Mister - Rom Packs

She touched her synthetic skin patch. It was warm.

“What’s in it for you besides science?” Mister Rom Packs

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not holding your hand.” She touched her synthetic skin patch

Each fragment resisted. Each one tried to speak. Mister Rom Packs would plug a cable into the appropriate port— SMELL, SOUND, REGRET —and listen. And then he would say something like, “No, Harold, the meeting wasn’t your fault,” or “She didn’t leave because of the coffee; she left because you were never there,” and the fragment would sigh through a speaker or shudder through a servo and then collapse into a small, inert object: a domino, a bent paperclip, a single false eyelash. the meeting wasn’t your fault

She went cold. “You said you could take it out.”