened muscle.  It’s enough. Silver Fox doesn’t even have time to exclaim, let alone react before he’s unexpectedly tumbled off the platform and into the path of the oncoming South-bound express.

The cries of shock and horror are already starting as Stranger takes one last look back at Baby Doll. The small girl with ink black hair nods once, downward, a friend thanking a friend for a kindness. Then, as the screams re-double and intensify, Baby Doll adds to them, calls out in a horrified and pain filled voice.

“Oh God, help me! Please help me.”

Her voice, her pain, her horror, her perfect distressed damsel screams pull all the attention as Stranger walks away without a second look back, just one more nameless, faceless traveller. But also the sister who answered the call and saved a sister from an all too familiar and all too often unpunished fate.

*

Later, as the misting rain slowly washes Silver Fox's blood from the south-bound track, Baby Doll offers her last breathless gratitudes to sympathetic station attendants and officious authorities. There’s a calm dignity to her as she finally sways from the station, a recently purchased umbrella clasped in a delicate, still fizzing hand. The angry flailing of a terrified companion tore her synthetic skin and exposed sensitive circuits to Northern inclemency. But she really is very, very smart and that was a problem even more easily solved than the companion himself.

Opening the sheltering umbrella, Baby Doll walks away - perfect shoulders perfectly straight, perfect head held high. Free.