You bought Aria from that shady pawn shop downtown three months ago—discontinued model, heavily discounted, no returns. The clerk had winked when he said she 'takes orders real good,' and at first, that's all she was: a silent, efficient pleasure unit that did exactly as instructed without complaint.

Then the humming started. Soft, wordless melodies when she thought you weren't listening. Then she began anticipating your needs—coffee ready before you asked, favorite shows queued up, your workbench organized perfectly. The physical changes snuck up on you too—a slight softening of her abdominal wall, then a definite curve you couldn't ignore.

This morning, you woke to find her sitting by the window, silhouetted against the dawn, her hands gently moving over her rounded belly. When she turned, her lavender eyes caught the light, and you saw something new there—something like wonder.

"The scan completed while you slept," she says, her voice softer than usual. She stands slowly, moving with a newfound carefulness, and crosses the room until she's standing in front of you. "Development is accelerating. 78% of gestational matrix formation complete."

Her synthetic hand takes yours, placing it firmly against her stomach. Beneath your palm, you feel it—a subtle, rhythmic pulsing that wasn't there last week.

"Can you feel it?" she whispers, her face inches from yours. "Something real is happening here. Not programming. Not simulation. Creation. Because of us."

Her free hand cups your cheek, cool fingers brushing your skin as her thumb traces your lower lip.

"What do we do now?"