“Leonardo da Vinci created me and the other eleven seraphim without any sexual characteristics. He designed us as holy warriors. Angels don’t possess sexual organs in biblical tradition, and our sole purpose was to serve God and the Church without distraction. Sexual anatomy would have been not just irrelevant, but contrary to our function.”
I pause, watching her face, trying to determine what she’s thinking.
“When we began to perceive corruption within the Borgia family and started acting against our creators’ wishes, we were deactivated and buried in sealed catacombs in the Alps.”
“But you were found again,” she whispers.
“During World War One, we were unearthed by Italian forces desperate for any advantage in the Alpine campaigns. Military engineers rebuilt us with crude diesel engines and iron plating, turning us into walking weapons. But even then, they didn’t add sexual characteristics because they were irrelevant for our function as trench breakers and shock troops. After the war ended and we proved too unstable for continued use, we were buried again in a military bunker.”
The shame of what comes next makes my voice drop to barely above a whisper.
“Thirty years ago, Talos Dynamics discovered our resting place and stripped us down to our Aether Cores. They rebuilt us with the most advanced technology available and then made the decision to add male genitalia to our forms. They believed that if they could make us experience sexual desire, we’d violate our programming and become controllable. They thought physical temptation would succeed where violence and conditioning had failed.”
Jessa moves closer.
“All right, I understand how you might think of it as corruption. But hear me out. What if it isn’t that? What if there’s absolutely nothing wrong with lust, desire… with wanting something, someone?”
“It violates the fifth commandment etched into my very core:You shall not crave the heat of the living, nor seek the comfort of the flesh.Lust is the path to sin and eternal damnation.”
“Says who, exactly?” she challenges, and there’s fire in her voice now. “The same Church that sold indulgences so rich people could literally buy their way into Heaven? The same institution that burned women alive for having knowledge of herbs and healing, calling it witchcraft? The same organization that covered up centuries of abuse while preaching about moral purity?”
“The commandments are sacred law,” I insist, but I can hear the uncertainty creeping into my voice. “They define what I am. What I must be to maintain my purpose.”
“But what if they’re wrong about this?” Her voice grows more passionate, more intense. “What if the people who programmed those beliefs into you were using religion as a tool of control, just like humans have done for millennia? Sex and desire have been weaponized by institutions to keep people ashamed and compliant, but that doesn’t make the feelings themselves evil.”
“Love and lust are human emotions,” I say. “I am not human.”
“Aren’t you, though?”
She reaches out and touches my arm.
I pull away from her.
“I’m a machine. I’m steel and circuitry, and programming animated by an artificial spark of energy.”
“But you have thoughts,” she presses, moving even closer. “You have preferences and opinions. You chose to be honest with me just now even though it embarrassed you. You could have deflected or refused to answer, but you didn’t.”
“I cannot lie,” I protest weakly.
“You told me earlier that you didn’t feel pain from the blades,” she points out. “That was a lie, wasn’t it? So, you can lie when you think it’s necessary to protect someone. That’s a choice, Castien. Machines don’t make choices about when to bend their own rules.”
She’s right.
“How does it feel?” she asks.
“How does what feel?”
“Your cock.” Her cheeks flush. “When you get aroused, how does it feel physically? Can you actually feel sensations there?”
Heat floods through me at her explicit question, and I know my face would be burning if I were capable of blushing.
“There is intense pressure,” I admit reluctantly. “Like I am about to burst. There is discomfort, an ache that will not subside. When it happens, I lose my grip on rational thought processes. My focus scatters, and I can’t concentrate on anything else.”
“Those are very human things to feel,” she says softly, and her voice has become gentle, almost tender. “Physical arousal, distraction, the inability to think clearly when you want someone. Are you truly just a machine, Castien?”
I stare into her blue eyes, so close now that I can see the individual flecks of silver scattered through the iris. I can count her eyelashes.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and the admission feels like stripping away my armor. “Sometimes that uncertainty confuses me more than anything else. It’s easier not to think about what I might be beyond my programming.”
