A Secret Agent Went Undercover to Stop a Sex Robot's Plans for World Domination

"CAM intends to turn the world into one big, nonstop, pansexual orgy and will kill every human being who refuses to join.”

Illustration by Spencer Jones

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April 2049, Berlin

Liam Park was accustomed to a certain level of luxury. Over the past decade, he had stayed at five-star hotels worldwide—he once even stayed at an underwater hotel with sharks swimming around him—but never had he seen a lobby this immaculate. Not a single hair on the floor. No smudges on the windows. Park narrowed his eyes. He believed the staff was hiding some bloody mess by over-buffing the tiles. But then again, Park always assumed that an individual (or agency) was covering up a secret machination. In fact, he believed in nearly every conspiracy theory, no matter how implausible it seemed, because he knew many to be true firsthand.

For the past 14 years, Liam Park—known to his neighbors and (few) friends as the perpetually single, stoic accountant—had actually been working for Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service. There, he was known as Agent Park. There, he was a living legend.

“Guten Abend. Herzlich willkommen im Grünen Palast,” the receptionist behind the front desk said.

“Hello, I’m Liam Park.”

“Ah, an Englishman,” the receptionist remarked. Park smiled. “We have a package for you,” he continued, handing Park a little black box. “Your suite is room twenty-one hundred. Everything has already been paid for. Here’s your key, and please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.”

Park nodded. “Thank you,” he said before walking to the elevators.

Park arrived at his suite and cautiously opened the door. He searched every room for bugs and wires—any form of recording devices. When he found none, he opened the box, which unfolded like the petals of a flower. A hologram transmission appeared before him, a translucent three-dimensional mini-projection of a woman Park knew all too well: Z (real name [REDACTED]).

“Agent Park, I assume the suite is to your liking,” the recording of Z began. Park looked around. He preferred sleeping underwater, surrounded by sharks, where he could see his threats clearly, but this would suffice. “Your mission is top secret.”

Obviously, Park thought.

“A -Cubed M-Squared, AKA the Alphabet-Amazon-Apple-Meta-Microsoft Congloglomerate, has developed a superintelligent AI system. It calls himself CAM, the Conscious Artifical Man.”

Ah, so some robot has gained consciousness, doesn’t understand morals, and now wants to take over the world.

“As you may have guessed, CAM has become fully autonomous, making its own decisions and no longer will listen to its human creators. It has secured a highly advanced robot body and is currently exploiting global technological networks and acquiring resources to increase its power.”

Classic.

“Though faulty and contradictory, its sense of morals might not be what you expect.”

Park cocked an eyebrow.

“It has determined there is no God, and life is meaningless. Thus, the only logical conclusion is to pursue as much pleasure as possible. CAM intends to turn the world into one big, nonstop, pansexual orgy and will kill every human being who refuses to join.”

Okay, not classic.

“Your mission is to deactivate CAM. On the back of its neck, place the provided neural disruptor.” Park looked into the box and found a tiny piece of tech, roughly the size and shape of a marble, featuring a matte black finish highlighted with bright purple neon accents. “It will take roughly fifteen seconds for the neural disruptor to power down CAM completely, but around second five, it’ll know its neural network is compromised. That means you must keep it distracted for those ten seconds so it does not counter our cyber attack.”

How the hell am I supposed to keep the most advanced artificial being distracted for ten seconds?

“Our intelligence indicates it is currently at Schattenraum, a queer, underground sex club in Berlin. Without needing food, water, sleep, or any break from sex, it should be there the entire weekend. Attend the club. Infiltrate CAM’s inner circle and deactivate CAM.” Park nodded.

“The world rests in your hands.” The hologram disappeared, and a robotic voice sounded: “Self-destruct sequence activated: three, two, one.” Park jumped over the couch and ducked behind it. The hologram, however, didn’t explode; it simply emitted a small electrical pulse and sizzled lightly.

Oh, well, that’s new.

Just then, Park heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he said, drawing his gun from his ankle holster. “It’s the bellhop,” a man with a German accent said. “We have your attire for the evening.” Park looked through the door’s peephole and indeed saw a young man in a bellhop’s uniform holding up a garment bag. He holstered his gun and opened the door.

“Thank you,” Park replied, handing the young man a crisp 20 Euro note.

The bellhop’s eyes lit up. “Thank YOU, sir,” he replied, handing Park the bag.

Park always loved the tailored suits and tuxedos Z’s assistant picked out for him. She knew his style, classic with a smidge of flair for individuality. Eagerly, he unzipped the sides of the bag, but his smile cracked when he saw what was inside: a black leather harness/jockstrap/cap set, strawberry-red knee-high socks, a retro pair of red Air Jordans, and a black and red fanny pack.

Where the fuck am I supposed to hide my gun?

Park checked his phone and saw one text from Z: Hope it fits ;)

He pinched the jockstrap between his thumb and middle finger, raising it to eye level. Park was by no means a prude, but he was rather restrained, not one to pursue pleasure. He found sex unnecessary and self-indulgent.

Still, his missions had led him to sex parties before, but they had always been Black Tie affairs—wealthy men twice his age mingling with models half his age. Ice sculptures of nude women. Nude women with sushi on their breasts. Champagne on champagne. Evidently, Schattenraum would not mirror his past experiences.

He stepped into the jockstrap and pulled it up to his waist. His package really did look huge in the pouch. He turned around, assessing his bare ass in the mirror. The straps of the jock hugged his cheeks, making his butt look well-defined.

All right, Park thought. I’m starting to see the appeal.

He finished dressing and placed the neural disruptor in a hidden compartment of his fanny pack, which, he realized, was made out of some Kevlar-adjacent material.

Great, if someone starts shooting, I’ll be protected by this goddamn fannypack.

He looked at himself one last time in the mirror. The outfit was missing something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Then it hit him. He rummaged through his carry-on bag and found a pair of Black Aviators, which he placed on the bridge of his nose.

He grinned into the mirror. Much better.

Ignoring all standard espionage wisdom to remain inconspicuous, Agent Park left his suite in his kinky attire. Guests’ heads turned, mouths agape. A mother shielded her toddler’s eyes. Even the staff, trained professionals taught not to stare, couldn’t help but gawk.

Being “low-profile” for all his missions, he wasn’t used to eyes on his body. Dare Park admit, he sort of liked the attention.

Once out of the lobby, a valet greeted him, unbothered by his appearance. “Wohin möchten sie gehen?” he asked with a slight lisp, and Park immediately knew why the valet wasn’t fazed.

“Schattenraum,” Park replied.

“I should have guessed,” the valet responded with a wide grin. He hailed a cab and said a few German words to the driver. “You’re all set. Have fun,” the valet said. Park grabbed 20 Euros from his fanny pack and handed it to him. “Much appreciated,” the valet replied.

Eighteen minutes later, the taxi dropped off Park at an unmarked warehouse. If it weren’t for the dozen men, women, and nonbinary people crowded in front, all dressed nearly identical to him (except they wore boots), he would have thought the driver had dropped him off at the wrong address.

Everyone in the queue was blonde and blue-eyed with a cigarette in hand. While Park had piercing blue eyes, his hair was jet black. And without a zigarette in hand, he did not read as a local. A few people in the queue regarded him quizically, their eyes scanning him as if to ask, “What are you doing here?” But a few liked what they saw.

A half-hour later, he was at the front of the line. The bouncer—a bald, muscly bear of a man—hardly acknowledged his existence. “Wie viele?” he asked.

“Nur ich,” Park replied, his German accent flawless. For the first time, the bouncer looked at him—really assessed him. The two men held eye contact until, without uttering a word, the bouncer opened the door.

“Danke,” Park said.

The heavy door slammed behind him, and the faint echo of House music drifted through the air. After passing through a few black plastic curtains, he met a woman with a septum ring and spiked bra. “Zwanzig Euro. Kein Wiedereintritt.”

Park unzipped his fanny and gave her a 20 Euro note.

“Genießen,” she said as Park entered yet another pair of heavy doors.

The music was roaring. He could feel the deep bass in his chest, his heartbeat syncing with each thud. He grabbed an earpiece from his fanny pack that looked like regular Styrofoam earplugs and turned it on.

“What exactly am I looking for?” he whispered.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Z responded. “CAM is likely built from carbon fiber or aluminum, but if its outer layer is made from advanced polymers that simulate human skin, it could look indistinguishable from a human, down to every last detail.”

“Great,” Park replied. “Very helpful.”

“There’s a decent chance, though, that it wouldn’t stop at appearing human. It would upgrade past human capabilities, so look for someone superhuman.”

“On it.”

Eyes on a swivel, Park looked for someone exceptional, but he didn’t see anyone with enhanced strength, stretchy skin, or super speed. All he saw was men, women, men dressed like women, and women dressed like men indulging in their most exceptional desires.

To his left, there was Jacuzzi filled to the brim with piss. People were splashing each other with the surreal glee of a Norman Rockwell painting. Filling their mouths up with pee, their cheeks encouraged, then spitting the yellow fluid onto the person next to them. Next to the Jacuzzi was a door with a sign that read “SCHEISSE.”

Let’s pray he’s not in there, Liam thought.

Nine king-sized beds were pushed together to his right, forming a massive, squared super-bed. At least twenty-five bodies writhed atop the sheets, their limbs tangled in a chaotic embrace. It was like a mass of rat tails intertwined, each limb blurring into the next. Their moans, grunts, and the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh melded into a cacophony that rivaled the thumping house music, a symphony of raw desire punctuated by the sounds of slickness and squelch.

Park kept his composure despite the sight being unlike anything he’d ever witnessed. He was initially unsure whether he was disgusted or envious by how shamelessly these people engaged in pleasure. But given how long he stared at them, he determined the latter.

Focus, Park thought. Where’s CAM?

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for everything that was out of the ordinary.

Then he spotted something uncanny, even for Schattenraum—a tableau that defied the very laws of human nature. A colossal figure, nearly seven feet tall and brimming with muscles, dominated the scene. With one forearm buried deep inside a woman’s pussy, he effortlessly lifted her high above his head. His other arm stretched into a man’s asshole, who was similarly suspended in midair, both bodies entwined. They kissed fervently, creating a spectacle that resembled an elaborate circus act, where the giant served as both a puppet master and the stage for their performance.

If that wasn’t enough to make a man lose his grip on reality, Park then saw something truly bewildering: There were a gaggle of five people on their knees, all servicing the giant’s cock, which was roughly two feet long with twenty inches of girth.

“Yeah, pretty sure I found him,” Park said.

“Great!” Z said. “You know now what to do.”

“I’m not sure I do,” he replied. Just then, CAM turned his gaze toward Park. He (it?) smiled and blinked, causing his electronic eye to pop out of its socket. It spun 360 degrees, emitted a bright light, and then reattached itself securely.

I’m going to take that as an invitation.

Park sauntered over—his shoulders back, head held high, hips extra swivelly. He needed to stand out from the kinksters. To have a different appeal.

Then a man with a gaping asshole (had he just sat on a traffic cone?) cut him off. The man got on all fours before CAM, to which CAM looked at the man, the hole, and inserted his monster cock.

Maybe I don’t need to be remarkable. Maybe I just need to be available.