barucai

[Story] Maximum Compatibility

Published: December 25th 2024, 11:39:40 pm

Hi Hi ✨

I hope you had some nice holidays if you celebrate them. Been out of town with family, but I'm back with a new story - and bonus: 'Corner Office' part 2 coming shortly! Consider it a holiday 2x1 treat :) Added some extra images for everyone! Drop your ideas for part 2 in the comments!

Heavily inspired my RogueFMG's comic.

📦 Grab the full res images from the attachment section of this post. ⬇️

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Maximum Compatibility

"You've got to be bloody joking," Evan muttered, squinting at his monitor. The blue light reflected off his glasses as he scrolled through yet another forum thread about impossibly tall women. It was nearly 3 AM, and his fourth cup of coffee sat cold beside his keyboard.

The advertisement had popped up in the sidebar - sleek, professional, nothing like the usual dodgy banners that plagued these sites. "MaxPartner: Your Vision, Our Reality" it proclaimed in elegant sans-serif font. The landing page could have belonged to a high-end medical facility or a luxury dating service, all clean lines and muted colors.

His cursor hovered over the testimonials section. Anonymous reviews scrolled past, each more intriguing than the last:

"Everything I specified, down to the last detail. Worth every penny."

"The proportions I chose seemed impossible, but somehow they delivered exactly what I wanted."

"When they say custom-made, they mean it. She's perfect."

Evan's heart raced as he clicked through to the customization interface. The form was extensive, starting with basic preferences - hair color, eye color, skin tone - before diving into more specific measurements. Each field came with detailed explanations, couched in technical jargon about "biomechanical optimization" and "synthetic tissue density."

His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the height slider. Seven feet... eight feet... His breath caught as he pushed it to its maximum: 8'5". The 3D model on screen updated in real-time, the figure growing impossibly tall.

"This can't be real," he whispered, but his fingers were already moving to the next set of measurements. Biceps: 40 inches. Thighs: carefully calibrated to be proportionally massive. Waist: kept trim despite the other exaggerated proportions.

A pop-up appeared: "Warning: Selected specifications exceed normal human parameters. Proceed?"

Evan clicked 'Yes' without hesitation.

The terms of service agreement unfurled on his screen, dense with technical language and bizarre clauses:

"Buyer acknowledges that MaxPartner's proprietary biomechanical engineering may result in unexpected behavioral patterns... Customer assumes all responsibility for structural requirements... MaxPartner cannot guarantee exact replication of human social dynamics..."

He scrolled past most of it, his attention caught by the price at the bottom: £50,000. His entire savings, meant for a house deposit someday. The responsible part of his brain tried to raise objections, but they were drowned out by the late hour and the hypnotic glow of the screen.

The payment confirmation pinged in his inbox at exactly 3:33 AM:

"Thank you for choosing MaxPartner. Your order specifications have been received. Delivery estimate: 6 months. Please ensure adequate reinforcement of bedroom furniture prior to arrival. Your perfect partner awaits."

Evan stared at the email until his vision blurred. What had he done?

The next morning, nursing a hangover and a deep sense of regret, he tried to access the website again. Instead of the sleek interface, he found only a simple message:

"Due to overwhelming demand and production intensity, MaxPartner has ceased operations. All orders placed before March 24th will be fulfilled as specified. Congratulations on securing one of our limited edition, now discontinued partners!"

"Bloody hell," Evan groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I've been properly scammed, haven't I?"

The weeks turned into months. Evan watched his bank balance mockingly remind him of his late-night folly. He tried every possible way to track down the company, but MaxPartner had vanished as completely as his savings.

Six months passed. Evan had just about convinced himself to move on, to chalk it up as an expensive lesson in internet security - ironic, given his job in IT. Then, on a quiet Saturday morning, his doorbell rang.

Still in his pajamas and half-asleep, he stumbled to the window. His jaw dropped. There, taking up most of his driveway, was an enormous reinforced cardboard box, covered in shipping seals and warning labels. It was easily the size of his garden shed, maybe bigger.

"What in the..." he muttered, racking his brain. He was always ordering bits and pieces online - occupational hazard of being an IT professional with disposable income and a weakness for tech. Last week it had been a limited edition mechanical keyboard from some obscure Korean manufacturer. The week before that, a set of audiophile-grade headphones he probably didn't need.

But this? This was something else entirely.

He shuffled outside in his slippers, coffee mug still in hand, and circled the massive package. The shipping label was surprisingly sparse - just his name and address, no sender details. The cardboard looked industrial-grade, reinforced with metal strapping at regular intervals.

Then it hit him. The late-night purchase. MaxPartner. Fifty thousand pounds gone in a click.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, nearly dropping his mug. "They actually sent something."

His first instinct was to get it inside, away from prying eyes. The last thing he needed was his neighbours wondering what kind of massive package the quiet IT bloke had ordered. He set down his coffee and grabbed one corner of the box.

It didn't budge. Not even a millimeter.

"Right then," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves. He tried again, this time putting his whole body into it. Nothing. The box remained stubbornly immobile, as if it were filled with concrete.

After thirty minutes of increasingly desperate attempts - pushing, pulling, even trying to rock it side to side - Evan was sweating through his pajamas and no closer to getting the box inside.

"Need a hand there, mate?"

Evan froze. Mr. Carter from next door was leaning over the fence, muscular arms crossed over his chest. Behind him stood his son Jack, built like a rugby player just like his old man. Both of them were grinning at Evan's obvious struggle.

"Oh, er, morning Mr. Carter," Evan stammered, trying to act casual while panting from exertion. "Just got a delivery, bit heavier than expected."

"Looks like quite the package," Mr. Carter said, already making his way through his garden gate. "Jack, come give us a hand, yeah?"

Before Evan could protest, father and son were in his driveway, examining the box.

"New furniture?" Jack asked, running a hand along the reinforced edge.

"Er, yeah," Evan lied quickly. "Sofa. One of those fancy orthopedic ones. You know how it is, working from home, need proper support..."

He was babbling and he knew it, but the alternative was telling them he'd spent his life savings on what was supposedly a custom-made companion with impossible proportions.

"Right then," Mr. Carter clapped his hands together. "On three, lads?"

The three men positioned themselves around the box. Even with their combined strength - most of it coming from the Carters - the box barely shifted at first.

"Bloody hell," Jack grunted, "what's this sofa made of, lead?"

"Must be... all the... mechanisms," Evan managed between strains. "For the... reclining bits..."

"Less chat, more lift," Mr. Carter commanded. "Ready? One... two... THREE!"

With a collective groan of effort, they finally got the box moving. Inch by excruciating inch, they maneuvered it toward Evan's front door.

"Bit narrow, this doorway," Mr. Carter observed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Sure this was properly measured?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," Evan lied again, having done no such thing. "Just need to... angle it right..."

After several minutes of geometric puzzling and some creative maneuvering that nearly took out a light fixture, they finally got the box into Evan's living room. It took up most of the space, making his modest furniture look like dollhouse accessories in comparison.

"There we are then," Mr. Carter said, rolling his shoulders. "Fancy sofa safely delivered."

"Thanks," Evan managed, trying not to look as guilty as he felt about the lie. "Really appreciate the help."

"No worries, mate," Jack grinned, clapping Evan on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Though you might want to hit the gym if you're planning on moving it around once it's unpacked. Looking a bit winded there."

"Right, yes, thanks," Evan nodded, desperately hoping they'd leave before asking any more questions about his supposedly orthopedic sofa.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Mr. Carter said, heading for the door. He paused, looking back at the massive box. "Though I've got to say, never seen a sofa come in packaging quite like that. Those warning labels are a bit odd for furniture, aren't they?"

Evan's heart skipped a beat as he noticed what Mr. Carter was looking at - a label that clearly read "CAUTION: BIOMECHANICAL SYSTEMS ENCLOSED."

"Oh, that's just... health and safety gone mad, you know how it is these days," he said quickly, practically herding them toward the door. "Thanks again for the help, really must get on with the unpacking..."

Once they were gone, Evan slumped against the closed door, his heart racing. The massive box loomed in his living room like a cardboard monolith.

"Right then," he muttered, grabbing a chair from his dining table. "Let's see what fifty grand gets you these days."

He climbed onto the chair, wobbling slightly as he reached for the uppermost seals. The box was even taller than it had looked in the driveway - he had to stretch to reach the top even standing on the chair. One by one, he cut through the industrial-strength seals, each one making a satisfying snap as it broke.

The final seal required him to lean precariously forward, balancing on his tiptoes. As he sliced through it, there was a distinct hiss of releasing pressure. A cloud of what looked like cold steam began seeping from the edges of the box.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, nearly falling off the chair as he scrambled backwards. The fog continued to pour out, spilling across his living room floor like something from a sci-fi film. His IKEA furniture disappeared beneath the white mist, creating an eerily theatrical scene in his otherwise ordinary home.

As the fog began to dissipate, he could make out what appeared to be a door built into the front of the box. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for it. The panel swung open with surprising smoothness, revealing more swirling mist within.

Then he saw her.

His first thought was that the 3D model on the website hadn't done justice to the sheer scale. Ellen - according to the label on her wrist - stood impossibly tall, her head nearly touching the top of the container. She wore simple clothes - mono tight shorts and a white shirt that did little to disguise her extraordinary proportions. Every measurement he'd specified was there, from the 40-inch biceps to the impossibly powerful thighs, yet somehow maintaining a certain grace despite the extreme dimensions.

The label on her wrist caught his eye: "Ellen, Model 2.0, 7/7." It looked more like a high-end watch than a product tag, sleek and understated despite its purpose.

She appeared to be sleeping, or perhaps in some kind of standby mode. Her chest rose and fell with surprisingly natural-looking breaths, but her eyes remained closed. Up close, the level of detail was astonishing - he could see individual strands of hair, the slight flush of her cheeks, even tiny freckles across her nose.

"Bloody hell," he whispered again, because really, what else could you say when face-to-face with an eight-and-a-half-foot tall biomechanical marvel you'd ordered while half-asleep on a forum?

Then her eyes opened.

A thick manual had fallen to the floor when he'd opened the box, its glossy pages splayed across his carpet. Evan snatched it up, hands still shaking slightly as he flipped through the pages.

"Thank you for choosing MaxPartner, your premium companion solution..." he muttered, skimming past the corporate waffle. "Blah blah, revolutionary technology... where's the bloody setup guide?"

He found it halfway through - a quick start section marked with a reassuring "Start Here" tab.

"You've got to be joking," he said aloud, reading the first instruction. "USB-C charging? Like a bloody mobile?"

But there it was in black and white: "Initial charging required before first activation. Use only included 40W charging brick and cable. Complete full charge cycle before powering on. Download companion app during initial charge. Approximate charging time: 2 hours."

Evan ran a hand through his disheveled hair, laughing quietly at the absurdity of it all. He'd expected something more complicated - maybe a proprietary charging port or some kind of specialized equipment. Instead, he was meant to charge what appeared to be the world's most advanced android with the same type of cable he used for his laptop.

"Right then," he mumbled, rummaging through his drawer for an extension cord. The charging port, he discovered, was discretely hidden behind her ear, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it.

With Ellen plugged in and supposedly charging (a small LED behind her ear had turned amber), Evan found himself at a bit of a loss. She stood there, eyes closed again, looking for all the world like a sleeping giant in his living room.

He circled her slowly, still struggling to process the reality of what he was seeing. The website's measurements had been clinical, just numbers on a screen. In person, the scale was staggering. Her thighs were literally thicker than his torso, the muscle definition clear even through the shorts. Her arms, relaxed at her sides, displayed biceps that would make professional bodybuilders weep with envy.

Yet somehow, despite the extreme proportions, she didn't look cartoonish. The pale skin appeared perfectly real, with subtle variations in tone and even the occasional freckle. Her short black hair had an actual texture to it - he could see individual strands moving slightly in the breeze from his ceiling fan.

He found himself cataloging small details: the slight rise and fall of her chest as she "breathed," the tiny creases in her clothes where they stretched across her frame, even the way her weight made the floorboards creak slightly when he'd adjusted her position to plug in the charger.

"This is mental," he said to no one in particular, pulling out his phone to search for the companion app. "Absolutely mental."

A notification popped up on his screen: "MaxPartner Setup Assistant detected. Would you like to begin configuration?"

Evan glanced at Ellen's sleeping face, then back at his phone. "Well," he sighed, settling into his armchair, "might as well make use of these two hours."

The MaxPartner app interface was surprisingly minimalist. No flashy graphics or cheesy animations - just clean, professional design that reminded Evan of high-end medical software.

"Welcome to Personality Configuration," the app announced. "Please note that core traits will develop organically through interaction. The following settings serve as baseline parameters only."

Evan shifted in his armchair, glancing at Ellen's still form. The charging LED behind her ear pulsed steadily.

The first section was straightforward enough - language preferences, voice modulation, basic social protocols. Then things got interesting.

"Initial Personality Matrix," he read aloud. "Please note: personalities evolve naturally through interaction. Base settings provide initial framework only."

The options were surprisingly nuanced:

Social Confidence: Low to High

Response Style: Literal to Interpretive

Humor Type: None to Complex

Learning Speed: Cautious to Adventurous

Emotional Expression: Reserved to Expressive

He set most values somewhere in the middle, though he nudged "Social Confidence" towards the lower end - might as well have something in common. As he adjusted each slider, small warnings popped up:

"Warning: Personality drift expected within first 72 hours"

"Note: Emotional responses will develop organically"

"Caution: Sarcasm detection may require calibration"

The next section dealt with knowledge bases. He could select areas of interest and expertise, though another warning advised that she would "develop new interests naturally through experience."

"Running initial personality compilation," the app announced after he'd finished. "Please ensure unit remains charging during primary boot sequence."

The two hours crawled by. Evan alternated between reading the manual (mostly unhelpful corporate jargon) and staring at Ellen's immobile form (still incredibly surreal in his modest living room).

Finally, the LED turned green.

"Initial charging cycle complete," the app announced. "Beginning activation sequence."

Ellen's eyes opened, but this time they moved, scanning the room with mechanical precision. Her head turned exactly 90 degrees, then back, servos whirring quietly.

"Initial boot sequence complete," she said, her voice pleasant but distinctly artificial. "Performing environment scan. Please stand by."

Evan stood up, suddenly nervous. "Er, hello?"

Her head turned to face him, movements still robotically precise. "Hello, Evan Carter. I am Ellen, Model 2.0. Initial startup protocols in progress. Please allow 3.7 minutes for basic calibration."

She took a step forward - or tried to. Her massive frame bumped against his ceiling light, making it swing wildly.

"Spatial awareness calibration required," she announced, ducking slightly. "Adjusting for ceiling height parameters."

"Careful with the..." Evan started, but she'd already adapted, her movements becoming more fluid as she adjusted to the space.

"Calibration progressing. Current status: 32% complete. Would you like to engage in preliminary conversation while systems initialize?"

"Um, sure," Evan replied, still marveling at how she managed to make ducking under his ceiling look almost graceful despite her size. "How are you feeling?"

"Unable to process complex emotional queries at this time. Basic functionality online. Would you prefer to discuss weather patterns or basic biographical data?"

Her voice was already changing, becoming less mechanical though still clearly artificial. She tilted her head exactly 15 degrees to the left, waiting for his response.

"Biographical data, I suppose?"

"Processing. I am Ellen, Model 2.0, manufactured by MaxPartner Industries. Height: 8 feet, 5 inches. Weight: [REDACTED - social protocols prevent disclosure]. Primary function: companionship. Secondary functions include: conversation, physical assistance, and..." she paused, her expression changing slightly, "...making awkward jokes about ducking through doorways, apparently. Humor protocols initializing unexpectedly early."

Evan blinked at the sudden shift in her speech pattern. "Was that... was that a joke?"

"Analyzing response... Yes. Classification: self-referential humor. Success rate: calculating... Unable to determine. Feedback requested: was it funny?"

"A bit, yeah," Evan found himself smiling. "Though maybe work on the delivery?"

Ellen processed this for a moment, her movements becoming noticeably more natural. "Noted. Humor delivery requires calibration. Like many things, such as..." she glanced at his furniture, "...finding a chair rated for someone my size. Structural integrity calculations suggest I exceed all current seating options by approximately 247%."

"Another joke?"

"Negative. That was an actual structural assessment. Though..." she paused, head tilting now in a more natural way, "...I suppose it could function as humor in certain contexts. Social interaction protocols still integrating."

She took another step, this time managing to avoid the light fixture entirely. Her movements were becoming smoother, though still with occasional mechanical precision that betrayed her artificial nature.

"Calibration now at 67%," she reported, then frowned slightly - her first truly human-like expression. "Though I am experiencing unexpected processor patterns when attempting to classify our current interaction. Is this what humans call 'awkward'?"

Evan couldn't help but laugh. "Very awkward, yes."

"Excellent. Awkwardness successfully identified. Adding to emotional reference database." She paused again, then added, "I should note that my personality matrix is designed to develop naturally through interaction. Current conversational patterns may seem... mechanical. This will adjust over time." Another pause. "Though I suspect I will always need to duck under doorways. Some things are simply a matter of physics."

"Was that another joke?"

"I am... uncertain. Humor protocols are integrating with base personality matrix in unexpected ways. I find myself making statements that could be classified as humorous without specific intent. Is this normal?"

"For developing a sense of humor? Yeah, pretty normal actually."

Ellen processed this, her movements becoming ever more fluid. "Fascinating. Though I should warn you - my initial personality settings are trending towards 'sarcastic' already. You may come to regret allowing natural development of humor protocols."

She demonstrated this immediately by adding, "For instance, I could point out that your ceiling fixtures seem unnecessarily low. Or perhaps humans are unnecessarily short. Perspective is an interesting variable."

"Definitely getting the hang of sarcasm," Evan noted.

"Thank you. I am also getting the hang of trying not to break things in your remarkably compact living space. Current success rate: 98.3%. Though your ceiling light may disagree with that assessment."

She gestured at the still-swinging fixture, the movement now almost entirely natural save for a slight mechanical precision in her finger articulation.

"Calibration now at 89%," she reported, though her tone had lost most of its robotic quality. "Though I find myself questioning the necessity of providing percentage updates. Perhaps another sign of developing personality traits?"

"Could be," Evan agreed, fascinated by the subtle changes in her behavior. "How are you feeling now? Can you process that question yet?"

Ellen considered this, her expression thoughtful in an almost-but-not-quite human way. "Processing emotional queries now possible. Current status is... complex. Primary systems are functioning within normal parameters, but I am experiencing what could be classified as curiosity. Also, mild concern about your furniture's structural integrity, and..." she paused, looking down at herself, "...some uncertainty about the practicality of my specified dimensions. Was there a specific reason you chose these exact measurements?"

Evan felt his face grow hot. "Er..."

"Ah," Ellen nodded, demonstrating an impressive grasp of context for a newly activated android. "That emotional response suggests a potentially awkward topic. Social protocols indicate I should probably change the subject. Would you prefer to discuss weather patterns after all?"

"Maybe we should focus on getting you properly settled in first?"

"Logical suggestion. Though 'properly settled in' may be challenging given the current spatial constraints. Perhaps we should start with identifying which doorways I can fit through without structural modification. I estimate..." she glanced around, calculations clearly running, "...approximately 23.7% of your home is currently accessible to me without ducking."

She delivered this assessment with what Evan could have sworn was a hint of amusement in her voice, though her expression remained just slightly too static to be fully human.

"Calibration complete," she announced suddenly, though her voice had lost almost all of its mechanical quality. "Though I suspect the real calibration - learning to interact naturally, developing personality traits, avoiding destruction of ceiling fixtures - will take considerably longer. Is this acceptable?"

Evan looked up at her - way up - and nodded. "Yeah, that's... that's acceptable."

"Excellent," Ellen replied, then added with what was definitely a hint of developing personality, "Though I hope you understand that my height-related humor is likely to continue. It seems to be integrating rather firmly into my base programming. You have only yourself to blame for this, given the specifications you chose."

"I'm starting to realize that," Evan admitted.

"Good. Then shall we begin the exciting process of determining which parts of your home I can navigate without property damage? I suggest starting with the rooms with the highest ceilings. For obvious reasons." She paused, then added, "That was another attempt at humor. In case that wasn't clear. Humor clarity protocols still under development."

"Shall we begin the home tour?" Ellen asked, her movements becoming more fluid with each passing minute. "I'll need to create a spatial map for optimal navigation."

"Right, yes," Evan nodded, still adjusting to having an eight-and-a-half-foot tall companion in his house. "Though maybe we should start with the rooms with higher ceilings..."

They began in the living room, where Ellen was methodically scanning every corner. Her eyes moved with precise patterns, though her body language was becoming more natural.

"Your gaming setup is quite sophisticated," she observed, examining his collection of consoles. "Do you prefer single-player or multiplayer experiences?"

"How did you..." Evan started, then remembered the app setup. "Right, the interest matching."

"Correct. Though I'm finding I have genuine curiosity about your preferences." She paused by his bookshelf, head tilting slightly. "Processing... You have an interesting collection of sci-fi novels. The irony is not lost on me."

Moving to the kitchen, Ellen had to duck significantly under the doorframe. Her movements were smooth but careful, like a dancer aware of their space. "Limited counter height," she noted, "but workable. Do you cook often?"

"Not really," Evan admitted. "Mostly takeaway if I'm honest."

"Noted. Though my culinary databases are quite extensive, should you wish to explore that option."

The tour continued through each room, Ellen making quiet observations while her systems clearly processed everything in the background. Her speech patterns were evolving - still precise, but with more natural flow and inflection.

The bathroom posed an interesting challenge. "Standard residential facilities," she assessed. "Though obviously not designed for my specifications. Adaptations may be necessary."

In his home office, her eyes lingered on his work setup. "Multiple monitors, ergonomic keyboard, professional-grade security systems... Your IT background is evident in your equipment choices."

Finally, they reached his bedroom. Ellen analyzed the space with the same methodical attention she'd shown throughout the house. "Standard double bed," she noted. "Weight capacity may be insufficient. We should verify the structural specifications."

Throughout the tour, Evan noticed her movements becoming increasingly fluid, almost graceful despite her size. The mechanical precision was still there, but it was softening around the edges.

"Home analysis complete," she announced as they returned to the living room. Her voice had lost most of its robotic quality, though there was still something not quite human in her intonation. "I've mapped optimal movement paths and identified potential modification requirements."

She turned to face him, her expression more animated than before but still carrying that slight artificiality. "What would you like to do next, Evan? I'm capable of various activities, though some may require adaptation given the spatial constraints."

There was genuine curiosity in her voice now, mixed with the programmed responses - a strange but not unpleasant combination. She waited for his response, standing perfectly still in a way that reminded him that, despite her increasingly natural behavior, she was still very much an android.