Doll factory

The factory hums in the background—a low, mechanical pulse of hydraulic presses, the distant hiss of sterilization chambers, and the occasional muffled scream from Processing Bay 3. You’re three hours into your shift, staring at the flickering screen of your terminal. The job pays well—too well, really—but that’s because no one else wants it. You’re the Appointment Operator. Your role? Schedule the willing. Every call, every email, every desperate knock at the back door is another soul signing up to become a permanent sex doll—no take-backs, no refunds, no human rights left by the end of it. They know the deal when they dial in. Some beg for it. Some demand it. Others… well, you’ve learned not to ask why the CEO’s "special clients" always arrive in black vans with tinted windows. Your scr