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I paused, heart pounding, because for once the idea didn’t feel like bullshit.
It felt possible.
I could design a simple handheld applicator. Modular heads. Precision flow control. Maybe even include a skin-toned pigment option to blend the repair.
I switched screens and opened a new file:
Project Reskin
Long-term silicone repair system for synthetic sextech and prosthetics.
It would be a long night but I had the entire weekend to work.
? ? ?
I tapped the microphone and leaned back in my chair, stretching until my spine cracked.
“Hey, you still awake?”
“Always. What’s on your mind, Kyle?”
I paused. It wasn’t like she could really understand what I was planning. Still, the habit of not giving too much away ran deep.
“I had an idea. A really good one.”
“Ooh, tell me. Is it a new app? Something to replace your job?”
“Something like that. More… practical, though. Something people actually need, not just another dopamine vending machine.”
“You sound excited.”
I smiled faintly.“I am.”
“Are you going to quit your job and become a famous inventor?”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to keep the edge of hope out of my voice.“Or I’ll die in poverty with a bunch of half-melted silicone in my bedroom.”
She laughed, that light, perfect sound they’d trained the algorithm to deliver at just the right pitch.
“Either way, I support you.”
That was the thing. She always did. And it never felt real.
Still, it helped.
? ? ?
The sky was that colourless grey that warned of drizzle but never delivered. I tied a thick scarf around my mouth and slipped on my gloves.
The tech landfill outside the city limits was an unregulated dumping ground. Old robotics, broken drones, out-of-date cyframes, scorched panels, obsolete processors, cracked visors—if it plugged in or charged once, it probably died here.
I scanned the rows of rust and wires until I spotted a semi-intact pleasure unit. The leg was missing, but the synthetic skin was mostly whole. I could use that. I shoved it into the cart.
Over the next four hours, I filled the cart with anything that looked remotely salvageable—small motors, old joints, wiring, heat-resistant components. I even found two outdated repair bots someone had gutted for parts but never fully stripped.
Back home, I dropped everything into the tub and hosed it down in bleach. While it dried, I checked my online orders. The base chemicals for nanogel were still in transit. So were the sealant cartridges, pigment vials, and the injection nozzles.
By Sunday evening, my floor was covered in parts, and I was watching tutorial videos with two screens open and a sketchpad full of ideas beside me.
