"Helllloooo?" came the faint voice through the door. "Brock? Are you home?"

One of KB (Administrative)'s tentaclegs snaked out and twisted the handle, pulling the slab of wood inwards. Aphrodite stood revealed in the entrance, trying not to flinch at the rapidly retreating glimmer of metal.

"Fucking hell- okay, fine, this is fine." She leaned in through the door frame, eyes widening as she saw Brock collapsed against the couch, KB (Administrative) hovering overhead. "...this is not fine. Brock, are you okay?"

"'m fine. Just... thinking. About stuff."

"Ooooookaaaaay."

Aphrodite stepped gingerly into the apartment, like she was avoiding landmines in the hardwood floor. She paused where the entrance hallway opened up into the kitchen slash living room, and looked around curiously, eyes settling on the lurking deathmachine.

"I suppose you have a reason for cosplaying the world's worst gargoyle?"

"Overwatch, meatbag," KB (Administrative) purred in gnashing metal screeches, four of its limbs snapping out into curled striking poses. "Your purpose for being here?"

Aphrodite ignored the display, unimpressed.

"I came to apologize." She continued forward, towards the couch, then sat down next to Brock. "Last night was a bit of a mess. I shouldn't have let that guy, Ken, convince you to drink that much." She let out a breath. "I guess I was still stressed from that psychebomb and Mikael being, well, himself."

Brock flushed as he remembered snatches of the dinner slash party at the Unsavory Unicorn. Aphrodite, trailing her hand on his neck, making suggestive comments. The smoldering sexuality she seemed to exude effortlessly.

"Do... uhhh, do you like me?" he blurted out, then immediately wished he could reach out and cram the words back into his mouth. Aphrodite's giggle merged discordantly with KB (Administrative)'s sawblade laugh.

"Do I... Brock." She turned to face him fully. "You took out that Overlord who kidnapped us and stood up to Hardick, and I appreciate that, but I barely even know you." She shrugged one shoulder. "Last night I was playing a role, to keep that Ken guy from wondering why you were hanging around with a Councilor."

"What about when we first met?" Brock replied, not quite challenging her. "You were pretty into me there."

Aphrodite smiled. "Brock, you seem nice, don't get me wrong, but I like having sex and I was hosting a party all about doing that. Your body looked good so I went for it. That wasn't about who you are as a person."

"Meatbag," KB (Administrative) interrupted Brock's next response before it could get started, "I highly encourage you to pursue your feelings for this other meatbag. Observing the resultant interactions between the two of you and Captain Swift will be immensely entertaining. For me."

Aphrodite's smile melted into a frown.

"And then there's that." She patted his shoulder, then got to her feet. "Sorry, Brock, but I already have enough trouble keeping Hardick out of my life. I don't need another Black Cat in the mix, let alone some weird love triangle nonsense. I've read enough bad light novels to know how shitty that turns out." She turned towards the apartment door. "I'll text you when I get off work about tonight's checkup."

"Yeah, sure," Brock replied in a defeated tone, one hand held half-raised in an attempt at a farewell. "See you then," but Aphrodite was already out of the room, door clicking shut behind her. He let his hand fall. "...goddammit. I'm such an idiot."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"A loathsome watery sac packed with confusing hormones," KB (Administrative) agreed from its perch above his head, "fighting chemical urges you cannot comprehend. A pitiful existence, to be sure."

"Thanks, KB (Administrative)," Brock grumbled, "you know exactly how to make me feel better."

"Sarcasm is the last defense of the uncultured." A tentacleg lifted Brock smoothly to his seat at the kitchen island. "Now, meatbag, what do you wish to do with your day?" The robot's head swiveled around the apartment. "Staying here and wallowing is not an option, by the way."

"I told you," Brock replied, trying to clear churning thoughts of Aphrodite from his mind, "I want to play some sports." He scowled. "But I have no idea where to go, or even if anyone plays something I'd recognize. How am I supposed to track down a pickup game with all the weirdness out there?"

"Simple, meatbag." A tentacleg deftly plucked his magiphone out of his tracksuit pocket and placed it on the island surface in front of him. "That's why you have this."

"Brock! Let's make you the best you you can be! We'll find some sportsballs! Turn right here!"

Brock glared at KB (Administrative) as the surface of his magiphone lit up.

"Was my morning not bad enough already?"

"Meatbag," KB (Administrative) chided him, "you know-"

"Don't say it," Brock warned, reaching for a frying pan. KB (Administrative)'s eyes flickered in laughter.

"If you'd let me finish, instead of relying on your lizardbrain to scurry to wrong conclusions, you'd have heard me say 'the assistant function only activates when you don't know how to do something and want to learn, but haven't learned how to learn yet.'"

Brock gave KB (Administrative) a death stare that should have vaporized the killbot on the spot.

"Are you implying," he said slowly, very slowly, "that I'm inflicting Bindy on myself?"

A sine-wave shrug.

"Have you spent any time proactively learning things you need or want to know? Or have you merely been existing between one crisis and the next?"

"I... that's... I've been... it's not..."

Brock scowled at the still-glowing phone, Bindy inappropriately hipthrusting against one of the icons on the screen - a gray spiderweb in a blue square - then let out a huge sigh. Reaching down, he tapped the icon.

Bindy disappeared, and a pleasant, androgynous voice sounded in his head, along with a line of glowing text, the smell of honeysuckle, and a light tingling along his left arm.

"Welcome to your initial Sysweb installation. Do you prefer auditory prompts, visual prompts, olfactory prompts, or tactile prompts? Settings can be reconfigured at any time after installation."

Brock nearly fell out of his chair.

"What the hell?!"

"Audiovisual is good, Brock!" Bindy shrieked, dancing back into existence on the tabletop, then leered at him. "Unless you want tactile! Tactile is fun!"

Brock shuddered as Bindy vanished once more.

"Uhhh, audio and visual, please?"

"Prompt settings accepted," a voice and line of text informed him, and the strange sensation on his arm and scent of flowers immediately retreated back into nothingness. "Personality baselines calibrated. What information are you seeking?"

"Uhhh, I'd like to play some sports. What are my options?"

Brock's vision filled with a massive list of words, many of which made no sense.

"...firehoop? Zero-G squrnting? High intensity zippersnip??" He frowned, thinking. "Is there a way to see, uhhh, just the sports from where I'm from? Earth sports?"

The list shrank considerably, though it still filled half his sight.

"Try sorting by proximity, meatbag. Obviously, you'll also want to avoid anything that allows skills."

Brock took KB (Administrative)'s suggestion, limiting his choices to those within fifteen minutes walking distance and non-skill only. The list shrank even further, though it was still too long to peruse easily.

"Uhhh, team sports, please."

The list shrank to three.

"Hmm. Yukigassen, competitive calvinball, and football. Uhhh, is that 'soccer' football or 'football' football?"

"Adjusting personality baseline... it is association football, otherwise known as 'soccer' in some Earth regions. A local non-skill league plays at the Bahamut Park Sporting Complex And Explosion Enjoyment Zone."

"...thanks. I guess I'll try that one." The line of text disappeared, along with the voice, and Brock shifted his attention back to his apartment kitchen, looking questioningly at KB (Administrative). "Uhhh, how do I get there?"

"I'm here to help, Brock! Follow me to be the best you! Go through the ceiling here!"

Brock gave the capering Bindy a long look, then deliberately tapped the web icon again and repeated his query. A gently glowing guideline hovering just above the floor appeared, leading to his front door. Bindy hipthrust its way along it like a particularly perverted model strutting the catwalk, and KB (Administrative) let out a screeching metal laugh.

"Excellent, meatbag. You're learning. Time to start enjoying your day off."