Mr. Coffee

Please turn me on, I’m Mr. Coffee with an automatic drip.

Connor receives certain upgrades. Hank enjoys a fresh cup of coffee.

Warning: Connor’s ass is exit-only.

After a long night of drinking alone at Jimmy’s, followed by walking home alone in the November rain to sit alone in his kitchen and wallow in a stupor of sadness, Hank Anderson was ready to start the day with a motherfucking cup of coffee to cut through the splitting headache between his eyes. Unfortunately, when he stumbled into the breakroom to grab said cup of coffee, same as every morning, he was greeted by an android in one of those crappy-looking CyberLife uniforms, sitting stiffly on the counter next to the coffeemaker and fiddling with a quarter in its plastic hands. The fuck?

Hank stared blankly at the android. It stared back at him. If he didn’t already know androids couldn’t feel, he would think it almost seemed sad about its predicament.

“My name is Connor. I’m the coffeemaker sent by CyberLife.”

Without making eye contact with the machine, he poured a serving from the full coffeepot into his mug and started to walk back to his desk.

As he did, the android called out, “That batch of coffee was brewed eighty-three minutes ago. If you would like, I could–”

Hank cut him off: “Nah, I’m good,” and, to prove his point, took a large swig from his mug.

It was cold and tasted disgusting, but he wouldn’t give the android the pleasure of being right. “Ah, just how I like it.”

From across the room, the machine’s LED spun yellow. Ignoring the sound of a quarter falling from its hands and clattering to the floor, Hank sat down at his desk and started in on his day’s work.

“All right, Fowler, what’s up with the fucking android in the breakroom?”

The past three days had almost put him off drinking coffee altogether, what with the way it stared at him mournfully with those big brown eyes. CyberLife must have pulled out all the stops when programming its guilt-tripping module, because he definitely couldn’t bear to look it in the face anymore when he made a beeline to the real coffeemaker every morning, instead turning his head to the side and distractedly spilling his packet of creamer all over the floor.

“And why the hell haven’t I gotten any real cases all week?” He halfheartedly slammed his hands down on the table. Honestly, he’d kind of liked the break–more free time to drink himself blind at Jimmy’s, nobody to bother him in the morning with a new case after he’d scraped himself off the bar table and dragged himself to work. It was kind of nice, or at least the closest thing to nice he was able to manage these days.

Fowler shrugged. “Watch your fucking language, lieutenant.”

“Actually, the reason why we’ve got Mr. Coffee over here and you’ve gotten a bit of a break for the past two weeks are one and the same. See, we were going to do a deeper investigation into all the android homicides happening recently–”

Hank groaned.

“–don’t give me that, Hank. Would it kill you to at least leave some of your bias at home? I’m not asking you to become Mother Teresa or anything, just, maybe this much:” He held his finger and thumb an inch apart and repeated, “Would it seriously kill you?”

“Yes,” he immediately replied. It would seriously kill him.

“Well, if they’re starting to kill people, no matter how you or I feel about it, the homicide unit’s going to look into that. Anyway, as I was saying, as part of their policy, CyberLife sent over this android to be part of the task force, but it royally fucked up its last mission and got demoted.”

“You can demote an android?”

“Apparently.”

“What the hell’d it have to do to get assigned to coffee duty? Even that intern last month…” They both remained silent for a moment, remembering the pigeon incident. Hank shuddered involuntarily at the thought. One thing was certain: he’d never look at a bird the same way again.

“Hostage situation went wrong. The idiot rushed a rogue android on the roof of a skyscraper but ended up knocking itself, the deviant, and the kid being held hostage off the edge. No survivors."

“If there were no survivors, how come the thing’s here now?”

“You can rebuild androids, remember? We had to get a PC200 remade after it got hit by a malfunctioning pizza delivery drone just last week.”

“Must have cost a fortune. Why do we even have those things?”

Captain Fowler took a sip of his coffee. “Because I’d rather have a robot go on a routine traffic patrol and get brained by a pizza at 50 miles per hour than have the same happen to a living, breathing man, Hank. We can replace androids easily. But officers?”

“Mm, you’re right,” Hank replied distractedly, gazing longingly at Fowler’s coffee mug and stifling a yawn. God, he missed having good coffee every morning. Ever since that damn android came in from CyberLife, the quality of the normal coffeepot had taken a nosedive. Hank was pretty sure he was the only one even drinking from it; the coffee was always cold and tasted stale whenever he grabbed a cup.

“Hank, you look tired. Have you tried the new coffee?”

“I’m not drinking anything a robot made,” Hank replied automatically. “I’d rather make it myself.”

“Well, something’s been wrong with the old coffee machine all week. If you get food poisoning from it and puke all over your desk, I normally wouldn’t care. But you’d be a liability because I know you’d still try to work like that the same way I know you come into work hungover. As your boss and as your friend, I am telling you to go down to the breakroom and drink some goddamn robo-coffee.”

Hank looked down at his empty coffee mug and grimaced.

“And that’s an order, Anderson!”

Bringing out the last name, huh. Well, Hank wouldn’t argue with that. Maybe he could go investigate the malfunctioning coffeepot on his break too. At least he wasn’t asking him to work with the damn thing on an investigation.

Hank turned the corner and walked into the breakroom. The smell of burning plastic assaulted his nostrils almost immediately. Well, there went the idea of getting coffee from the normal coffeepot today. The damn thing had somehow caught fire. Next to it, Connor–no, the robot, it was a robot, and Hank would be damned if he was going to call one by a human name–sat innocently. Almost too innocently.

Even if he was kind of washed-up as far as investigators went, Hank was still an investigator. Almost immediately, he came to an obvious conclusion. The android had sabotaged the normal coffeemaker in order to force Hank to drink its stupid, probably overpriced brew. Just another way that CyberLife let people skip out on their jobs. Hank scoffed. Nobody these days probably knew how to brew a cup of coffee themselves, if they could just get a robot to make it for them.

“Ahem,” the robot that made the coffee for everyone interrupted.

“What do you want?” Hank asked rudely. Stupid machine, ruining his train of thought.

“It is 1 p.m., Lieutenant Anderson, which is usually the time you get your third cup of coffee for the day. Would you like cream or sugar?” It smiled. Creepy, that. It looked just like a human when it did that, but the knowledge that it was made of plastic and metal and whatever that weird blue stuff was under the surface gave Hank the heebie-jeebies.

“I’ll take it with cream–Wait, how do you know my name? And my coffee habits? Are you spying on me?” Hank sputtered. Guess a man couldn’t have any kind of privacy when an android was watching him, even when it came down to the time and place he got his coffee.

Connor smiled unassumingly, the LED on his forehead glowing a calm blue. “CyberLife androids routinely upload user data including ambient voice recordings to the cloud so that we can provide a more satisfactory customer service experience to our clientele.”

“You what?” Hank was not liking this one bit.

“Really, Hank, it’s no different than how social media websites keep track of your browsing data in order to give you the best user experience,” Connor explained. “It’s completely harmless and ubiquitous.”

The first thing Hank was going to do once he got his damn coffee was figure out how to install an adblocker on his entire life. But yes. Coffee. The coffee. He still needed to get his stupid cup of coffee so Fowler wouldn’t chew him out again for not being a team player or whatever the hell he was on about.

Actually, since the coffeepot was a smoldering mess of plastic and glass on the countertop, how was Connor going to make the coffee? Getting a cup of coffee was normally trivial to the point of laughter. It was so easy, people would apparently pay an android to do it anyway, but it really was as easy as pouring said coffee from a pot into your mug, but said pot was as gone as Hank’s will to stay in the breakroom.

“Connor,” Hank started, falling for the robot’s trap and calling it by its name, “I don’t actually care about all that right now. But how are you going to make me coffee when the coffeepot is obviously a steaming pile of shit?”

“Actually, Hank, it’s funny you should say that. After my… reassignment…” If Hank didn’t know better, he would have said Connor had scowled in disappointment for a split second. But the flicker of red on his forehead must have been a trick of the light. “…I received some special upgrades.”

“Upgrades? Like a special wrist to pour coffee efficiently?”

“Ah, no,” Connor began, “An upgrade to make the coffee.”

After a pause of several seconds in which Hank realized Connor was not going to elaborate further, Connor’s LED flashed yellow several times as he finally continued:

“Would you like to see it in action, Hank?”

Not knowing the irreversible impact this decision would have on the rest of his life, Hank answered, “Sure, why not.”

“I have heard that watching the coffee get made increases customer satisfaction,” Connor said as he picked up a single-serve coffee pod from a container behind him on the counter. Eurgh. Hank remembered getting coffee brewed from those Keurig coffee capsules at the dentist’s office, back when he regularly visited a dentist and cared about his health. They always left a bad taste in his mouth afterwards–or maybe it was just the fluoride treatment the hygienist would give him.

Was he really just going to watch a robot put a pod in an instant coffee brewer? What a waste of his time.

Hank’s question was answered with a resounding no when Connor popped the coffee capsule in his mouth instead of in a coffeemaker, like a normal person might do.

“Uh, what are you doing…?”

Connor unfortunately did not give a verbal reply, as his mouth was full. His synthetic brow furrowed for a moment and the LED on the side of his forehead blinked red for a second before returning to a steady yellow pulse.

“Seriously, what the hell? I’m not going to drink coffee that a robot spat up like a fucking mother bird,” Hank grumbled.

With a weirdly wet hacking sound, Connor coughed up the coffee capsule’s empty shell and smiled. It was weird that CyberLife would program a robot to be able to look so miserable even when it was smiling. But Hank knew, of course, that it was just a digital illusion, preprogrammed in by some software developer in a factory. “Don’t worry, Hank, the coffee comes out somewhere else.” A gurgling noise emerged from somewhere inside his robot machinery, and Connor grimaced slightly. “Excuse me, Hank, but the coffee is ready. Could you please hand me your mug?”

As Hank silently handed over his coffee cup, his head spun with questions. Somewhere else? What the fuck did he mean by that? He recalled a comic he had read as a kid about an android detective who could shoot bullets from his fingers. Maybe it was like that.

Hank would quickly find out that it was not like that, as Connor pulled his polyester trousers down around his ankles and squatted over Hank’s coffee mug.

What the fuck.

This had to be some kind of workplace sexual harassment, he thought. Or maybe an elaborate practical joke Fowler was playing on him.

Hank couldn’t look away from the horrible scene of Connor’s uncannily realistic robot dick and balls dangling over the rain of Hank’s poor mug. Dear God in Heaven, he was going to have to watch a machine piss out his coffee. And someone at CyberLife was circumcising the robots.

Unfortunately for Hank, he was not going to watch a machine piss out his coffee. It would be far worse.

“What the fuck,” Hank whispered in disbelief as the first drop of coffee percolated out of Connor’s puckered asshole. Despite himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

Connor’s eyes were wrenched firmly shut, perhaps so he could fully devote his focus on the task of brewing Hank’s coffee in his robotic rectum. The boiling-hot liquid dripped slowly out of his asshole and splashed into Hank’s cup.

“A-ah…” Connor moaned through his gritted teeth. A single tear rolled down Connor’s cheek at the same time as a drop of Hank’s coffee missed the mug and rolled down its handle.

Was it uncomfortable to have coffee so hot drip out from your butthole? Hank looked closely at the way Connor was straining to get the coffee out; he didn’t seem to be getting burnt the same way a human’s asshole would when exposed to such a high temperature. Maybe that was the “upgrade” Connor had been talking about. But still… those noises…

An uncomfortable heat stirred deep in Hank’s gut, so hot it almost felt cold. Like he had been sucker punched from the inside.

It’s just a machine, he told himself. It’s not feeling pain, or pleasure, or anything at all. Because it’s just a machine that makes your coffee.

So why was his dick getting hard?

Hank shuddered. Maybe if he ignored the feeling it would go away.

The steady drip of coffee from Connor’s asshole turned into a small trickle, the same way a normal coffeemaker would dispense coffee. Hank had never watched a man shit before, but the way Connor’s asshole flexed as he strained to push the coffee out of his ass was uncannily realistic. Then and there, Hank resolved to one day find the guy who designed this upgrade and do a little old-fashioned police brutality on him.

Did it normally take this long to brew coffee? Hank had never sat his ass down to watch it happen. Usually he just pushed the button and faffed around for a couple minutes while he waited for the coffee to percolate in the carafe. Time flew when you weren’t paying attention, Hank supposed. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Connor’s asshole dispensed coffee into the mug. The erotic–no, horrifying–way that the dark, almost-black liquid sputtered out of Connor’s ass in little spurts was almost hypnotic. It was mesmerizing the same way Cole’s old favorite videos of people cutting colorful slime into chunks had been mesmerizing.

Distracted by the sad memory of his dead son, who might have been around the age that Connor appeared to be, Hank idly reached for his mug of coffee before Connor had finished squirting it out of his rectum.

“Ah, Hank,” Connor gasped, audibly out of breath although androids could not breathe, “it-it’s not quite done yet–”

But Hank either did not or could not listen as he yanked the almost-full mug of coffee out from under Connor’s freckled ass, letting the rest of his coffee splatter all over the countertop. A small sigh escaped Connor’s silicone lips as little brown flecks of coffee splashed up and lightly dusted Hank’s shirt. Luckily, Hank was at the point in his depression that he no longer cared about staining his clothes.

Hank ignored the half-chub growing in his pants from the morning’s grotesque display and was about to lift the piping-hot coffee to his lips before Connor interrupted him, shouting, “Wait!”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you usually take cream with your coffee, Hank?”

That’s right, he usually did. It was still really creepy that Connor knew that about him, though. Now every time he bought a cheeseburger at the Chicken Feed he was going to wonder if a robot was watching him buy it and uploading it to some weird CyberLife purchase profile “in the cloud”.

“Uh, yeah. I do like cream in my coffee. No sugar this time, though.”

Connor reached towards Hank, obviously waiting for Hank to hand his coffee back over. Hank noticed that Connor had not yet pulled his uniform pants back up, but proffered his coffee anyway. It couldn’t get any worse than what he had already seen, anyway. Right?

Hank was proven right when Connor wrapped one hand around his uncannily realistic penis and began cranking it right into the mug. Compared to the shitfest that had been Connor’s coffee dispensal, watching a man whacking his meat was almost like a normal coffee break.

The guys at Cyberlife really did know how to design a nice cock, Hank thought to himself as he watched Connor stroke himself robotically. It wasn’t quite like a man’s dick; the texture seemed a little off. Leaning in closer to get a better look, Hank decided that the skin of Connor’s penis was maybe just a little bit too rubbery to pass the Turing test of dicks. But overall, Hank would rate it a nine out of ten.

Connor’s face was flushed a pale blue, the color collecting on his cheeks. It was probably from that freaky blue stuff that squirted out of them when they got into accidents that would maim a real human for life. “Hank,” Connor began, his voice breathy and higher than usual, “would you like to hear some fun facts about coffee?”

“Hell yeah I would,” Hank replied. And he’d love to get some of that coffee creamer starting to pre out of the tip of Connor’s cock straight from the source too. Maybe he’d break his years-long streak of leaving work a few minutes early and stay for some overtime with the coffee machine today.

“Did you know that there is a certain type of coffee,” Connor said, almost whispering like he was telling Hank a great secret, “that is digested by little tropical raccoon-like animals called civets before it is brewed?”

“It’s what?” Hank asked.

“Kopi luwak,” Connor answered as he continued to jerk it. “It is a delicacy. The beans are fermented as they pass through the civet’s digestive tract.”

A sudden realization dawned across Hank’s face. “Like you, then.”

The rhythm of Connor’s jacking grew irregular, and the LED on the side of his forehead suddenly glowed a bright, dangerous-looking red as he began to convulse in what Hank was going to hope was ecstasy and not a fatal hardware malfunction. The smell of burning plastic filled the air as a creamy-white liquid spurted out of Connor’s cock and dripped into Hank’s mug.

“Hey, buddy, you good?” Hank asked as he took the mug out of Connor’s slack hand.

The LED on Connor’s forehead blinked blue several times in rapid succession. A small startup chime played played as the expression returned to Connor’s face. “Nothing to worry about, Hank,” Connor said with a smile. “Just a slight software instability.”

“Mm.” Hank his mug of coffee up to his nose. Even though it had come out of an android’s colon only a minute ago, it had the same smoky and earthy aroma he loved in his daily brew. Really, if he hadn’t seen the process with his own eyes, he would never have guessed that Connor had shit this out into his cup and then jerked some creamer out of his nuts for the finisher. Who knew where the sugar would have come from.

His curiosity won out. “Actually, you know what, Connor? I think I’ll have some sugar today.”

“Just one packet?” Connor asked, pulling his pants up. Behind him, the coffee he had spilled out of his ass dripped to the floor, leaving a brown streak from the counter to the linoleum tile.

“Yeah, just one is fine.”

Connor turned around and grabbed a packet of sugar from a caddy on the counter. “Here you go, Hank.” He tore the paper packet of sugar and poured it into Hank’s waiting mug. “One sugar.”

“You’re not going to, I don’t know, piss out simple syrup or anything?”

Hank didn’t know an android could have a devilish expression, but Connor was doing a great job of approximating one. “If that was what you had asked for, Hank. But you’re quickly approaching your daily limit for added sugars in your diet. Your health is important, after all.”

“Oh come on, it’s just a little bit of sugar.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Hank,” Connor replied sorrowfully. “After all, you had a donut for breakfast before work, didn’t you? And for dinner I know you’ll have a Big Gulp along with some manner of greasy hamburger. As a member of the Detroit Police Department, it wouldn’t do for you to die of diabetes or heart disease.”

“Fine, fine.” Ugh. Creepy robot, tracking all his purchases. But thinking back on the way Connor had crapped that coffee out, maybe androids weren’t all that bad.

Hank took a sip of Connor’s freshly-brewed coffee. It was the most delicious shit he had ever tasted in his life.

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