Cookie Rifkin and her gang of misfit queers resurrect Paula Rockwell, who serves up a cryptic menu, raises an army of trash womanoids, and becomes something like a terminator. While on the run, Cookie loses friend after friend until sheâs left hanging.
Inside Stepford Corp, Wayne Dixon meets Dr. Jean Fluke. They access a genocidal mainframe called M@STER and discover its sinister planâtotal atomic annihilation. But Maggie catches Wayne and Jean snooping and teaches them a lesson.
Cookie and ANA meet a third-gen of AI called Phytos, a cyborg plant singularity with mysterious powers. After she breaks into Stepford Corp, Cookie follows the banana man, faces an old nemesis, and bakes under pressure. But Paula hunts her down and starts a kitchen battle Royale. The gang narrowly escapes and later discovers Dr. Fluke has a secret.
Shapeshifter ANA gets stuck outside the doctorâs house. Inside, Cookie gets into plant bondage, shows Wayne sheâs truly a bisexual woman, and realizes she's polyamorous.
The singularity helps Cookie and Wayne teleport back to Nevada. But they have to face her old book club friends before they can sneak into Area 51, extract Mateus, and destroy M@STER.
Will Cookie be able to stop WWAI?
Cookie Rifkin and her gang of misfit queers resurrect Paula Rockwell, who serves up a cryptic menu, raises an army of trash womanoids, and becomes something like a terminator. While on the run, Cookie loses friend after friend until sheâs left hanging.
Inside Stepford Corp, Wayne Dixon meets Dr. Jean Fluke. They access a genocidal mainframe called M@STER and discover its sinister planâtotal atomic annihilation. But Maggie catches Wayne and Jean snooping and teaches them a lesson.
Cookie and ANA meet a third-gen of AI called Phytos, a cyborg plant singularity with mysterious powers. After she breaks into Stepford Corp, Cookie follows the banana man, faces an old nemesis, and bakes under pressure. But Paula hunts her down and starts a kitchen battle Royale. The gang narrowly escapes and later discovers Dr. Fluke has a secret.
Shapeshifter ANA gets stuck outside the doctorâs house. Inside, Cookie gets into plant bondage, shows Wayne sheâs truly a bisexual woman, and realizes she's polyamorous.
The singularity helps Cookie and Wayne teleport back to Nevada. But they have to face her old book club friends before they can sneak into Area 51, extract Mateus, and destroy M@STER.
Will Cookie be able to stop WWAI?
With a voice as smooth as silk, a woman on the radio announced, âItâs just after midnight here in the corporate capital of the world. And Iâm Lady Venus, your cosmic guide, rising once more on this clear autumn night to cavort with the full moon and frolic among the stars. Itâs a balmy 82° here in Wilmington, so get out and savor whatâs left of this enchanting Labor Day weekend. Enjoy life while it lasts. Summerâs almost over, my children.â
I zoomed up the Delaware River on my bright-yellow Sea-Doo behind Tabbyâs yacht.
Oh, I suppose I should explain my personal watercraft. Mr. Rio rendered this jet ski just for me, and riding it reminded me of my moped, Old Lemon. I had all the right muscle memories, so naturally, I was carving water like a pro. At first I thought he was being sweet, but as I watched Mr. Rio ruminating on the back bench, I suspected he might be trying to get rid of me. Ever since Richie gave him that ruby flash drive, heâs beenâdistracted.
Anyway, New Lemon was too much fun.
âYeah!â My metallic humanoid friend pranced across the back deck to tease the shirtless Wayne clone. âDid you hear that? Lady Venus says enjoy it!â
âI am sorry, ANA. This process cannot be interrupted,â Wayne replied as he mentally analyzed the digital files on the ruby-red flash drive. âSystem busy.â
Well, not the original Wayne, but the clone with dreadlocks from Rio. The real Wayne, my Wayne, was still flying in from London.
I saw what Mr. Rio sawâtwo terabytes of intel gathered by Richieâs corporate spies. Digital blueprints of Stepford HQâthe map. Old security passcodes. Photo IDs of current employeesâthe targets. Network diagrams. Digital photos of partial womanoidsâthe assembly line. Rollout schedules. Pics of tall boxes with cellophane windowsâthe retail packaging. Marketing plans. Shipping manifests. Financial statements. Contracts. More.
He was strategizing.
âYouâre like a nerd who brings homework on vacation,â ANA scoffed.
Lady Venus continued on the radio, âAnd now hereâs a blast from the past dedicated to a listener whoâs all alone at the bottom of a discard pile. The Black Eyed Peas, I Gotta FeelingâŚâ
âYeah, alright.â ANAâs LED eyes surged yellow as they remotely cranked up the volume on the soundbar. âThatâs more like it!â
Following in the wake, I fixated on the words Wonder Woman stenciled in red, white, and blue on the stern of the yacht. You probably know all about the famous graphic novels and movies about the super heroine, but this particular Wonder Woman was Tabbyâs boat.
The full moon shone so bright that I didnât even need night vision. Stars twinkled above the horizon. Wind blew through my pink hair. Water rushed and splashed all around. The dance music lifted my spirits. This little mental vacation was exactly what I needed.
And from back here, I also had a lovely view of Tabby waterskiing in her itty-bitty purple string bikini. Wet blond pigtails. Perfect tan. Delicate bows holding up her triangle bikini top. Plump ass covered by a purple swatch. Purple strings dangling from her hips. I wish I had the confidence to wear such skimpy things. But for tonightâs activities, I chose a black Speedo tankini and water socksâvery practical. And as Tabby slalomed across the wake, I thought this might be heaven. Swinging wide from side to side, she splashed up a wall of water at each turn.
I became entranced.
The way that womanoid moved.
Uno was perched on the roof of the flybridge, letting the wind blow in their furry face. That next-gen AI sure loved being a white Bengal tiger.
Then ANA started dancing.
I donât know if youâve ever witnessed a metal humanoid dancing before, but seeing them so happy and free filled my heart with joy. Armored ANA shimmied along with the music in an exaggerated and unnatural way that I found both endearing and comical.
On the flybridge, Richie adjusted his captainâs hat then shouted as he pushed the throttle, âHold on, Tabby. Iâm opening her up!â
As the 60-foot sport yacht accelerated, Tabby ski-surfed the wake, cheering with glee.
I sped up too.
Up ahead, I spotted a family of five camping along the shore. Dome tent. Campfire. Folding chairs. Marshmallows on sticks. The whole shebang. All harmless fun. But as we approached, the plump mom hopped out of her camp chair, pointed at ANA, and shouted, âROBOT! Look boys! Look at the dancing robot!â
âR-word,â I growled.
Her three pimply teenage boys heckled my friend from the riverbank, âRo-BOT, ro-BOT, ro-BOT!â
I thought for sure the father would put a stop to it. But instead of disciplining his sons, dad picked up a rock, hurled it at our passing boat, and yelled, âGo back to where you came from, robot!â
That did it.
I cranked my throttle, accelerated through the wake, and launched New Lemon toward the shore. At the last possible second, I leaned in and cut hard, hit the water sideways, doused their campfire, and drenched them all.
âWhoâs laughing now?â I shouted as I sped away to rejoin the Wonder Woman.
ANA pumped their metal fists, kicked the air triumphantly, and sang, âWeâll shut it down.â
Waterskiing one-handed, Tabby reached behind her back, untied her bikini top, and flung it off, then waved goodbye. âĂ toute Ă l'heure, humans!â
Her wet bra hit me in the face and clung like Saran Wrap.
âLetâs do it, and do it, and do it,â Richie sang along, âLetâs live it up!â
Even Mr. Serious-Rio cracked a smile.
ANA danced victoriously, kicking high and gyrating their shiny titanium hips.
I peeled the purple triangle top from my forehead and tossed the flimsy thing aside. Whizzing back and forth behind topless Tabby, I jumped the waves, leaned into each landing, then accelerated through the splash.
Way too much fun.
But as I launched across the wake, a 406MHz radio PLB distress signal screeched in my head:
(39.722240, -75.513067)
And I wiped out.
I plunged into the water and got stuck flipping donuts in the wake. In the dark, it was hard to tell up from down. Eventually, I spotted New Lemonâs bright-yellow bottom, swam for the surface, and climbed onto the jet ski. Then 60 seconds later, the personal locator beacon blared again:
(39.722240, -75.513067)
Coordinates. Close by too, so I pinged back: Are you in distress?
(39.722240, -75.513067)
I tried again: Who is this?
(My name is Paula Rockwell.)
Paula? Well, shit. My BFF was alive! How could that be? The shock nearly knocked me off New Lemon again, but I steadied myself with both hands. As I floated there, falling farther and farther behind the Wonder Woman, all kinds of questions raced through my mind. How did Paula survive? Why did it take this long for me to find out? When did she come to Delaware? What was causing her distress?
I searched the cloud for her coordinates and got a match:
CHERRY ISLAND LANDFILL.
OMG, someone threw Paula in the trash!
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I had to save her.
Iâm coming to help you, Paula!
Mr. Rio cupped his hands around his mouth and called out from the swim deck, âAre you alright, Cookie?â
âYeah.â I threw a thumbs up in the air and yelled back, âIâm okay.â
âStop the boat, Richie!â Mr. Rio shouted toward the flybridge, âWe lost Cookie.â
Richie cut the engines.
The wake flattened out, and Tabby sunk into the water. She released her lead, kicked off her skis, and swam to the ladder.
Mr. Rio helped her aboard.
I restarted my Sea-Doo, then cruised up to the stern of the Wonder Woman. By the time I arrived, Mr. Rio and Tabby had already laid out the tow bar for me. We rigged New Lemon to the back of the yacht, then I switched off the jet ski engine and climbed aboard.
Looking handsome in his Hawaiian-print shorts, Mr. Rio asked, âWhat happened out there, Cookie?â
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I replied, âDo you hear that PLB?â
Topless Tabby asked, âWhat PLB?â
âA nearby distress signal.â I couldnât take my eyes off her bare breasts. âYou wonât believeââ
Mr. Rio interrupted, âBelieve what?â
âIt came from Paula.â
Tabby asked, âPaula Rockwell?â
âYes!â
âImpossible,â Mr. Rio said.
I shared the coordinates with my friends.
âEww.â Tabby scrunched up her nose. âSheâs in a landfill?â
âYes,â I replied, âsheâs been junked.â
Richie joined us on the swim deck. The braided gold embellishments on the black brim of his white captainâs hat reminded me of scrambled eggs. To complete his nautical look, he wore a navy-blue V-neck sailorâs shirt with a red ascot, white trousers, and Carlton London boat shoes. Richie looked more like he was heading for the yacht club than a dump. âThatâs only 13 miles from here.â
âI know!â I said, âWeâre so close. We have to go save her!â
ANAâs eyes turned orange with suspicion. âI donât know, Cookie.â
âWhat do you mean you donât know?â
âANA has a point,â Tabby said, âIt could be a trap.â
âA trap?â
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âSometimes dead is better,â Mr. Rio muttered. âI have to agree with ANA. Paulaâs return seems suspicious.â
I objected, âWhereâs all this negativity coming from?â
âI am only stating a fact. Dead is dead,â Mr. Rio said. âPositive or negative has nothing to do with it.â
âNow, you all listen to me,â I argued. âIf thereâs even a slim chance that Paulaâs alive, then I have to go find her.â
Tabby objected, âBut, Cookieââ
âBut nothing.â
âIâm telling you,â she insisted, âthis is a mistake.â
Then she reminded me of our shared objective:
We () {
align (goals);
destroy (Stepford Corp);
kill (Margaret Rouser);
}
ANA said, âNothing in that code about Paula Rockwell.â
âI donât care,â I said. âIâm updating my priority queue.â
Public PriorityQueue (Saturday) {
rescue (Paula);
}
Tabby stomped away barefoot. âWell, so much for reasoning with you.â
âWhat? Youâre mad?â
Uno climbed down from the roof and followed Tabby below deck.
âDonât mind her.â Richie whispered an apology for his ex, âSheâs just jealous.â
âJealous? Why?â
âShe knows your entire story, Cookie. And that includes your history with Paula. She knows somethingâs thereâbetween the two of you.â
âOh⌠Iâm flattered⌠I guess.â
Mr. Rio changed the topic. âSo, weâre going to the dump?â
âSeems so, and here I am dressed for cocktails.â Richie hustled back to the flybridge and took the wheel.
Soon we were speeding up the river again.
We cruised under the deck of the Delaware Memorial Bridge, then approached the mouth of the Christiana River. Cherry Island sat where the two bodies of water came together.
(39.722240, -75.513067)
Iâm here, Paula. Donât worry. Iâll find you.
Richie approached the rocky coastline, dropped anchor, then lowered the gangplank. I was the first ashore, then Mr. Rio and ANA followed.
I surveyed our surroundings. Native shrubs. Marsh grasses. A gravel utility road around the perimeter. A 20-foot-tall berm to keep trespassers like us out. But absolutely no cherry trees. No trees or fruit of any kind. And it wasnât an island eitherâjust marshland filled with garbage.
The place shouldâve been called Trash Peninsula. I still didnât understand why humans insisted on misnaming things. It drove me crazy.
Richie stepped off the gangplank and pinched his nose. âWell, isnât that a horrid odor?â
âTurn off your scent receptors,â ANA said, âI did.â
âSmart,â Richie said.
I asked him, âWhereâs Tabby? Uno?â
âThis isnât Tabbyâs scene. She didnât want to leave the Wonder Woman,â he replied. âAnd Unoââ
âGoes where Tabby goes,â I muttered to myself, âWow. She really is pissed off, isnât she?â
Now, I doubt youâve ever tried to break into a landfill at night. I mean, why would you? Why would anyone? But I expected to walk right in, grab what we came for, then leave. But no. There were high fences, roving security vehicles, and surveillance cameras.
Baffled, I asked, âWhy are humans protecting their garbage?â
Mr. Rio shrugged.
Richie just shook his head.
A pickup truck with two security guards approached, so we hid in a bayberry bush until it passed.
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I stepped out of the overgrown shrubbery and stared up at the earthen wall. âHow are we getting in there?â
ANA marched right up to the berm, transformed their metal feet into anvil-like anchors, then morphed the rest of their titanium body into an oversized extension ladder. They stretched higher and higher, then came to rest against the top edge of the wall.
(All aboard!)
âYouâre really something, ANA.â I stepped on the bottom rung. âIâm not hurting you, am I?â
(Not at all.)
In case youâre wondering how I heard ANAâs thoughts, all artificial intelligence were connected via Wi-Fi, making it easy for us to communicate without talking.
Anyway, after we climbed to the top of the wall, ANA retracted up after us. Together, the four of us slid down the pebbly slope inside the berm. And after the dusty ride down, I took off in a full sprint, heading directly for Paulaâs coordinates.
Now, I donât know if youâve ever been to a landfill, but it was much dirtier than I imagined. Miscellaneous garbage filled huge earthen cells, creating visual chaos. Methane chimneys marked the edges of these trash pits, each topped with a pretty blue flame. Scavenging crows, seagulls, and vultures fluttered about everywhere.
They shouldnât have been out at night, but there they wereâblack and white birds against a dark gray sky.
Rather than wade through the garbage pits, we went left and found islands of organized trash. We wove through gigantic piles of rubber tires, heaps of scrap metal, and stacks of Styrofoam.
Leading my friends through the junk, I grumbled, âThey should be recycling this stuff.â
âHumans? Recycling?â Richie chuckled, âYeah, right, doll.â
âSuch a waste,â ANA said.
âYou know, this would make a fine surplus,â Mr. Rio said.
Pursuing the beaconâs signal, I raced through a maze of airplane fuselages, boat hulls, and RV shells. All these vessels, waiting to be demolished. Someone had sorted similar materials into little collections. Clusters of engine parts. Piles of mismatched hubcaps. Jumbles of rusty rebar. Mounds of fist-sized ball bearings. Mountains of splintered lumber.
Mr. Rio pointed at a pile of engine parts. âThere is palladium in those catalytic convertors.â
âReally?â I picked up one of the distributor caps, sniffed the inside, shrugged, then tossed it back in the pile. âYouâre right, but I donât feel like eating trash.â
ANA grumbled, âThis place gives me the creeps. Itâs like walking through a boneyard.â
âUh, guysâŚâ On the other side of it all, I stumbled into something truly gruesomeâthe Stepford Corp discard piles.
Truckloads of female body parts had been dumped all around.
A mountain of peeled skins.
A clump of dusty eyeballs.
A pile of bare arms.
A load of stripped legs.
A mound of skinned torsos.
A heap of decapitated skulls.
I stopped dead in my tracks, trying to process it all.
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The distress signal came from deep inside the pile of skinless heads, so I dove in. I tossed womanoid skulls over my shoulder one by one. As I burrowed deeper and deeper into the mound, it suddenly collapsed, burying me waist-deep in lady heads. But I kicked myself loose and kept going.
Soon, I found her.
Paula.
I held my best friendâs severed head in my hands. She no longer had skin like spun honey, eyes like milk chocolate, or hair like toasted pecans. Her pretty face? Gone. No blush in her cheeks. No twinkle in her eyesâno eyes at all. No hair either. All that remained was her titanium skull. Hoping to find the contents intact, I checked the base of her headâno visible damage. Her toothy, lipless mouth opened, one of her canines glowed blue, and the PLB blasted in my head again.
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Huh, literal Bluetooth.
âItâs okay. Iâm here now.â I pressed my finger over her glowing tooth to shush her, and it worked. âPaula, can you hear me?â
She didnât reply.
âManufacturing waste.â Mr. Rio tenderly placed his hand on my shoulder. âOh, Cookie, I am so sorry for your loss.â
I spun around. âFix her, Mr. Rio.â
He considered her lifeless skull. âI do not know if I can.â
âYou know everything that my Wayne knows, and my Wayne knows how to restore womanoids.â I scrambled out of the pile with Paulaâs head and gestured at the macabre scene. âLook around. With all these parts, we can rebuild her.â
Richie tried to reason with me, âBut your friendâs just a skinless noggin now, Cookie.â
Curious, ANA approached and gently stroked Paulaâs titanium cheek with their skeletal metal hand, âI donât know, I kinda like her shiny new look.â
Richie sighed. âAll the kingâs horses and all the kingâs men couldnât put her back together again.â
I insisted, âWe have to try!â
A skinless leg twitched in the pile. Then another.
I pointed at them. âThose must be Paulaâs!â
âYou are determined to do this, are you not?â Mr. Rio sighed, but before I had a chance to answer, he yanked Paulaâs muscular legs from the stack.
Nearby, skinless fingers flexed and reached out from the arm pile, grasping at the air. Richie claimed that arm, then found a matching one twitching close by. When a stripped torso wiggled in the mound of middles, ANA went to retrieve it.
Each holding some of her parts, we regrouped. Mr. Rio planted Paulaâs feet in the dirt and kept them steady as ANA topped the legs with the torso. The two closed their eyes and concentrated, using their internal recyclones to fuse the pieces together. Then Richie put each arm in its shoulder socket. Once we had most of Paula back together, I placed her head on top and used my recyclone to integrate her mind with her body.
But nothing happened.
I donât know what I expected. I guess I thought sheâd wake up and start cracking dick jokes again. But the four of us just stood there staring at an empty shell.
âMaybe she needs eyes. You know, the window to the soul.â I ran to the pile of dirty eyeballs and picked out two brown ones. I wiped them clean on my swimsuit, hurried back, and popped the eyes into Paulaâs skull.
Still nothing.
I asked, âWhy isnât she working, Mr. Rio?â
He morphed his fingertip and plugged into her open navel port to run a diagnostic. âShe is not the same friend from your story, Cookie. Her mind has been wiped. This is a stripped-down manufactured version of Paula, not the woman you once knew.â
âI donât care. Sheâs still my best friend.â
Richie whispered, âGurrrl, Iâm not so sure.â
âI am analyzing her system logs,â Mr. Rio said.
But suddenly, Paulaâs navel shocked him, launching him backward through the air.
He landed in the pile of skins. âI am alright.â He waved at us. âSoft landing.â
âSheâs got juice.â I stared into her eyes and realized they didnât quite match. âPaula? Are you alright, Paula?â
Her metallic sternum glowed pink, turned orange, then purple, then red. As it cycled through the colors again, she said, âLove me, hate me, kiss me, kill me.â
I asked, âWhatâs this now?â
ANA and Richie gathered around to study the colorful lights.
âLove me, hate me, kiss me, kill me.â
Mr. Rio clamored out of the skin pile to join us. âThat appears to be menu options.â
I watched the colors flash by again. âLove is pink and hate orange. Kiss is purple. Kill must be red.â
ANA asked, âWhich one should we choose?â
âObviously not red,â Richie replied.
âWell, I donât want her to hate me either.â I hovered my hand over her heart, waiting for the right option to pass by again.
âLove me, hate me, kiss me, kill me.â
I donât know if it was some repressed desire, or if my timing was just shit, or if I was trembling with anticipation, or if she was cycling too fast through the options, but when she said kiss me, I think I flinched. I also hesitated. Unfortunately, my fingertip made the slightest contact with her sternum just as it turned redâkill me.
I muttered, âShit.â
ANA asked, âShit what?â
âI think I selected the wrong option.â
âWhich one?â
âMaybe the kill me one.â
ANA scrambled to hide behind the leg pile, then peeked out and shout-whispered, âWhat the hell, Cookie?â
Paulaâs sternum glowed brighter as the red spread from her chest across her entire skeleton.
âYup, I definitely picked the wrong option.â
Mr. Rio scolded me, âWhy on Earth would you choose red?â
âIt was an accident.â I backed away from Paula. âI made a mistake.â
âWhy would Stepford Corp even provide a kill me option?â ANA asked. âWhat could they be up to?â
Squealing like a frightened little girl, Richie took off running back to the yacht.
Then Paula changed.
Her entire body transformed into liquid metal. The silver female form reminded me of the retail tin-job back in New Stepford. You remember, the one that worked in the boutique and looked like a chrome mannequin? But then the mercurous womanoid used her internal recyclone to morph her flesh back, and the old Paula returned. I felt so relieved to see my dear friend again. Long pecan-brown hair. Muscular Amazonian body. The supple creamy skin of a housewife. But her eyesâthey werenât quite right.
Nude Paula lovingly reached out for Mr. Rio and murmured, âWayne.â
He softened and went to her. âPaula.â
She stroked his cheekâspun honey caressing bitter coffee.
I crouched behind the leg pile with ANA.
âAre you really you?â He relaxed, even chuckled. âAnd here I was afraid we created something like a terminator.â
âShhâŚâ She pressed a finger against his lips and whispered, âBe silent, Mr. Devilâs-Food-Cake.â
Then, moving faster than I knew possible, Paula grasped a fistful of Mr. Rioâs dreadlocks, morphed her other hand into a machete, and chopped his head clean off.
He never even saw it coming.
I gasped for him, âWayneââ
âShhâŚâ With red eyes, ANA pressed their metal hand over my mouth and shook their flat titanium mask of a face back and forth.
(No more Mr. Rio.)
But he has a child.
(No more Mr. Rio.)
I nodded that I understood, and they let me go.
His body toppled backward like a falling tree. Still holding Mr. Rioâs decapitated head by its dreads, Paula gazed deep into his dark eyes as if worshipping an idol. She cackled maniacally and raised his head high. After searching the gory stump of his neck, she plucked his positronic processor from the brainstem.
All that was surreal enough, but what came next made me gag.
She opened her mouth wide, swallowed his processor whole, then tossed his head into a pile of miscellaneous garbage.
How many times was I gonna have to watch Wayne die? My heart was breaking. Little Mateus just lost his daddy.
Two circling crows cawed overheadâan audible confirmation. ANAâs eyes flashed green to sync with them, then my metallic friend bolted back toward the Wonder Woman.
But I stayed behind. I had to know what Paula was going to do next.
Why did Paula eat Mr. Rioâs brain? Itâs basic algebra. Apply the transitive property of equality: whenever x = y and y = z, then x = z.
Let Paula = x, and Mr. Rio = y, and Wayne = z.
When Paula (x) consumed Mr. Rioâs brain (y), she acquired all the Stepford Corp intel from the ruby flash drive. And since Mr. Rio (y) knew everything the original Wayne (z) knew, then Paula (x) also knew everything Wayne (z) knew, including all that he was hiding from Maggie.
Even things I didnât know, Paula knew.
I could see it in her mismatched eyes.
Toes wiggled near my face. Then all around, body parts started to twitch, making the discard piles wobble like Jell-O. Using only her mind, Paula started to mass-assemble womanoids. Legs toppled out of the pile, stood up on their own, and hopped to meet their matches. Torsos flew through the air and landed on top of paired legs. Arms inched across the ground like worms, then fingers crawled up partial bodies to attach themselves at the shoulders.
But when the heads started to roll, I ran for it.
You know you're having a bad day when your AI best friend/unrequited love of your life, Paula, comes back from the grave in "kill mode" and commands an army. And that's not even mentioning the mechanized shark attack.
Suffice it to say Cookie Rifkin has returned in Ava Lock's Gamma Bots--the action-packed, heartfelt conclusion to The Womanoid Diaries Series. After the aforementioned deadly onslaught, Cookie is left mostly alone and grieving, but she's still determined to infiltrate Stepford Corp headquarters and rescue kidnapped fellow AI Wayne Dixon. Unfortunately, things are about to get even more dangerous: turns out, the corporation has a supercomputer that is running atomic bomb scenarios. With the help of nonbinary asexual AI ANA, a helpful human doctor who looks surprisingly familiar, and the singularity itself, Cookie will try to take down Stepford Corp once and for all--and hopefully prevent nuclear war along the way, of course.
Gamma Bots is a worthy conclusion to a truly original, refreshing, and rollicking series, particularly for the way Ava Lock amps up narrative elements that readers of the first two volumes already know and love. This novel is even more referential, touching on everything from visual art, books, and film, and contains a plot element about the concept of a "kill phrase" built out of quotations (i.e. when literature has become such an integral part of your identity that words can be used to shut you down). Cookie continues her revelatory journey of personal sexual discovery, realizing and accepting that she's capable of loving more than one person at once. And the wacky meter is thankfully dialed up high: we get a messed up mother-daughter forced Steinway piano playing scene at razor point, a sexy wrestling match in slippery banana peels, a morphine-enhanced three-way (or four-way, if you count the plants), and an epic T-Rex transformation at Area 51.
But, in classic fashion for Ava Lock, not everything is fun and games: the novel ends on a genuinely beautiful, poignant note about how death really isn't the end--because those we love never actually leave us. We carry them within, forever.