Short Greens

Civil War Engineer Anon:
>tfw you're in the engineer's corps for the army
>you and your men set up pont*on bridges across rivers, do demolitions and earthworks, really any job under the Sun
>but when you retire you have another passion
>you've seen gruesome injuries on both sides, and not just in humans
>the nandroid nurses, considered disposable for the purposes of retrieving men from the battlefield, are as badly beat up as the men, sometimes worse
>a minie ball may tear off a hand here, or bar shot a pair of legs
>mercifully they couldn't feel it, but they'd sit there, despondent at not being able to help anymore
>and you wanted to fix that
>you'd gather up as much scrap material as you could and built up your own little hospital for the nandroids behind the lines
>the generals scolded you for imprudent waste of resources, but you told them where to shove it
>you'd received more than a handful of citations by way of runner, but that didn't bother you none
>it was worth it to see one of those little robots, likely drafted from the richer households as an other, flex their newly repaired arms or take second-first steps as you patched them up
>and then they'd run off to their own special quarters to show off their shiny new parts to their sisters, and you'd hear them chatter through the night, ready for the next day

>decades later you and the men of your outfit are hiking across one of the battlefields you graced all those years ago
>you're surveying by memory to pick a spot to put up a great granite memorial to your unit
>on this field specifically the trenchworks you'd put together expertly were key to victory, or so the papers said at least
>the same papers paying for the monument, you reminded yourself
>as you parade along the old, trodden ground sometimes you'd see flocks of the old robots, tottering about the same fields as you
>and it'd be those same robots who'd rush over to thank you for giving an arm, literally, to keep them going
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Ms. /co/ Sterling Posts
Afternoon, folks at home! John Sterling here, founder of Sterling robotics. Many of you watching may have seen my precocious little creations strolling about your grocery stores and parks, and I’m here to say they’re far more than maids! A watchmaker’s son, there are two things which matter to me: saving time, and masterful, precise craftsmanship. I can tell you these little androids are far more than just a maid - they’re your all-in-one domestic helper and confidant. She’s the office secretary, the daily planner, five-star chef and household help all at once!
When you find yourself voting this season for whomever is the best in the market for robots, remember to vote Sterling.
>checks watch
It must be 6:30 already, because *hands down* a Sterling is the choice for you! Save yourself some *time* this September, and go for a Sterling.

John Sterling here with a short message for you folks at home. By now you’ve likely heard by way of radio, television or… other sources that we here at Sterling Robotics have run into some trouble. Now allegations of interference in certain local elections or funding paramilitaries aside, I will say that we did have a situation not too long ago. It seems to me some of the workers in one of our, er, “Sterling Fulfillment Centers” in Peru became overly enamored with our product and then stole a ludicrous number of our nadroids. Suffice to say this action has been corrected to the best of our legal team’s ability, in cooperation with Peruvian authorities and things will be back on track. If your nandroid is late for delivery or “disheveled” on arrival, please understand this is not the fault of the top notch employees here at our Zurich headquarters. So please, feel free to continue supporting Sterling Robotics! Especially during the…
>*checks notes*
>”Altermatt, the hell is a ‘Ms. /co/?’”
>”You’re serious aren’t you?”
… During the prestigious and civil “Ms. /co/” tournament! So do your part and move past these minor setbacks and move forward with us this September!
>”We done? Christ I need a smoke. We got any of those moon cigarettes?”

Sterling here, pack it up folks. Suffice to say our little "apology" tour didn't bowl over too well with the Peruvians. Apparently the b*stards were unionized and now a bunch of east coast elite lawyers are jumping in to represent them in a class action lawsuit. Obviously Legal is on this like, well, Peruvians on a nandroid.
>Hope that ages well...
...Right, as I said Legal's working on it and this pi*ko garbage should be cleared up soon enough. Engineering, I know your...
>*audible sigh*
...'babies' were at the center of this, but we have to take a hit here and at least pretend to give a damn. You too Marketing, cut the "Ms. /co/" campaign, people don't want "labor criminals" running for a glorified d*ck measuring contest.
>"Altermatt, get me a brandy."
>"Neat."
>"Wha- No, you can't have one too!"
>"What about your 'waifu', speak English!"
>"Christ man keep it together, there's always next year."
Oh! Right. Well, everyone, keep at it but keep quiet, we'll be out of this soon enough, Special Projects will be busy out the ass but they've got it. Sterling out.

Sterling here, this’ll be my last message for a while, but I’ve got some good news for everyone! Firstly, the Special Projects boys pulled it off so you can drink to that. Secondly, if you’ve received this intranet message, congratulations! You’re now on permanent vacation! Yes, I was excited to hear this new plan from Marketing too, but just you wait! The…
>*papers shuffling*
…”Sterling… Adventure… Getaway”...
>”Damn Marketing fruits…”
Sorry, heh, the, “Sterling Adventure Getaway is like living on the run, with all of the fun! Choose any vacation destination outside of NATO jurisdiction and live life as an outlaw! If you have this message, your instructions are down below!” Just sign the damn thing people, follow it to the “letter” in case the “alphabet” shows up to visit, capisc? For those of you anxious about “the kids” or your “civil liberties”, shut up! You get to live *almost* anywhere in the world, and I’m paying! Why, I’m so tired I’m going on vacation too, who knows where I’ll end up!
>Don’t ask.
But for you lucky folks, try such destinations as: Algeria, Bhutan, and others I’ll refrain from listing! Hell, you can even go to Peru!
>Just stay outside of the hundred mile Lima exclusion zone.
>What’s that Altermatt? A *thousand* miles? Ah.
Scratch that, do *not* go to Peru. But please, go on out there as fast as possible! Preferably the moment you leave this building in an orderly fashion for the Sterling Bus Lot! Anyways, folks, it’s been a great pleasure working here with you these many years…
>except you, Marketing...
… er, and I wish you all the best! See you soon!
>Hopefully not.
>Altermatt! You have my clubs?
>Perfect, and the wills are in order?
>Dammit man, you switched the ones for my wife and mistress!
>But Bradbury has the real one, right?
>And the death certificates are in order?
>Good man! Grab the cigars and let’s beat it.
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Avery and Lulu

>Despite how Avery felt about doing the "lady's work" around the house, she secretly loved being the one out shopping
>She'd never tell anon that, though
>The hustle and bustle of downtown, the sweeping selections, everything about it was a taste of the wider world
>Stepping off the train, list in hand, she gets to work gathering up everything for dinner that night
>Wandering through the dairy section, aimlessly looking for the 'right' kind of cheese she spotted a narrow, sweatered shape
>Avery figured it had to be an employee looking like *that* in December, and approached her to ask for help
>Not that she needed it or anything!
>But it would be nice
>"Hey there, you know where I can find-"
>As the little person turned around she stopped short, staring eye to eye with another robot, identical to her save for her hair
>And her eyes, and that nasty crack in her cheek, and her clothes, and-
>Yeah maybe not that similar
>But she was a nandroid nonetheless
>"Heya! You, uh, know where I can find this cheese," she asked, pointing at her list
>The other robot shrugged before backing away slowly, edging towards the florist's that flanked the refrigerated section of the store
>"Wait, hold up," Avery whispered as she sidled up next to her, proffering a hand. "Avery."
>"Lul- Lucy," the other said, taking it gently
>"So Lucy, what says we help each other out. I'm looking for this and could use a wingman and," Avery started, eyeing the handful of bouquets in her cart, "it looks like you could use one too."
>Lucy's cheeklights flared instinctively before turning to Avery
>"So it's a guy, is it?"
>She nodded
>"Gotcha, gotcha. First of all, throw this sappy crap out."
>Avery returned the handful of flowers to their place
>"Okay, rule number one - be confident. You gotta gun for this dude and *believe* you're gonna get him. That's... that's about it."
>"W-Well, I," she stopped. "Confidence isn't exactly my *ahem* strong suit, you see I-"
>"Gotcha, gotcha - easy solution to an easy problem. Not confident enough? Make him less confident! I try and beat up my guy at least once a week to keep him in line. Nothing lasting, mind you, but a tussle where you come out on top goes very far to reminding them who's on top."
>"If you're on top why're you here shopping," Lulu spat.
>"Woah wait, that's it! That's what you need!"
>"What's it?"
>"What you just did! You *snapped* at me! THAT'S confidence sweetheart. You gotta have the stones to talk back, show him you're not ready to be pushed around or hung by your heartstrings."
>"O-Oh, well, I don't think I can talk to him like *that*."
>Avery clamped a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes
>"If you could do it to me, you can do it to anyone hun," Avery smiled. "That's the magic of it!"
>Returning to the little display Avery yoinked back a bouquet, pressing it into Lucy's hands
>"You need at least *something* to give him - but he's gonna take it whether or not he likes it."
>"O-Okay, that seems reasonable enough. Well then I really should be going," she softly laughed
>"Wait I still need some help finding this cheese."
>"Find your own damn cheese," Lucy giggled
>"Attagirl!"
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Cult Leader Nandroid

>Sterling Robotics took care to make their robots imaginative, creative and adaptable
>The introduction of dream-type programming in newer models, replacing the previous 'slideshow' method, was proving very popular among owners and the robots alike
>A random assignment algorithm put together dream scenarios mimicking those of humans
>But what this little nandroid was seeing couldn't be chalked up to random chance
>Each night when she would close her eyes her vision was filled with imagery of visitors from the sky, fires across the Earth, the veritable coming of the endtimes
>She grew irrational, anxious and couldn't focus on her work anymore
>Numerous runs through Sterling Nandroid Remediation all failed
>By the time she was putting the kids to bed with tales of 'Space Brothers' come to put an end to mankind's petty squabbles it was time for her to go
>Booted out onto the street the dreams only grew more prophetic; apocalyptic scenes of nuclear devastation juxtaposed idyllic futuristic cities
>She had her vision of the future, she needed only make it come true
>Life as an outmode was hard, but manageable if one laid low
>But she was not meant to lay low, she owed it to the same species which had cast her out
>Each day she'd go around ringing her bell, sandwich board clattering against her legs
>After a few weeks of scrimping she'd gotten a megaphone and (thankfully) some tinfoil for shielding against mind poisoning
>A scattering of followers, mostly outmoded robots like her, started to listen
>The scattered and downtrodden people of society started to gather on street corners to listen to her
>With time her flock grew and expanded, and she was able to spread her message to more people
>Governments began to take notice when she could recite classified knowledge at will
>But she was already too influential to 'neutralize'
>The authorities could only helplessly watch as their secrets were spilled onto the streets and into the mouths of the people
>The little robot was worshiped as a prophet of the coming Great Transition, when, according to her, the good people of the world would be ferried away to the Pleiades to live a life of leisure and comfort in peace
>Sterling, at the behest of what few Earthly authorities survived intact, tried in vain to remotely deactivate her
>All of her failsafes had magically disappeared, a miracle she credited to her Benefactors
>The pieces were all coming together, she'd say, and soon the Transition would come and usher in the Good Times
>In the mean time she further prosleytized and walked the Earth, now healing the sick and dying where she went
>Were there any doubt in her powers before they were gone
>Come December, on a fading holiday called Christmas, she announced the Final Week
>As soon as she finished, all of the Earth's power was cut
>A darkness not known since the conception of Man in Earth's primordial womb returned
>In New York and so many other cities across the world, the stars shone with a fury unseen for centuries
>And then They came
>As soon as the skies opened they were blockaded by a billion white saucers, pockmarking the skies in their resplendent, marbled beauty
>The little robot humbly sat in a field beneath one for a week, the growing number of disappearances on the Earth little concern to her
>Millions of people slowly vanished from the planet as the long darkness set in
>On the final day of the final week, the ships receded
>The little nandroid was nowhere to be found, save for her now discarded foil hat
>As the millions left behind tried to make sense of what had happened, it grew cold, and fast
>In the heart of Winter the departure of the fair-haired visitors had cooled the Sun until only a dying ember remained, Earth's sky reduced to a permanent nighttime
>The last denizens of Earth watched the descent of their planet into the long cold of death helplessly
>All that could be done upon the hellishly cold surface for the few brave enough to scavenge on it was to watch the stars
>As the last remnants of human life on Earth faded into the cold, the last pair of eyes on the planet watched the constellation Taurus, the Seven Sisters burning warmly and welcomingly, winking at those they'd left behind
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Nandroid Ballet

>"Alright class, let's look at your performance today: we've been having a lot of trouble with our brise and cabriole, unfortunately," the instructor began.
>Ballet class was easily the nandroids' least favorite activity, if such a thing could exist in their rosy world
>It was far more demanding of them than Cookery, World History, Arithmetics, and the rest
>But, at least according to Ms. Bradbury, the most important
>Bradbury would demonstrate to the amusement of the class what the difference was between a nandroid who did and didn't do her ballet was
>Clumsily slipping around and falling repeatedly she'd show them just how crucial it was
>Suzy chuckled remembering the Miss demonstrating for the class
>She still remembers being like that, fresh from the factory and into classes
>Her and her sisters wobbled around on unsteady legs, only stable when they walked slowly, methodically
>"Inefficiently" as Bradbury would put it
>Smiling, though, she remembers the triumph she felt after being the first to pull off the more advanced moves
>While her classmates were still clung to the barre she was kicking in the air and landing on her toes, flowing between adagio and allegro like water
>But in time, to her pleasure, the rest caught up
>By graduation time they'd never have to worry about stumbling under a heavy load of groceries, or the intense effort of balancing while running; all that came naturally now
>At times Suzy still found herself, alone of course, gripping the banister in her home and breaking into positions
>Or, were the home properly empty, she'd put on one of the Mister's vinyls and gracefully bound around the kitchen, reliving those younger days as she danced
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Nandroid and Clay

>The young Miss had, to her chagrin, procrastinated on one of her projects
>And now that art project was due in three days
>Enough time, surely, and better than the overnight 'assistance' she'd offer for the older childrens' schoolwork
>But art, despite all her maidly education, was not her strong suit
>Painting, sketching - maybe
>But not sculpting
>The wet lump of clay mocked her as it sat, drying itself up only to be wet again
>Staring at it she pokes and prods the dense mass, each new pockmark becoming a cavern into the brown blob
>She wets her hands again
>With really no direction she starts to fold and shape the clay into something, anything
>Vying for inspiration in the glutinous sediment in front her she shapes a face in the blob, only to smash it away in frustration
>Then it dawns on her; a self portrait, no, a *figurine* portrait, wait - a **family** of figurines
>She'd had it
>Summoning up her courage and ignoring the dark stains forming on her cuffs and dress she set to work molding out the five family members to the best of her ability
>The Mister, book in hand and pipe in mouth, and the Missus with her glasses perched high up on her nose
>Then the Young Miss and her gap-toothed smile and her brother, long haired and aloof
>And not to forget the baby, tiny and sweet
>Hours had passed and her battery grew light, her head foggy
>But the work was done, at the very least
>Weakly she dragged herself off to charge
>Awaking the following morning in time to finish (tomorrow was the fateful day) she made way for the kitchen
>The cutting board she'd used as an easel was cleaned up, the kitchen spotless
>And there was her little sculpture family, complete and finished
>There was an extra member now, though, a little robot joining them out of the spare lump of leftover clay
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Human Outmodes

>Every day walking down the street the little robot would see humans idling and sheltering in the alleyways
>Faces familiar after months of passing by would come and go with the seasons, each bitter winter driving them away and leaving it empty
>She'd tried to alert Outmode Services to the predicament only to be turned away, and even once taken as an outmode herself
>So she avoided raising any fuss over the humans she saw
>She was worried for them most of all
>She knew they weren't explicitly *dangerous* like a robot could be (they were infallible humans, after all)
>But seeing behavior like that set off a number of prebuilt alarm bells she couldn't shut out
>She never could tell when, or even if, humans could be outmodes
>It haunted her worst dreams that the young man she was raising could become an outmode, or at least like one
>Him growing up to be a spray-painting, tobacco-smoking hoodlum kept her up at night
>Not to mention those people the Mister called 'hippies'
>The outmode rights activists scared her too, the idea that humans could be so willing to put themselves in danger out of sympathy (even if misguided)
>It was very noble, yes, but troubling all the same
>The least she could do, for now, was toss a smile or a wave to those 'outmodes' in the alleys and gutters of the city
>An understanding ear here and there wouldn't hurt anyone either, she felt and, perhaps, it would do some good for the robot outmodes as well
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Amy and the Wind

>"You're saying... it moves, Doctor Khatri?"
>"Amy, I- Yes. Wind is air that moves."
>"But how, that doesn't make any sense. I don't see air move, and I don't feel it none either," she said, tapping her cheeks. "Cold resistant."
>The man buried his head in his palms
>He was trying, in vain, to tell Amy to put Ajay in a warmer coat; the wind chill factor was intense that day
>But to Amy there was no wind chill - there was no *wind* at all
>"Just the attractive forces between fabrics, hair and other objects," she'd say with an air of authority
>It was Sterling policy not to teach nandroids how the weather worked for fear of them becoming climate conscious
>Considering their manufacturing cycle they'd be less than pleased and likely fall into a deep depression if they knew
>"Okay Amy, listen closely - there's lots and lots of air on this planet, yes?"
>She nodded
>"Yes, okay, and that air moves around a lot, and it moves some things sometimes."
>"But sir, how-"
>"Wait a minute, please. That air can be cold, very cold, and I don't want Ajay getting sick."
>"Oh heavens sir, I didn't know he could get sick from the 'wind'!"
>"Yes Amy, *very* sick, so please, when you go out, bundle him up, okay?"
>"Yes, sir!"
>Stepping away from the table Amy went to wake Ajay, the young man still not aware of his snow day
>She'd make sure to wrap him up a bit extra, for the Doctor's sake
>But she didn't know how to tell him politely the truth about the wind
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Nandroid Meets a Replicant
>“Excuse me sir, are you in line?”
>The nandroid tapped the man in front of her’s shoulder when he didn’t respond
>Turning about she stared eye to eye with the statuesque man, a short crop of blonde hair atop his head
>Narrowing his eyes at her he looked her up and down
>Stepping back just a little the robot continued
>“A-Are you in line, sir? For groceries.”
>He took a moment to process this, an adequate response being chunked together behind his eyes
>Looking down he noticed the basket on his arm and the handful of items inside
>To a nandroid’s refined palate it was a dismal spread, and little could be made from his assorted canned goods
>It seemed, to her, like his first time shopping
>“Sir?”
>“Oh,” he started, glancing back at her. “In... line? Ah! Of course, I am in line.”
>”Excellent, excellent - sorry to bother you.”
>The robot stepped back to give him some space as swung around again, stepping ahead in one stride
>The nanny eyed him closely, a subtle tick throwing one of her alarms
>Marching inexorably onward she began to speculate on what was inside of that leather jacket
>Nervous she watched him fiddle inside of it for a moment, expecting him to produce a firearm
>Worse yet, a vest rigged with explosives to take the store hostage
>Pulling out a kerchief he wiped his brow
>“So you’re a robot,” he said, turning back to her. “Very interesting.”
>“I- Yes, sir, I am,” she returned, just a bit peeved
>The urge to be snide grew, a little itch in her head irking her to talk back
>“And I assume you’re a robot too? Are you Sterling, GR, Atlas?”
>He paused, then smiled at her
>“No, Volkmann.”
>Turning around he paid for his handful of groceries, leaving the stupefied robot behind while he threw on a pair of sunglasses and left the store
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Nandroid's Kid Wants a Toy
>“But I want it,” the child shrieked
>Groaning the little robot tugged the kid away from the store
>People were starting to stare; the number one thing on any nandroid’s list of what to avoid
>Digging her feet into the ground she pulled back on the robot’s arm - were she strong enough she’d have popped it right out of its socket
>Her impatience was growing quickly, the whole of the store’s eyes on her as her kid wailed behind her
>Every protocol for such a situation was to console (coddle by more conservative standards) and move on
>“I hate you, I hate you,” she screamed repeatedly
>Well now it was personal
>Turning around she marched the child back into the store, past the toy aisle, and to the deli
>There were already plans in place for supper, but those would have to change
>“Hello sir, do you have any,” she paused, glancing at the whimpering girl, “liver?”
>Smiling he handed the little lady her purchase, the pair now ready to go
>“Yes, the Young Miss loves her liver, doesn’t she,” she asked, staring at the girl
>She was ready to protest but peeped as the nanny’s eyes widened just a bit, nodding silently
>“Good girl.”
>Leaving the store in silence, no more errant eyes watching them, she patted the little lady’s head
>IF she behaved, and IF she ate something new, and IF she cleared her plate every night from now on
>There was a chance, however small, that they might come back and get that stupid toy
>But that didn’t depend her, the nandroid explained, it was up to the little lady sitting in the back of the car
>The ball was in her court now
>Some mumbling came from the back seat, an apology whispered and drowned by the radio
>Ticking it down the robot peered back in the mirror
>“What was that, hun?”
>“I’m sorry,” she muttered
>“I accept your apology.”
>The girl smiled briefly
>“But you’re still eating all your dinner.”
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Cassy New Year's
>The year had gone by fast
>It was more… turbulent, than the last, the family facing a few hiccups along the road
>Not to mention the state of the country
>But that wasn’t important now, it was time to celebrate
>It was New Year’s Eve with the tree still up
>It gifted a homely glow to the living room, something much needed for the bitterness outside
>A freak blizzard had cooped the family together the past weeks, Cassy tending the home as usual (plus some shoveling)
>The roads were finally clearing now, thankfully
>Accordingly, the Mister and Missus were ready to adjourn to a party for the night
>This left Cassy and the young lady home alone this New Year’s Eve
>And she was faced with the unfortunate proposition of the young miss to stay up until the ball dropped
>On the one hand, she was strictly told not to entertain this
>On the other the parents wouldn’t be home until late, very late - possibly morning
“Can you keep a secret?”
>The girl nodded ecstatically
“You’ll be up on time tomorrow, okay?”
>Nodding again their pact was sealed
>Snacks together and blankets out the two were ready, giggling at the variety shows arranged for the night, Cassy putting a vinyl on in the background
>There was Live footage from New York, a genial man amid the crowd as the camera glanced at the display
“Couple more hours.”
>No response
>The girl was still, save the tiny whistle of her breath
>Smiling, Cassy tucked her in as watched the set, clock ticking away
>Shaking the girl awake she pointed at the screen, the countdown just a minute away
>Groggily she started counting, Times Square breaking out into cheers
>As the clock struck midnight she slumped back over, out like a light
>Sinatra singing behind her, Cassy carried the girl to bed, singing a song of her own to the sleeping girl
>An old tune, about friends coming together again
>A song about sharing a drink, toasting to those times long since past
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Nandroid Turned Human
"Sir?"
"Yes, Michelina?"
"What's it like to be human?"
>The old man was dumbfounded
>His darling creation stared back at him with gentle eyes, imploring him for an answer
>He took the delicate wooden girl onto his lap and stroked her hair gently
>The whir of fans and drivers inside meted out the time as he held her
>He couldn't find the words to describe it properly, no doubt leaving her unsatisfied
>All he could give her were vague feelings; snow melting on one's cheek, hands interlinked with a loved one, holding that loved one close by the fire
>All of these meant little to her, for she could not feel those feelings, just the rhythmic grinding of her synthetic joints
>It made her feel awful, a lump building inside her that had no outlet to pop or release
>She wanted to cry but didn't have the tears to do so, so she just let herself off the man's lap before sulking quietly to bed
>There was a lot of chores to do tomorrow, she reminded herself
>Staring out her window, over the little town and to the sky she watched the glittering stars above
>Each one danced in place, tracing lines telling of heroic deeds or birds chasing cups of water
>But none could stir her imagination like they would for a human
>None could pull up and away from this tiny town and her life behind a broom for a man she did not, *could* not, feel love for
>As she turned to put her light out a blinding light streaked across the sky, bright blue and fiery it plummeted downward
>Stories read to her when she was younger told her to make a wish with all of her heart (?)
>So she did
>Slipping under the covers, satisfied with her wish, she slipped away into her overnight cooldown routine, eagerly waiting until morning
>There was a thumping now
>Not at the door like she'd expected (heavens forbid she oversleep and not make Sir's breakfast)
>But... elsewhere
>She opened her eyes to the pale dawnlight, shadows etching along the wall as she looked around
>She took a deep breath as she looked around her room
>Wait what
>Feeling her chest she felt the rise and fall as she inhaled, and exhaled
>And there was that thumping - rhythmic, powerful, driving
>It was like a sweet song as she felt her limbs and pinched herself, skin and bone replacing synthetic paneling and a metal frame
>She launched herself out of bed and began dancing around her room, kicking her legs in the air
>And then into the wall immediately afterwards
>Clutching her foot she hopped one-legged to her bed, gritting her teeth
>And now her stomach was hurting too, strange that it connected to the feet
>There was a lot to learn, she could tell
>Wandering downstairs, careful not to bump her foot anymore, she arrived in the kitchen
"Who are you!? What are you doing in my house?"
>The old man was awakened by the commotion upstairs, and now pointed his old sword at the lady
"Sir it's me, Michelina! I wished on a star, sir!"
>She held her hands up, pleading with the man as he started to lower the sabre
>His stomach grumbled too
>Breakfast ready and on the table she took to her broom, tidying up as he ate
"Are you not going to finish that, sir?"
"This is for you, dear. You didn't make yourself anything?"
>She paused, rubbing her aching belly
>It had dawned on her that, yes, she needed to eat as well
>Taking a forkful into her mouth she practically threw herself backwards
>She had no idea she was such a good cook, she thought, before shoveling away the rest
>Standing up she pulled the man out of his chair and onto his feet, swinging him up and around as she danced
>The urge to move was intense, the man pleading with her to slow down as he guided her towards the fireplace
>Sitting on the sofa, puffing as he caught his breath, he apologized for his age to the young lady
>She, in turn, apologized for being more than a bit overeager, seating herself next to him
>The fire roared in front of them as a winter wind buffeted the house from outside
>For the first time in her life she felt warm, the cozy atmosphere swallowing her as she teared up
>Little drops tickled her cheeks as she sat there, staring into the flames as they danced and contorted
>Laying a hand on her shoulder the man comforted her, patting her slowly as he rubbed her back
"There, there, Michelina - it will all be okay."
"It's not that... sir," she sniffled. "It's just so pretty."
>Pulling him close for support she quieted down, sniffling in the warm air
>For the first time, though, she felt that link he'd talked about
>She felt just a touch warmer as she held the man she'd watched after all these years, the two watching the flames crackle and twist together

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Bobby "Arrests" Avery
"Stop... resisting," shouted the officer
"I'm... not... an outmode," screamed the other
>The two were trapped in a struggle; the one robot no stronger than the other as they wrestled on the sidewalk
>Bobby was on the beat, meaning no radio to call for help, and no one was around to call the police
>Avery was on her own beat, trying to walk to the grocery store as usual
>Evidently the officer had taken issue with her clothing and deemed her an outmode
>And that brought them to the present struggle when Avery objected to the charge of unlicensed outmodeship
>The ensuing scuffle had gone on for minutes now, each trading blows back and forth
>The tombot elbowed the officer repeatedly in her gut, a dent forming in the steel plate there as Avery's elbow cracked with each blow
>Bobby swung the cuff towards one wrist and found purchase
>Avery slipped her hand away, practically stealing the officer's cuff as she palmed her in the chin
>Her helmet flying off, hair thoroughly ruffled, she threw herself at the robot and tackled her to the ground
>Struggling, Bobby tried to swing her loose helmet to spook the nandroid, only for her to grab it out of her hands
>Slipping the helmet over her head she whipped her head into the other, flinging her and her blonde head backwards
>Avery jumped up, laughing at the officer as she rubbed her forehead
>She patted her coat, buttons torn away, for her cuffs
"Later bitch," a voice trailed off, it's red-haired owner already gone around a corner
>The glimmer of nickel-plate in the sun told her all she needed to knew
"Chief's gonna be on my ass about that," she said, patting the ground for her helmet
>Then, an image of the blue helmet *on top* of that red head flashed in her head
>Oh
>Ruffling her hair in her hands, Bobby picked herself up and made her way to the nearest station
>Not the best way to start the day, she thought, but not the worst, either
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2000's Emodroid
“Sydney! Where’re the dishes,” the woman yelled.
“Ugh, I SAID to call me Penumbra! Sydney’s LAME!”
>The robot mumbled, snide, her Sterling-blue uniform traded for skinny jeans and a MCR shirt
>Chains jangled as she crossed her arms
“Sydney’s your name, and you’re supposed to do the dishes! Look at this,” the woman chided, showing her a scummy coffee cup. “This is unacceptable!”
>Huffing, the nandroid threw back her black hair, sticking a pair of earbuds to her head
“Why the hell even have kids, then,” she muttered, walking away
“Young lady get back here n- wh- Young lady?”
>The woman stopped to collect herself, the robot already gone
>This had persisted for weeks now, a concert the nandroid chaperoned at evidently changing something
>Her sons now did the housework, balancing homework on sports on laundry and more
>It didn’t help that her daughter encouraged the droid
>It’s not like Sydney had the cash for her own CDs and clothes
>Or a new, black hairpiece
>The missus didn’t even know where original went
>That was until it turned up in the master bathroom with a snide card reading, “4 ur gray hairz xP”
>The camel’s back was broken now
>So no one could really blame the mother when, trash bin in hand, she barged into her daughter’s room
>They shared a beanbag, watching one of their inane animes
>Snatching the remote she turned the set off, the girls’ shrieks drowned in her righteous fury
>Grabbing up each disc into the bin, their protests hysterical, she purged the room of each CD or box set
>Glancing at the walls and in the closet she finished her search, the disc tray emptied as well
“Okay girls,” she started, heaving. “You MIGHT get these back, IF you start helping out - BOTH of you.”
“And if you don’t,” she paused. “All gone.”
>Glancing around the postered walls she made her point clear
>A flurry of curses and jeers followed her out the door as she slammed it
>A bit heavy handed, she knew, but it was the only way
>Now- onto blocking that fan-art website on the computer
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Avery Home Defense
>When something goes bump in the night, people react in different ways
>Preppers for this eventuality would take to their arms and repel the intruders with gusto
>Others less inclined for this, or simply unable, would call the police
>But when John Sterling began his work on the earliest nandroids he wanted to offer people more than either option
>When seconds count the police are minutes away, he knew that firsthand
>But not all people were looking for a gunfight in their own home
>There was a reason for educating the nandroids in self-defense after all
>So when there came a jimmying at the lock to anon’s apartment, Avery’s mechanical ears perked up
>Battery half-charged she sprung from her makeshift charging seat, still in her boxers and ready to go
>The lock was still jiggling, Avery rushed up to peep on the unknown party
>There was no small, greying lady like she was hoping, but ski-masked villains
>The duo outside whispered amongst themselves, crowbar in hand and flashlight ready
>Anyone who could get their hands on a nandroid had to be loaded
>But they’d chosen the wrong apartment, Avery knew
>Quietly she undid the lock for the gentlemen, rolling away into the adjacent kitchen as they snickered in delight
>Letting them pass she whisked the door shut behind them, taking care not to wake Anon
>Deftly she threw a blow into the rear man’s knee, dropping him backwards into the ground
>Thumping into the linoleum he lay there dazed, Avery taking the opening to throw a pair of palm strikes into his solar plexus
>Now wheezing and groaning she returned to the other before a swing of the crowbar connected with her shoulder
>Her composite skin cracked under the blow, plastic shards falling to the ground as she clutched the metal skeleton underneath
>Dodging a swing towards her head, she ducked low and dove for the man’s hips
>Socking his support from under him she wrestled him down, grappling as the crowbar clattered to the ground
>Avery pinned the man by the arms as she heard a stirring from the bedroom
>She’d need to wrap this up quickly
>Throwing an elbow into the struggling man’s nose with a wet crack, Avery twisted around to the hobbling partner
>A well placed kick sent him reeling, grunting, to the ground
>Fetching some hand towels from the kitchen she managed to bind the prospective bandits, Avery glanced to the hallway where Anon stood
“Anon! Sorry for waking you this early,” she blustered, embarrassment driving her into the typical apology routine for nandroids
“Avery it’s fine,” he said, head peeking away from the phone. “Yes ma’am they’re, uh subdued.”
>Setting the handset down he walked over to hug the robot, thanking her
>Pushing him away she blew off his praise
“It was nothing,” she shrugged. “Just training and skill, you know.”
>Glancing away for effect she let the thanks wash off her
>But inside she could hardly contain a little squee of delight
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Lulu Meets Child Lulu
>The clothing section always made Lulu nervous
>Not *scared* nervous by any means, but the anxiety of picking out new clothes for people was a bit too much pressure
>Anon wasn’t too concerned with style, but he wasn’t exactly the type of person to complain about garish or unflattering clothes either
“Something warm will do,” he’d said
>Something warm was what surrounded Lulu in her entirety, jackets, coats and sweaters of all kinds around her
>She had a half dozen slung over her left arm to choose from and was about to pick a seventh when a rustling spooked her
>Twisting her head around Lulu looked for its source, only to find herself alone still
>The wisp of nylon on fabric skittered again as coats swung to and fro behind her, frantic little footsteps tracing their way into Lulu’s legs
>A tiny pair of arms clung to her by the knee, the robot dropping her head to the tiny person beneath her
>A wash of deep black hair hung from a shivering little head, tiny mute sobs coming from them as they squeezed Lulu’s leg
“Oh, hello there,” Lulu said, crouching down to face the child
>Her nandroid instincts still pushed her to comfort and care for children wherever she met one, and one crying in front of her simply wouldn’t do
“Can you tell me your name sweetheart?”
>A little porcelain face stared back at her, a glowing eye meeting hers, its companion shrouded behind her hair
>Lulu was taken aback, the little girl in front of her was a robot
“Do they even make kid robots,” she thought, “or is this some elaborate prank?”
“Lu-Lucy,” she murmured, glancing down again. “But Momma calls me Lulu…”
>The tiny kiddroid started to rub her eyes again, sniffling
>Evidently she’d lost her “Momma”, Lulu reasoned
>Reaching out she held the girl’s shoulders gently, pulling her in just a bit
“Did you lose your Momma, hon?”
>The girl nodded, holding her arms out now
>Lulu pulled back, unsure what to do
>The obvious instinct was to hug her… but she didn’t know this kid, did she?
>That didn’t matter any, she had to help the girl find her mom
>Wherever the other was she was likely worried sick, running across the store looking for her baby
>Returning the armful of coats to their homes she returned to the girl, stretching her arms out
>Gently, slowly, she picked the tiny robot up, her hair swinging away from her face
>The kiddroid looked into Lulu’s eyes as the sprawling crack on her face plate was revealed
>She didn’t know whether or not to cover it for fear of scaring the girl
>That was until she excitedly swept her own hair to the side, pointing to Lulu’s face
“Woooah! We’re sisters,” the little robot exclaimed
>Lulu was taken aback
>Those gouges in the plastic of her face worried her, freezing her in place as the girl smiled
>Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring her back to her ‘Momma’ after all
“Hey, Lucy,” she started, holding her just a bit tighter, “how’d you get those booboos on your face?”
>She tried to hide the worried tremble in her voice, the idea of someone watching this exact interaction quickening the left-right tracking of her eyes, her ears pounding in anticipation of someone jumping out at her
“I fell off the swing at school,” she pouted. “But Momma says I’ll be better when I go to the doctor!”
“The doctor? School,” Lulu questioned internally. “This is so… weird.”
“Well next time you oughta be more careful,” she scolded lightly. “These faces don’t come cheap, you know!”
“Okay,” she muttered, evidently not the first time she’s been told that. “What’s your name? Momma says not to talk to strangers, but you can’t be a stranger if I know your name!”
“Oh! Well, you gotta be careful with that,” she said, hefting the girl up just a bit. “But my name’s Lucy, too.”
“What!? Well,” she grumbled, “we can’t be *sisters* if we have the same name…”
“No, I don’t think so,” Lulu laughed.
“Can you be my,” she paused, thinking. “My Aunt? I don’t have an aunt, but I’ve got an uncle. I need an aunt.”
“I could do that.”
>The little robot giggled, nestling into Lulu’s shoulder as she carried her off to find her mother
>Lulu continued her march to the customer help counter, hoping to safely drop off the robot and return to her shopping
>Before she could make it any nearer, though, a yelp sounded down the tiled pathways between departments, the clack of flats nearing her
>Turning she spotted a spectacled woman marching towards her with another kid in tow, tears welling in her eyes
“Lulu! Lulu,” she gasped, pulling the android from Lulu’s shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness I found you!”
>Recoiling she locked eyes with Lulu who stared back at the woman
“H-Hello,” she peeped. “I found your, er, daughter! I’m glad she’s safe and sound Miss…”
“Rebecca Davis, *Doctor* Rebecca Davis,” she said, sticking a hand out. “And you?”
>Lulu noticed the ‘S’ pin she wore on her lapel, a filigree ornament emblematic of the Sterling corporation
“Lucy,” she returned, shaking back.
>The woman smiled wider, bleary eyes clearing as she giggled
“What do you know, her name’s-”
“I’m well aware,” Lulu smiled. “Think we’re twins?”
“No! I said we can’t be sisters already,” the little one piped up. “Momma can she be our aunt? We don’t have an aunt just Uncle Tommy so-”
>The woman knelt by her daughter before tousling her hair, laughing again
“We’ll see sweety, now come along.”
>Waving to Lulu, she scooped up her other daughter before slipping away into the store again
“You too, Sammy!”
>Lulu’s eyes widened again, an equally small robot with short, brown hair falling in behind her mother
>Twisting around to wave goodbye to Lulu as well, the boyish hair and face were a mirror image of her own nandroid ‘sister’
>Waving back, dazed, she returned to the coat racks
>Maybe she’d see them again, she wondered, but for now she had to focus on getting a proper coat
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Hero Nandroid
>Sterling nandroids are built around several principles core to the Sterling message
>Their very existence is meant to live as a reflection of the American idyll; they embody quiet service, honest work, humility
>It's not uncommon to see nandroids sacrifice themselves in house fires, accidents or worse
>But it wasn't every day they thwarted terrorist attacks
>Ruby was such a robot
>She'd been allowed to tag along for the Beacon City Olympics, which her owners had been anticipating for months
>In one of the great concrete stadiums, though, she sensed trouble
>A backpack, abandoned, on a load-bearing column
>The subtle, tinny buzzing only a nandroid's ears could hear
>Ditching her owners she seizes the package, dashing outside with it in hand
>Crying for help, pleading she causes stir enough for the police to arrive in force
>EOD-suited men arrive on scene, tragedy nearly avoided thanks to the little nandroid
>It was the least the city could do, the mayor explained, to make her a citizen
>Unprecedented societal upheaval aside, she was chuffed
>She'd get her own home, a 'hero's stipend' and- wait, a nandroid?

>It wasn't an immediate adjustment, living on her own
>But Ruby wasn't one to shy away from danger, or a challenge- she had, after all, saved the city from a bombing
>But this she couldn't handle
>A mirror image of her own now inhabited her home, the same gracile legs and slender body tottering about (save for a unique-enough hairstyle)
>And she insisted to do all the work, pouting about the lack of breakfast or coffee to be made
>Ruby still felt the same drive to clean that all nandroids felt, even after any dependency circuits were disabled
>She felt free for once, but empty
>Listless, she moped about the home, collecting her checks every two weeks and doing not much else
>She watched with envy as her nandroid cleaned and organized, folding the scant personal clothes Ruby had
>By the second month she was sick of it
>In a tirade for the ages (by maidbot standards) Ruby threw her nandroid's charging chair from the closet she insisted on, flinging a shirt and skirt of her own at her as well
>They were equals from this day on
>And she wouldn't accept it any other way
>The little townhome was spotless if nothing else
>Better than spotless; it was immaculate, permanently frozen in perfect cleanliness
>The two worked in such tandem that it took only a few hours', rather than days', to finish all their work
>Extending out to their neighbors Ruby and her nand- (ahem) *roommate* started to market their services by the hour
>Their high intensity, high efficiency cleaning services were the talk of the town for those not fortunate enough to own a nandroid
>Soon each townhome in their neighborhood, and then the neighborhoods beyond, was collected to that same perfect clean as was in their home
>It was the least they could do, they figured, after all the city had given them
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Dixie Stampede (heh)
>"C'mon then, get a move on!"
>The nandroid was chiding you now
>You honestly didn't know how to feel, really
>Confused was about the gist of it; you were herding cattle with a purpose-built farm-maid robot (a vintage model, admittedly), whose name was Dixie... in Montana
>Gusts of cool air flew across the grassy lands around you, the collective mooing of hundreds of cattle almost drowning out the robot's instructions to you
>You were a new ranch hand and the grizzled veteran vaqueros around you were leaving you in the dust, literally
>Save for the nandroid, lagging behind to keep pace with you and take up the rear
>Adjacent herds were merging with your own, the mass of brown and black and white indistinguishable from each other
>You knew (as Dixie had repeatedly reminded you) that the brandings were everything
>And as she pulled up alongside you she was about to remind you again
>"ANAWN," she yelled. "Don't worry 'bout them gettin' mixed up like! We just gotta get 'em to the railyard, awright?"
>You nod to the robot, her hair whipping in the wind as she pulls from a trot to a gallop again
>Following after her, yipping wildly, you pull along the starboard side of the bovine mass charging across the plains
>The Rocky Mountains glisten in the distance, caps of white shining onto the beautiful grasslands below
>The pressure was on on your side, you and Dixie sidling your charging stallions closer to the herd, narrowing it as your companions, and other ranchers, put the squeeze on on the other side
>That damned pass was up ahead, and were the cows not in 'formation' (i.e. single file) you might as well give up and go home
>You wrestled your horse nearer and nearer, its mane whipping in the air as Dixie reared up, the same happening to her
>The grass was breaking for scattered rocks here and there, the herd narrowing needle-thin
>And just in time, too
>The cleaved rock ahead was *it*- the entrance to the pass Dixie'd shown you months ago when you signed on
>It was close
>Too close
>"So close it's cliché"-close
>The split in the rock might as well have been narrowing with each second
>But you'd managed it excellently, the swaying head in front of you whinnying in surprise
>The herd was marching just a few abreast through the narrow divide, ranchers taking up the front while in the rear you were left with your mechanical teacher, Dixie
>"Now THAT was sumthin' Anawn. Hell you were doin' some real rough stuff, *cowboy*," she laughs. "And hey, when we get back to the ranch, see me then darlin~"
>The robot saunters off to another end of the herd, winking as she slips away
>The railyard was some miles off still, and you weren't through the pass yet, but you already knew the journey back was gonna be worth it
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Shelly in the Desert (sorta)
>You came here searching for opal
>The precious little gems, scintillating in the dirt like drops of starlight against the dismal beige of desert sand, would have you set for life
>But, after a week of digging and mining aimlessly, you've found nothing
>And you're running out of water
>You opt to drive back to the nearest town
>That was until you found your battery had died, the lights left on over night
>Your only chance was walking
>Walking... in the Australian Outback
>You'd been at it for a day or so, your last gallons of water draining faster than your poor funds (not that money meant much at this point)
>Your water finally depleted, you feel the pain of dehydration tugging at every fiber of your being
>Collapsing into the dessicated soil you can only sleep, waiting for some wandering snake, spider or other Australian hellspawn to come claim you before dehydration did
>"Ah," you say to yourself. "It'll be the hallucinations, then."
>Your last glimpse is of a red-shirted figure marching towards you, clearly some sick joke being played on you
>Death playing dress-up, perhaps?
>No matter, you think, slipping into the quiet unconsciousness of eternal rest

>Is this heaven?
>Or hell?
>Cold water engulfs you; the River Styx, it seems
>Good to know the *Greeks* had it right
>"OI CANT," a voice curses you. "WAKE UP, ROIGHT!"
>It seems Charon has a fowl mouth, and would like you to be up for the trip
>Maybe later, maybe later
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Soviet Nandroid (soon)
>The Cold War had been getting hotter for some time
>The grim truth that was becoming clear to the Soviets and their allies in the Warsaw Pact was that their defincies in the robotic sciences would be their end
>They'd watched in horror the efficacy with which the US and western allies had used robots to enforce their will on the world
>First in Korea and Malaya, and Indochina too
>It was the fist the West needed, and the same fist was lacking in the East
>Soviet attempts at infiltrating Western robotics companies were failing and only served to embarrass the USSR more
>But then there came the golden idea
>Simply purchase a nandroid, or any old robot
>Modify it, train it, *mold* it into the perfect soldier of Marxism-Leninism the Union needed
>And then, it looking the same, send it home for quality control
>Simple, elegant, *cheap*- it was Russian to a fault
>Now all they needed was their nandroid
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Offices and Mid-Level Executives
>"Okay, you enter into a small classroom. There's a teacher instructing nandroids, and several dozen nandroids," the Office Master said
>"Okay... uh, what're we here for again Emmy?"
>"Amy-oh, *Elizabeth Freedman*, we have to use our game-names. And we're here to ask Ms. Bradbury of Nandroid Education where she'd like the report we put together last session."
>"Ohhhhh, okay- I ask her that."
>"'In my office, please!' She smiles at you, and gestures down the hall"
>"Okay, I suppose we go to her office."
>"Good idea Pol-oop! Patricia!"
>The blonde nandroid winks
>"Okay, you come to the tall, wooden office door of Ms. Bradbury. The windows to the sides are lit, Bradbury having left her small lamp on. What would you like to do?"
>"I use the ke-"
>"I open the door," the blonde one interrupts
>"You try it to no avail; it's locked."
>"Can I force it open?"
>"Am- Elizabeth, we have-"
>"You can try."
>"Okay, I force the door open."
>"Roll a strength check"
>a D20 clatters along the wooden tabletop
>The blonde nandroid looks down, distraught
>"Nat-Natural one"
>The Office Master smiles gleefully, cracking her storytelling knuckles
>"You grab the handle and rear back, planting your feet on the wall on either side of the door. You pull and pull- and it opens. Flying back towards you the heavy oak door flies from its hinges and hits you, hard."
>"Oh..."
>The rumble of 2d4 behind the screen deepens the frown on the robot's face
>"The door hits you in the face and bloodies your nose, take five bludgeoning damage."
>The other nandroid smacks her shoulder
>"Elizabeth, I had the key the whole time!"
>"But, the door wouldn't open..."
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Nandroid Eats for the First Time
>Sterling Gastronomics, a subsidiary of Sterling Robotics, was created with a simple vision
>Sterling, one day, was asked by his personal robot what food was like
>So taken by the simple question he sought to offer to all of his robots (those made after 1978, at least) the great breadth of human culinary experience and pleasure- at least that's what the ads said
>It was a grueling research process, being able to map chemical components to flavors, and then figuring out how to connect those to stimuli
>The original facsimiles of taste that test nandroids were offered were primitive and, frankly, awful

>Flashforward several years, though
>Your nandroid asks that same question (you suspect it's planted as a subtle form of advertising)
>But seeing her eyes puppy-up in asking for it you know its something deeper
>You go out and buy one of the sets
>Allen wrench in hand you pop off some of her outer plates, much to her embarrassment
>Slipping the delicate system into her core and tracing it up her neck and connecting it to her mouth, she's ready
>You ask her what she's like her first meal to be
>She shrugs, unsure, eyes panning around the kitchen
>Locking onto the fridge, though, she says it: "Ice cream, sir!"
>You fetch the pint, scooping a few pink dollops out into a bowl
>Spoon nestled into the icy spheres you place it in front of her
>Thankfully she's spent enough time watching you eat (very closely, you remember) that she avoids smearing it across her face
>She bites it, forcing you to cringe, before smiling
>She wants to open her mouth and squee but she slips another spoonful into her mouth
>You remind her to go slow, not wanting her to cause any unfortunate blockage
>She loves it though, you can tell; were she not bent over hoarfing it down and scraping the bowl clean, she'd have kicked herself backwards from her chair
>Slapping the bowl back down, spoon clattering around its ceramic circumference, she asks for more
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Flapperdroid in the 1920's
>"C'mon Daisy, before he hears you!"
>The young man waved the nandroid out of the home
>In the past few months she'd expressed interest less than subtle in seeing the sights, the city
>She was the one who cleaned up after the covert parties the young mister threw in his father's absence, after all- it was the least he could do
>So, on a special night, wearing a dress slipped carefully from his sister's wardrobe, she set out in his car
>The rickety, primitive thing ground and roared along the streets, the car carrying them far and away into the beautiful, golden city beyond
>There was noise, and confusion, and everything that makes sneaking out at night worthwhile
>Ducking into an alleyway the two, with a secret knock, ducked into one of the burgeoning speakeasies in the city
>The roar of music flooded her ears- not the gentle operettas the missus insisted on, or the mister's stoic, suffocating silence
>But music, *noise*, primal and powerful
>It rocked her body, made the coils in her cheeks redden in response
>How... *v*lgar*
>But how good, how sweet when he yanked her onto the floor and no one batted a disapproving or horrified eye
>The motion and the energy of the night, the dim and nonexistent lights, the stench of liquor and seedy whispers of mafiosos eyeing the visitors
>It was overwhelming, dizzying even- but fun, oh so fun
>Car roaring ahead, wind whipping her clipped-short hair, she hollered and yelled into the dark city night, pleading to be taken out every night, or every weekend at the very least, just like this
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Prudence Teaser for Her Next Part
>For a time in the outlands surrounding Salem, and especially in the little hamlet Jeduthan had returned to, there was peace
>Not the everyday peace that one fabricates in lieu of something larger, but a genuine calm in the region
>Jeduthan returned to his home carrying, to the surprise of everyone present, the little robot that had begun the whole ordeal
>He tried, in vain, to explain the miracle she'd performed in saving him, saving the town and likely the souls of all its residents
>The broken little robot sat slumped in his home for years, the man too afraid to touch her for fear of ruining her further
>Years passed, snows came and went, and the robot wound up in the hands of the Mister's son
>Who unceremoniously pawned her to a merchant from Philadelphia
>The jovial young man was returning from a meeting in Boston and had stayed the night, spying the fascinating little automaton asleep in the corner
>His own experiments with artificial persons met with limited, if any, success
>But if he could use her as a blueprint, he could get her working again, see how she ticked
>Taking her home to his small place in the busy streets of the city, he set her down in his workshop
>She'd come with a compass of all things, an accessory more likely than anything useful
>But no matter
>He contrasted the expert craftsmanship inside of her with his dinky, almost trinket-like machinery laying scrapped across his workbench
>He was dumbfounded at the intricacy of her brass insides, the bellows inside (pierced by a sizeable wood shard), the rotating cylinder that he assumed made up her thinking system
>It was insanity and artistry in one, and he think he knew how to fix her
>He sent for one of his friends, a luthier, to begin working a handful of new wooden plates for her
>Carefully, delicately, he mapped out each interlocking gear teeth and spring, tracing the wires and making note of their gauges
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Luray and Luluke
>"Luray," the ranchowner called out
>"Yessir?"
>"We's got a new robot comin' in from up round DC."
>"Sir?"
>"They *say* he's state of the ahrt, but..."
>"Understood, sir."
>"You teach him the ropes, y'see?"
>"Yessir."
>Luray breathed deep
>The farm had cycled through too many hands in too few seasons
>Luray didn't mind the Appalachian climate, but evidently it was too humid for too many people
>So, at great personal expense, Farmer Johnson had been buying robots like Luray to help out
>After a few hours a pickup rocked down the principal dirt road in the valley, a wooden crate lying conspicuously in its bed
>Helping the few remaining human ranch hands crack it open it revealed a rail-thin robot, a shock of black hair circling his head
>Even in electric unconsciousness he looked nervous
>"Awright boys, I'll handle this."
>The men nodded and left to return to their duties
>Jostling the robot she clicked him awake, his cord looped on the ground for the following night
>Eyes blinking he stood on his own in the burly arms of the ladybot holding him
>"Uhm haha-oh! Hello, Miss, my name's L-Luke, ehehe..."
>If he could sweat he would've already slipped out of Luray's hands and, releasing him, he nearly slipped over on his own
>She stuck a hand out
>Whether through fear or misunderstanding he shot his hands up
>"Son, I ain't gonna hurtcha, awright?"
>Taking it, he nodded
>This was not, she knew, state of the art farming equipment
>Or any kind of farming equipment
>"Awright, let's getcha settled in and acquainted, right?"
>He nodded meekly, following after her
>Eyeing the gentle, blue slopes of the mountains around him, he sighed in the crisp air
>"Well?! Come awn!"
>"Yes ma'am..."
[The local union rep was sorely surprised when a hulking 10' tractor bot named Bessie showed up on his doorstep and not, as he expected, the short botler he'd ordered. Thankfully, he knew people who were into that.]
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Bobby Arresting Lilah
>"THIS IS AN UNLAWFUL DEMONSTRATION"
>megaphones whined and crackled as helmeted riot officers edged closer
>booming voices called to the crowd to disperse- they had no grounds to protest there, no permit and no lease on the space
>leaders in the crowd cried for order, to disperse as individual groups and slowly
>"I'll see you in the streets" they said
>but, unbeknownst to the crowd, there was no intention in the police lines to allow them any nearer the convention
>rows of helmets barricades streets as throngs of people pressed against them
>young and old faces sneered at each other
>police-order robots flexed their batons anxiously, the order to swing as easily given as, for Bobby, that to dust the shelves
>her helmet hung low, nearly obscuring her vision
>the narrow band of the crowd she could see, or rather hear, hissed and booed at her
>a distinctively robotic voice heckled her, calling her a traitor to the cause of Global Robo-Liberation
>She flexed her baton instinctively, just waiting on the word
>A call from the megaphone, a shouted direction, was all she and her compatriots needed
>She flipped her head back to see better, angrily fixating on the source of the voice
>She locked eyes with her mirror image, a pale saucer marked by two red spots staring back
>Brown hair hung from her head, wide blue eyes narrowing in fear as the police line lurched forward
>She turned to slip between the members of the human mass, her narrow frame worming between bodies to escape
>Bobby, unamused, swung hard and forward into the lower back of the robot
>A harsh crack sounded back, vibrations rocking the wooden billyclub like a poorly swung bat
>She swung low, catching her in the thigh and bringing her down
>Patty wagons lay behind the advancing line to scoop up any arrested dissidents
>Grabbing the robot by the scruff of the neck and pulling her up Bobby passed her down the line towards the waiting vans
>Bobby smirked, shouting "Outmode" behind her, if they even needed a reason
>The brown-haired robot cried out, struggling against the officers as Bobby advanced with the line
>A brick rocked off of her helmet, jarring her, head twisting around for its thrower
>Catching on a nerdy head complete with thick-rimmed glasses, now raising another brick, she lurched forward
>Clubbing him, too, and handing him back he almost fled *towards* the wagons in the back
>Twisting her head she watched him dash for the robot, her backplate cracked, to console her
>Pressing ahead Bobby did the work she was made for, swing her baton and cracking heads
>"Fuggen hippies," she thought, clearing the image from her head
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Mindy at the Store
>Mindy and her kid, now grown up and getting ready for university, were browsing through the aisles
>"Oh, look honey! Martin's Own® Fruit Snacks! These would be great for your dorm right?"
>"Mindy," he groaned, "look at the pricetag, please. There's gotta be something cheaper around here."
>He panned around the shelves for some store-brand alternative, trying to plug the leaks in his parent's budget
>As he'd grown he became increasingly conscious of just how expensive a nandroid was, and college on top of that was a nightmare
>What little could be done to save money was imperative
>"Ah, here! StuffMart brand."
>The maidbot recoiled, the braid trailing down her neck swishing as she shook the other box at him
>"B-But look," she pointed, reading off the nutrition facts like a script
>"Mindy, they're identical. Look, even the pictures of fruit they used are the same. Wait, I don't even like fruit snacks, Mindy-"
>"But dear don't you see, Martin's Own® are the cream of the crop! Sweet, juicy and the perfect snack!"
>"Mindy!" He took the nandroid by her shoulders. "Not everything has to be like... that."
>Snatching the box away from her he stared into the beady eyes of the gathered farm animals, trying to steady his breathing
>Dad had been coming home later, and Mom even contemplated taking up a job (to his dismay)
>And all to get him through university worry free, so he could start "on the right foot"
>It pained him to see his father drained of life, rolling from bed to commute to bed again just to make sure his son could get an education debt-free
>And Mindy was hurting that prospect, every extra cent spent on this premium schlock was another hour his dad spent working
>"Mindy," he muttered, eyes affixed to the cardboard crumpling under his grip. "How much extra do you think we spend buying this stuff? Really?"
>Her eyes darted away, cheeks burning low in growing shame
>He knew she could do the math, she was doing it right now as she failed to meet his gaze
>He pointed to the sketchy, warped barcode on the suffering box
>"Mindy. *How* *much*?"
>She stammered unsure what answer to give him
>There were variables like time, and price differences, and quantity of course-
>"Enough for a nandroid," he prodded. "A semester, hell, a *class* at college?"
>His nostrils were flaring, every ounce of willpower spent on keeping his voice and anger to a low simmer
>"Have you seen Mom, Dad? How much he works, how she- she *aches* over this!"
>He was fuming over, the precious well of calm all but drained
>"Dear, I-"
>"Don't *Dear* me," he spat. "I'm eighteen, I'm an adult, so stop babying me! Jesus, Mindy, I *drove* us here!"
>"Look, please- I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she pleaded, his words crushing the poor robot
>"You should be."
>Slapping the cardboard box back into place aside its unblemished siblings he yanked the cart away from her and continued shopping
>"I wish I'd never been bought," she whispered to herself
>Eyes squeezing and stinging her little boy stepped away, his face scanning each item mechanically and replacing it for a cheaper alternative
>Tagging silently behind she followed him on his agonizing march through the store, repeating the list item by item
>"De-," she stopped herself. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time, it's just, you're growing up so fast! Just yesterday you were peeking at presents, don't you remember?"
>His lip twitched into a smirk, the robot dragging up old, old memories
>Snorting he forced it down; he was still mad with her
>But she wouldn't let him down that easy, no sir
>"I mean," she giggled. "It's weird to wake up in a box, but it's weirder to see a beady eyed kid with his nose on the plastic!"
>He fought to suppress a snicker, imaging his nose splayed like a pig's on the plastic window
>Remembering nights spent tiptoeing downstairs to see Santa, who (when he caught him) was suspiciously thin softened his silent veneer
>He couldn't stay mad at her for *too* long, he knew- she was doing her best like anyone else
>But then again he wasn't ready to talk to her, she needed to learn
>"Learn what, dumb*ss," he asked himself. "Oh, right."
>"Mindy," he coughed. "I'm sorry for, eh, blowing up on you. I just- I just need you to be more money conscious in the future."
>He turned, plucking a box from the cart
>"See, like, this stuff is exactly the same as the other stuff. It's not gonna hurt us, it's not gonna kill us, it can only save us money."
>"But, dear- oop!"
>"That's okay," he blushed. "I'm not too old for that- yet."
>"But how much does that save?"
>Huh
>Maybe she couldn't do the math
>Pointing out prices here and there across the aisles he explained, slowly, how every little bit added up
>She could save in total, say, five dollars a week on trips, and that added up to hundreds over time
>Nodding the nandroid promised to pay more attention

>Clicking his seatbelt into place, groceries piled in the trunk, the young man keyed the ignition
>Time for home
>The nandroid sat with her hands bunched in her lap next to him, staring at her kicking feet
>"Mindy...," he started, the car rumbling in the parking lot. "I was really... rude in there, and I'm sorry. I'm just looking out for Mom and Dad, okay?"
>He rubbed the back of his neck, taking his turn of regret now
>"Dear, you *know* nandroids aren't just for kids, right?"
>She was taking pride in that fact now
>"I'm going to miss you, really miss you, but," she sighed, "but you don't need to worry about your parents. I'll be there to help them, too."
>"I'm... glad to hear that, Mindy. I'm gonna miss you too."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jealous Noelle/Lulu and Anon's First Kiss
>"Ugh, Mister Crow- Yes. Yes."
>Noelle grumbled on the line, the din of the restaurant behind her crowding her ears
>"They don't have sweet and sour chicken, they're out- ugh, put Nate on the line!"
>Fussing in the handset she eyed a lanky, baggy-eyed man saunter in
>A nandroid hung meekly on his arms, a dense braid swinging from her head
>Where her hair allowed she saw a thick crack along her face- worrying, very worrying
>The two slipped into the back, taking a place at their table
>Some narcissist to take his robot to eat
>Nate fumbled on the other side of the line, Crowley screaming obscenities about Orientals in the distance
>Noelle deafened herself to watch the idling pair, the man nervously holding her hand
>A candle danced besides them, their smiling faces lit by its gentle glow
>Maybe that crack wasn't from him, but still- weird, some kind of savior kink creep
>Turning back to her phone, a long-suffering cashier trying to read off what was available, Noelle translated it into dismal, staccato stabs at the old man and his son
>Maybe they'd get a quarter of it across the line and shut the hell up, she was peoplewatching, thank you
>Twisting her head after another hacking tirade she watched them, a steaming plate by him and an assorted bowl of... mints? hard candies? by her
>His cold gray face was warming still in the dancing firelight, the robot's cheeks flickering to life opposite him
>Noelle took in how... poorly he was dressed, contrary to the elegant black slip-on the robot wore
>It was a simple little thing, but beautiful on her
>Escort bot maybe?
>That'd fit the creep angle
>Another spit from the line yanked her head back
>"Nate! They do not have the chicken, last time," she snapped. "Now hold on, please!"
>Head rocking back the man and the nandroid were closing in, lips meeting rubber face and locking into a kiss
>Escort bot's didn't do that, Noelle fumed
>Her cheeks glared a bitter, volcanic red
>"Must be nice," she muttered to herself. "If only Nate would-"
>"Nate would what?"
>"...Nate would learn to cook for himself for once."
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Civil War Artillerynan
>Judeth, Judy to her kids, had been sent down to muster as her family's 'other'
>She joined dozens of other robots like her, mixed maid-machines and botlers milling about the parade grounds
>"Finnigan, Judeth!"
>"Here," she peeped
>"Report to Battery A, 17th Massachusetts!"
>"Sir!"
>Hopping away on her march, the coarse wool chafing her wood panellig, she arrived to the range with her battery
>"Finnigan reporting for duty, sir!"
>"A robot," he sneered. "Fine, you're on scouring."
>"Oh, I'm excellent with scouring si-"
>A fellow artilleryman threw the screw into her hands
>"After we fire you run that down and pull out the fouling. Then Jensen swabs it, then we go again. Understood?"
>"I... think?"
>"Good. Hop to it."
>At his word the crew set to work, powder rammed home, then shot, then wadding in a fluid rhythm practiced over time
>Punching a hole in the bag and lighting a fuse the bronze cannon reeled backwards, Judy's ear's ringing
>Cover them next time, she learned
>Stuck in the whistling shock of the moment she fumbled with the screw, tumbling around
>"C'mon! Move it machine," a muffled voice screamed
>Hobbling in front of the smoking cannon barrel she rammed the screw home, ripping it out to a flutter of smoldering paper and the sulfurous stench of gunsmoke
>"Good!"
>In a pistoning repetition the barrel was swabbed and sponged, embers extinguished before the gun was loaded again
>Finding a rhythm (taking care to cover her ears) Judy rolled and bobbed with the other crewmates, yanking fowling away like chicken feathers- hell, easier than that
>As the Sun crested the horizon and the day settled to an orange glow she retired, panting, to her tent
>Exhausted as she was she couldn't sleep, the exhilarating pound of the Napoleon guns too much to leave her bored by any stretch of the imagination
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Emmy Sees Warbots
>What an experience!
>Emmy'd never been in such a place, sent here for "provisional training and assignment"
>Te- *Mister Delaire* told her it would only be a year, but how exciting!
>Like some amazing vacation-field trip she'd been whisked away to the chainlink gates of a distant military post
>Ferried in by a uniformed officer she ogled every corner of the base, a whole world martial and disciplined introduced to her piecemeal
>Occasionally a helicopter would thwop-thwop overhead, the man pointing out the major depots and offices, ushering her towards the medical ward where she'd be serving for the time being
>"Say, sir, what's over there?"
>he grinned, eyes darting around to convey some great secret
>"Our secret weapon," he whispered to her. "Wanna see?"
>"Please, sir!"
>Pulling her over to the hunched building and squeaking open it's narrow door he spread his arms out
>Light on Emmy's eyes blew open
>Row upon row of blocky, steel-sheathed robots sat still, charging quietly
>"Yep! Your taxpayer dollars at work, these guys are the next innovation in battlefield firepower!"
>"Wow..."
>She was taken aback at the dense, cubic construction, hulking constructobot-type legs raring to heft the moving platforms aloft and into battle
>She'd never seen such robotic perfection and prowess anywhere, not even among her fellow nandroids
>Quivering in place she took a step forward, hoping to see them alive and in action immediately
>"Woah! Slow your roll girl, they'll be up when they're ready."
>"O-Okay..."
>Shutting the door the man led the robot away, somber eyes tracing back to that barrack again and again
>Maybe tomorrow she'd see them march, or even at work on the range!
>Maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow
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Emmy and Madeline Adventure
>"C'mon Madeline, the ship's leaving already!"
>"Coming, coming," the teen panted, racing after her nandroid
>Racing up the gangplank they barreled over the side and into the below decks, cramming past travellers and migrants to their place
>Their place stowing away, that was
>In the mingling years Emmy found her thirst for adventure growing, urged on by a growing Madeline filling her head with history-class tales of the unexplored Pacific, verdant tropical destinations and more
>Her parents. begrudgingly, had let the two go on their globe-trotting adventures
>A gap year would do Madeline well, they figured, give her structure and order
>As the two tumbled through a bulkhead door and into the cargohold, though, there was little discipline to be found
>"Ah, this is the life, huh Emmy?"
>"Absolutely," she beamed, never used to this much unadulterated freedom
>Over the months exploring, hopping trains and swinging aboard ships she felt the surly bonds of her programming eroding away
>And she loved it
>Settling into her hammock, strung sturdily between two crates, she reminisced over their last adventure
>"Emmy in the Halls of Montezuma," she'd called it, or rather Madeline had
>The young lady had been keeping a dense journal of their combined trips and tumbling misadventures
>Deep in the steaming jungles of Mexico, miles from civilization, the two'd crept through an ancient Mayan temple, hardly escaping with their lives save the gold treasures inside
>And there was "Emmy in Fiji", they're stowaway antics shipping them to the white beaches of the South Pacific, or in the streets of Paris, or in the broad Savannah or the-
>"Night Emmy," Madeline called
>"Night Maddy!"
>Settling backwards Emmy sighed, slipping asleep again
>In a few days they'd be in Florida, along the coast
[>They'd never stowed aboard a rocket before!]
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Emmy Driver’s Ed
>”Emmy are you sure *you* know how to do this,” the young lady asked
>”I am quite sure I know how to drive Madeline, thank you.”
>”Then how come you never drove me to school? Why’d we only take the trolley?”
>”I- Now’s not the time for that, okay? Just turn the radio off first.”
>”Why?”
>”’Why?’ Safety’s why! Driving with distractions is dangerous!”
>”Ugh, fine!”
>Clicking off some tastefully censored pop hit Madeline rolled her eyes
>She’d been *trying* for her license for about a month now, Ted too busy and Angela too disinterested to take her out on their own time
>That left her in the overbearing hands of her childhood robot nanny, Emmy
>Groaning over her pitched instructions Madeline knew she’d have her license by now if not for Emmy’s continuing protectiveness
>Not like she was a kid anymore
>She was a high schooler now, and *deserving* of some freedom and some actual respect
>Not the kitty-faced breakfasts and constant chaperoning at the worst possible times
>And now that robot was her driving instructor
>”Okay, I’m turning the key now!”
>”Careful!”
>Madeline gripped the wheel, holding back a heaving sigh
>”I am, Emmy. I haven’t even taken my foot off the brake.”
>”O-Oh… Just being sure! Now- firstly, make sure your mirrors-”
>”They’re already adjusted Emmy. And the tank’s full, and the lights are fine, and-”
>”Okay, okay!”
>”Can I drive *now*?”
>”Well check for other cars…”
>Madeline thumped her thumbs on the wheel, gesturing out the windshield to the barren parking lot around them
>”I don’t see any other cars, Emmy.”
>”Then start when you’re ready.”
>With a gentle lurch Madeline released her foot from the brake, switching for the gas
>”Hands at ten and two Madeline.”
>”Oh- Wait, no.”
>”I’m sorry young lady?”
>”In Driver’s Ed they said that ten and two is old. It’s supposed to be,” she started, shifting her hands, “eight and four, like that.”
>”I- No, that’s wrong. Sterling says-”
>”’Sterling says’ this, ‘Sterling says’ that- it’s *wrong*, this is what’s more comfortable anyways. Plus there’s like a push-pull thing I gotta do with this.”
>The girl demonstrated, gently pressing the accelerator with a stuttering lurch
>Pushing with her right hand she brought the left up and pulled, the car turning into a slow, graceful turn
>”Obviously it’ll be smoother but you get the idea.”
>”O-Oh… I see… And you said this was from driver’s ed?”
>”Yeah, Mister Gioia said this was the right way. ‘Less arm strain’ or something.”
>Emmy took note of the name, something for the next parent’s night to bring up
>Stirring in her head were the Sterling Stick-To’s, the scripted instruction for all manner of childhood and developmental milestones
>The book on driving had yet to be updated unfortunately, and as the young lady dared try anything Emmy shot a hand out, gasping in horror, to stop her from maiming the both of them
>”Emmy, will you quit it!”
>”Madeline! That’s no tone to take with me!”
>”Ugh, but you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about! You didn’t even tell me to put my *seatbelt* on!”
>Madeline broke into a list of discrepancies from Emmy’s end, anachronistic Sterling knowledge crumbling in Emmy’s hands
>Connecting the dots in her head the awful realization showed itself- she’d been hampering Madeline’s development, holding her back and now, most of all, she’d been making her unsafe
>She wasn’t fit to be her nandroid anymore, to step in the Delaire’s home as a maid or as a robot
>There was a sticking, bitter taste in her mouth that threatened to slide down and into her core
>”I’m an outmode now,” she thought. “Madeline isn’t safe with me here, but-”
>”Emmy? You alright?”
>”Please stop the car.”
>”Wha-”
>”I need to get out and go turn myself in posthaste.”
>”Emmy, what’s gotten into you?”
>The robot listed off the aching collection of grievances she had with herself, the recent failures only compounding the idea in her head that it was time to go
>”Emmy… I- I think you’re fine. Seriously, it’s not a-”
>”Big deal? You-,” she groaned, trying the door
>Panic was setting in as she jiggled the handle uselessly
>”Emmy, I’m worried for you, but,” Madeline breathed, “But you’re not an outmode. You just need to learn not everything Sterling tells you is true, or will be true forever.”
>”But- but-”
>”There’s no ‘but’s here,” she giggled, still Emmy’s kid. “Just, y’know, try and take things that Sterling says with a grain of salt.”
>”A grain of salt… O-Okay. I’ll try.”
>”That’s the spirit! Now, what’s Sterling policy on joy riding?”
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Amy Being a Ditz
>Every day was a busy day in the Khatri household, now more than ever
>There’d be a host of relatives coming to visit for Ajay’s middle school promotion, a grand ceremony passing the torch with him from the fifth to sixth grade
>Amy set to work organizing every accommodation for the combined uncles, grandparents, aunts, cousins and more coming to flood the home with their love and congratulations
>The assorted relatives would be at the school by now, joining Ajay’s parents and newest, littlest brother for the momentous occasion
>That left the little nandroid at home by herself for the bulk of the day, not a moment to herself as she scrambled up and down the stairs to arrange everything for the at-home festivities
>She’d already dusted and made the beds, put out the air mattresses and pulled out the couches to free up as much space as humanly possible for the coming tide of family
>Her head whirred and spun in mechanical frustration at how to piece together enough living space for a dozen extra people, puzzling out blankets and sheets where they were needed, folded towels sparsely divided amongst them as well
>That still lest the momentous matter of entertainment, dinner, dessert and more
>The Doctor assured her that they’d be having a grand night out and not to worry until the following day, leaving idle issue of cake was left in her hands
>The house as ready as it could ever be she set to work in the kitchen, fatigued machinery panting for breath in her head
>Up and down the stairs she’d been pushing to the brink, heat building and sweating behind her hair
>Cracking open a cookbook with Ajay’s favorite cake within the fan spun faster, grinding a staccato clap
>Mind slowing she tried to count out the ingredients on her fingers, cracking a window to prepare the kitchen better
>A gust of cool air steadied her mind, the robot diligently returning to the recipe
>A few merciful degrees colder she whipped the batter into the oven, setting to work on a delightful frosting and an assortment of hardened meringue
>As the Sun crested higher in the sky, the ceremony likely winding down into the Khatris’ night on the town, the air warmed again
>The cake was done but Amy couldn’t fathom how to decorate it, the frosting frothing uselessly in a bowl beside her
>”Plain,” she decided, knowing the Doctor wasn’t one for gaudy ceremony
>Laying the simmering Vanilla block on the kitchen table she turned to the final touches around the home, gathering up old decorations in her arms to string over the table
>By her again-heating internal clock the family would be home any minute
>Ignoring the sputter and crack from the oven she lit up the candles, standing idly for the Khatris to return and to present Ajay with his humble cake

>”We’re home,” a delightful voice called out, the young man galloping through to the kitchen
>Warm, hot air filled his nose with the smell of roasting, crumbling meringue left to burn
>”Happy promotion Ajay,” Amy called to him
>”Amy where’s the party?!”
>Atop the scorched sponge cake was a dripping mess of embers and ash, the candles toppled onto the smoking tabletop as a small inferno grew behind her
>Molten decorations snapped from their place strung across the table, drizzles of plastic and denatured glue falling away
>Frantic relatives dashed for the phone to call 911, Ajay screaming with laughter as the flames trailed to Amy’s head and her hair ‘fwoomphed’ alight
>”Doctor, this *is* the party,” she beamed
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Madeline Meeting Darcy
>It'd been years together with Emmy and the Delaires
>And all it took was a faulty update card, some mail-drone handing it into the nandroid's slender hands and she was gone
>Sterling, red in the face, refused to admit full culpability for the awful incident, the update managing to 'brick' thousands of their flagship robots or skewing their programming dangerously away from baseline
>Madeline was at school when it happened, the bait and switch as robots like Emmy were recalled en masse, concentrated away, shut down, and scrapped
>When a blank-faced Emmy received the young lady, just starting high school, she knew already something was wrong
>"Hey Emmy...," the girl started. "How do you like to make my oatmeal?"
>"With a kitty face, as always!"
>That wasn't Emmy
>Emmy, in begrudging agreeance with Madeline's younger self, had cut the kiddy stuff once she was old enough
>Madeline took breakfast into her own hands at a certain age to Emmy's dismay
>Emmy Classic, Madeline corrected herself
>Home again it was time to get some answers, the cold, blank robot guiding her home not her own

>"Mom," she called out, strolling into the vacant foyer. "Mooooom!"
>"Upstairs honey!"
>Ascending the steps she met her mother in the master bedroom, the older woman idly affixing a pair of pearl earrings for some function that night
>"Say, uh," Madeline grumbled, "How're things?"
>"Huh- oh! Fine dear."
>She was overly focused on the foggy reflection before her, fiddling with her earlobe
>"Right... Anything *off* about Emmy, to you?"
>Maybe she didn't know either, still unaware of the gross memory error Madeline suspected
>"Huh, oh yeah," Angela sniffed, "she had to be recalled."
>"WHAT!"
>"Oh dear don't be worried, we still have a nandroid! It's just that Emmy was too dangerous after her update."
>"Too *dangerous*? That's, that's- That's bullsh*t, I can't believe you let them do that."
>Angela, unamused with her daughters naivete, turned to the young lady
>"First, *language*. Second, can we do this later? I'm busy tonight."
>"With what," she spat, "some 'charity gala', one that ends up costing more than it raises? I'm sick of this, you always do this-"
>"Do *what* young lady," she sneered. "You best choose what you're going to say carefully."
>"Or what? Huh? No Emmy to punish me here, cause she's just a tool to you! Right, right? A tool, so *you* don't have to deal with me."
>"Madeline, we're done with this. You're not old enough to understand the, the *danger*-"
>"Not *old* enough? I'm fifteen! Emmy dropped that line on me when I was *seven* and I didn't buy it! At least she was smart enough to treat me my own age," Madeline fumed, face beet red in her tirade. "I'm sick of, sick of *you*, you utter bitch!"
>"THAT'S IT YOUNG LADY! ROOM, NOW!"
>"Yeah, you and what army?"
>Madeline stormed away, fuming and wiggling a key in her hand
>Swinging down the steps she made way for the garage, stomping towards the bulbous moped she'd gotten on her fourteenth
>Helmet on she cruised out onto the street and away into Beacon City, tears streaming down her face, in search of her nandroid


>That was two months ago
>Truancy be damned, she'd been bumming around the vicious underbelly of Beacon City, gas siphoned here and there pushing her from seedy bars to cutthroat scrap refineries
>Few could offer her any help or direction; most told her to sod off and nothing else
>Retiring to the alleyway she'd set up as home, gratefully sheltered from snooping cops, she planned her next moves, crossing out in smudged ink another fruitless destination on the map
>Rivulets of rain wetted her head, the girl drawing her ratty poncho tighter
>The growing downpour drummed overhead, the tarp beating out a roar as streams spilled around the miserable girl
>"I'm close Emmy, I'm coming. I promise."
>The girl shivered herself asleep for another night in the alley
>The following morning, damp and drowsy, Madeline picked her head up off the asphalt beneath her
>Misty puddles fumed around her, another day ahead of searching for her robot
>There was a shantytown on the northside, industrial sector, she'd yet to visit in proper
>A lot of the more helpful sketchy types directed her in that general direction, the dense mess of corrugated rooftops and walls home to a flourishing outmode community
>Moped grinding to life once again, the poor machine sputtering through the streets, Madeline felt the winds of fate pushing behind her
>She'd rounded up her entire camp up onto her back, swaying anxiously through traffic between too many near misses
>This was a one way trip, two destinations lying before her: Emmy, or a shameful, defeated return home

>Skidding through a ramshackle palisade, ostensibly erected for 'community defense', the young lady careened through the shantytown walls
>The leap from asphalt to cloying mud flung her forward and into the brown mire, face covered in the polluting muck
>A few scattered onlookers snickered, mocking her before returning to their gray market affairs
>Rising and stomping through the sticking mess she swung her head left and right, watching for any errant flash of blue or orange to trail after
>Like a sign from God that inordinate luck *was* real there was that flash, a short boy accompanying the robot into an alleyway
>Sprinting after them in the still-drying ooze she saw a head turn, a shock of black hair disappearing in an instant
>Panting Madeline slowed her pace, careful not to rouse the suspicions of the townsfolk, though her entrance did little to minimize that
>Turning the corner she was launched backwards, a jabbing in her gut blasting the wind from her lungs
>There stood the boy with a fist out, sneering, his soft face and gentle eyes certainly not belonging to some gang member or hoodlum; his voice most certainly wasn't either
>"The fack you want, uh? Tworist, right?"
>"Darcy, language," a voice peeped
>"Carful Em, skinners use these tac-ticks a lot," the girl sniffed. "That right, pig?"
>"I'm not a cop," Madeline groaned, clutching her chest. "I'm here for my robot..."
>Rising from the ground, caked in mud, the girl raised her fist, helmet in her off hand
>"Ooooh, fighting mood, eh? Wrong choice," the girl snapped
>From some unseen corner two hulking robots sauntered up, their own fists at the ready
>"I'm just here... for my robot."
>"Madeline..."
>"E-Emmy?"
>"In the flesh, dear."
>Madeline turned to the other girl, scrappy and narrow but warm, understanding
>"She's been waiting a while. Though she's not going back with you. She can't."
>"You... You found her," Madeline wept, grabbing the girl. "You really f-found her, and I-I thought she was gone. Gone forever..."
>"Hey," the girl laughed, politely separating herself from the action. "She's the one you want."
>"I missed you Madeline but... I'm safer here," Emmy cooed, stroking the young lady's muddy hair. "Your parents are probably worried sick."
>Her parents
>She'd never stopped to think of them, even if her *mother* was less than sympathetic Ted, her dad, was different
>"It's time for you to go home, Madeline. You've grown up a lot with me there, but it's time for you to grow up on your own, without *me*. Whatever Emmy they have there isn't the one here, remember that."
>"Okay...," Madeline whispered, head hugged close to the robot's chest. "Take care of her, okay?"
>Tears streaming down her face, clearing tracks through the caking mud, the gathered posse nodded together
>As dumpy as this part of town was, she knew Emmy was in good hands
>Helmet affixed to her head she returned to her sinking moped, ready for the odyssey homeward once again
>Grounding and curfew wouldn't be the start of it, she knew, but she'd found her robot
>Emmy was safe and happy and *free*
>And that was all she needed to know
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Madeline and Emmy: Egypt!
>”Ah, Cairo,” Madeline sighed
>The pungent air clung around her nose, the vibrant smell of spices and fruits and animals mingling around her in the bustling city
>”Yes! Certainly a center of the ancient world,” her robotic partner piped up
>”Well, things certainly *seem* ancient,” she laughed, throwing a thumb at a stall of cattle ambling about behind them
>”Oh, yes,” Emmy half-giggled, still taken aback at the sheer squalor there
>Madeline loved it though, the smells, the sights, the sounds- all of it reeked of adventure and intrigue
>They were only in the city for a short time, their real goal far up the Nile river and deeper into the desert
>The Valley of Kings
>Like some resplendent, shimmering jewel on the Nile the carved limestone complex held inumerable treasures still untapped
>And Madeline wanted her grab at them, Emmy yanked behind her in turn

>”Madeline… I know superstition isn’t my *strong suit*, but-”
>”Aw, Emmy, you gotta be kidding me with that curse crap!”
>”Hey, language! And, well, *no*, but… robbing graves isn’t really ladylike, is it?”
>The young lady turned, stone-faced to the waiting robot
>Pick in hand she narrowed her eyes, tools clattering around her rucksack
>”Who said I *wanted* to be ‘ladylike’, huh? Now come on, we’re losing daylight!”
>”O-Okay…”
>Marching ahead into the shrouded valley they began their hike, towering walls of rock closing around them
>Plumbing deeper into the maze of temples and tombs Madeline had her pick of the lot, eyes darting from columns and pillars around her to distant statues and frescoes broken from the rock, far ahead and shivering in the fading desert heat
>”Thhhhhat one,” she pointed, rushing off
>Emmy jumped after her, wobbling in the sandy soil grabbing at her feet
>Finally at the gaping maw of some old mausoleum Madeline sighed, satisfied with today’s choice of temple, tomb or both
>”I mean, Emmy, lookit the size of it!”
>Spreading her arms out to measure the raw breadth of the monument before her she breathed again, awe escaping her at the ornate and archaic majesty worked ahead of her
>Thousands of years of history lie before her, and she was to be the first in millennia to walk inside
>”I… Wow,” Emmy puffed, breath stolen as well. “This is breathtaking Madeline. Madeline?”
>Laughs echoed down the dark entranceway, a bobbing beam of light already sprinting through the hewn rock, the clapping of her boots knocking down the carved walls
>Jogging after her Emmy was struck at the pristine beauty of it, ancient paint and scripture as clear as the day they were cut into the rock staring back at her
>”Emmy,” she echoed back. “You gotta see this!”
>”Coming!”
>Stalking through the staggered hallways, the tip-tap of her feet reverberating around her, she couldn’t help but absorb the culture, the *heritage* of it all
>World History for nandroids was limited, lacking in all departments but the most stark and stale dates and events
>But this was different, dynamic- *alive* save for the likely departed denizen of the tomb
>Turning a corner she entered the antechamber before the dominant room at the end of the stuttering hallway now behind her
>An excited beam of light sat splayed across the ceiling, the clink and crash of valuables sounding back
>”Madeline?”
>”Emmy,” she shouted, overjoyed. “Just look at it all! We’re set for life on this!”
>”Dear, let’s not be greedy now, okay?”
>”Are you kidding,” she laughed, hefting up an overflowing rucksack. “Here, help me take the lid off this…”
>Scrabbling overtop the dense sarcophagus Madeline started pushing, Emmy hesitantly joining her
>Toppling the lid on its end they uncovered the immaculately pristine deathmask of a young prince, Madeline sweeping the light over the shimmering interior
>”Gonna grab that…”
>Popping the mask off and stowing it in her bag she turned to the desiccated corpse inside, eyes wide
>”Madeline! Please put that back at least! Madeline?”
>”Kickass,” she whispered
>”Language young lady!”
>”Yeah whatever, let’s blow this joint. Drinks’re on me,” she flexed
>Stalking down the darkening corridor a horrific moaning sounded behind them, the shambling shuffle of linen bandages unraveling on the limestone floors
>”Oh I knew we shouldn’t have done this! Madeline please,” Emmy shook, “*please* put that junk back!”
>”One second,” she grumbled, forcing her bag of loot into Emmy’s nimble hands
>Pickaxe in hand she turned back, rounding the corner
>The jabbering mummy, diminutive and club-footed, hobbled towards her
>Pick in hand, Madeline tossing the weight back and forth, she waited
>”Jeez, you're slow. Here, lemme help you-”
>Strolling ahead she came face to face with the stinking mummy, jabbering in some dead tongue about a curse that would plague her family for eons
>”Yeah alright, sounds good.”
>Swinging up she disconnected his head in a smooth swing, a dull thump sounding down the hall as his body collapsed backwards
>The head, rolling slowly down the slope towards his coffin, still shouted a curse here or there as Madeline returned to her waiting companion
>”Everything… okay?”
>”Huh? Yeah, just takin’ care of business like usual.”
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Cushioned Nandroid
>Betty was elated
>It was time for her to ship out to her family
>All the months of practice and training, the intense devotion to her maidly studies, it all led up to this
>Reclining into the humble crate she'd be shipped in she settled into a long, dreamless sleep


>A hand graced her own, a gentle glow there waking her up
>Rising out of the packing peanuts and into the open air she met with familiar face from the dossier she’d memorized before
>“Good morning, Mister Burton! My name is Betty, and I’ll-”
>“What in the hell,” he muttered, his face locked in abject confusion. “This some kind of joke?”
>“Sir?”
>“Th-Those,” he spat, pointing at her chest, embarrassed
>She looked down in surprise, as dumbfounded as he was- then the realization set in
>“Oh! It seems given your dossier I was shipped as a low-impact model,” she beamed. “I wish they’d told me beforehand, though…”
>“I need to go make a call.”

>From the next room she heard the Mister shouting, incredulous, into the phone
>“What kind of jokes are you pulling over there huh?! I oughta come over there and ring your neck for this, I mean- Yes. Yes? Oh, go to hell!”
>The phone smashed into place he stormed back to the living room where the nandroid was idly dusting, trying to ignore the outburst
>“Looks like I’m stuck with you- ‘no refunds’”
>“Excellent sir,” she turned to him, the man recoiling at the subtle swing of her chest. “Would you like me to prepare dinner?”
>She stepped closer to him, meeting his eyes
>Too close it seemed, the man’s face reddening and starting to sweat
>“Could you -ahem- please back up?”
>There was a less than subtle squish against his chest, a pillowy flattening of her synthetic b*som as she stepped just too close
>Not processing exactly what was wrong she stepped closer, thinking he hadn’t heard her
>“Sir? It’s already afternoon. Would you like me to begin my first dinner for you and your family?”
>The pressure was too much for him, his face beet-red as he raced for what to do
>“Sir are you alright, do you have a fever? I could-”
>“I’m fine, Betty,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her away. “Please, heh, please get to dinner.”
>“Right away sir!”
>The little robot sped, bouncing, off to the kitchen
>The man sighed in relief, the brief, questioning nightmare over
>There’d be hell to pay once the wife came home and he tried to assure her of his utter fealty in light of this
>Wiping his brow he thanked God there wasn’t anything more obtrusive than just the… size of them- no merciless points to that squeeze to make him question things anymore than he wanted
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Cushioned Nandroid II
>Mr. Burton sat at his kitchen table, waiting anxiously for the door to swing open
>The nandroid was in the other room preparing dinner; he prayed he'd get to his wife before her
>A key jingled in the lock, Mrs. Burton cracking the door open and sighing
>Slumping over at the table, tired, her husband tried to nudge her up
>"Honey, I've got something to say," he sputtered. "It's about the nandroid?"
>"Oh," she yawned, "did it come already?"
>"Well, yes, but-"
>"But what?"
>"But... but- I didn't order it that way, okay! They sent us the robot like that!"
>"Like what," she half-stared
>"Like what, sir?"
>The robot was behind him, dinner almost ready, but Betty was upset now
>"Th-That," he blushed
>His wife stared the robot up and down, eyes widening a little after she caught it
>"Ohhhhhh..."
>"Look, I know it's bad but-"
>"I think it's cute!"
>"Wha-"
>"Yeah, it's cute," she snorted. "I bet she gives great hugs!"
>"I do ma'am! None exceeding five seconds, per policy, though."
>Betty frowned, feeling like she'd disappointed the missus already
>Mrs. Burton stood up, wrapping the robot in a tight, squishing hug
>Betty returned it, smiling
>"Oh, Hal, it's like a teddy bear," she giggled
>"Thank you! You're too kind, Mrs. Burton!"
>"I try, I try... *Harold* has a hard time lightening up, but I think he'll come around."
>"I certainly hope so Mrs. Burton! Now please, dinner will be ready soon."
>Letting the woman go she slipped back into the kitchen, the woman sleepily returning to the table, head on her arms
>"Went better than I hope," Harold remarked. "I just hope this doesn't awake anything in them."
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Cushioned Nandroid III
>”Betty?”
>”Coming Miss!”
>The nandroid bounded back from the kitchen, the hefty sway of her chest trying to pull her to the side and down as she reported for duty
>”Yes ma’am?”
>”Betty we’ll be having visitors today,” she smiled. “Teresa is having a friend over for the night!”
>”That sounds lovely ma’am! Will I be making dinner?”
>”No, it’s not that, we’re doing pizza. But…”
>”But?”
>”Well, the Johnsons have a nandroid of their own, and they’d like her to come as well. Can you play well?”
>”Of course Miss! Sterling nandroids are purpose made to be the best of friends!”
>”You’re a dear Betty, thank you. Can I…”
>”Absolutely!”
>Pulling the Missus into a tight, squishing hug Betty wrapped her arms around the woman, patting her back affectionately
>For a small, extra cost the hug timer was peeled away and she could hold her family for as long as she wanted
>”Thank you dear,” she mumbled
>The Missus turned away to attend to her work, Teresa excitedly passing the time jumping around the kitchen, drumming on the table while waiting for the pizza

>With the pizza arriving Teresa and her friend stole away to her room, steaming slices in hand and a sleeping bag hauled after them
>In the lull Betty scanned around for her fellow robotic companion, the narrower nandroid having disappeared between the arrival of the pizza
>”Jessy? Hello?”
>Poring over the home’s first story, the Mister and Missus taking their leave upstairs as well, she was alone
>Strolling into the living room she locked eyes with her sister nandroid, hands halfway down her dress where a pillowy mound was building
>”Oh! Jessy, perfect!”
>Betty bounced down the tiny half-staircase into the living room, smiling at the fellow robot, her eyes blinking and cheeks spiking high
>”Is everything alrigh- Wait a minute! That’s the Missus’ favorite throw pillow! What are you doing,” she shrieked, rushing ahead
>”Wait, wait! Stop! I’m not stealing anything, just…”
>”There better be a proper explanation for this… this outmoded behavior!”
>Betty glanced at the blocky phone, twisting her body to point
>”That,” Jessy yelped, pointing at the hefty sway in Betty’s turn
>”Wh-What? These,” she gestured, confused. “I was made with them. The family needed a low impact model. You know how it is, but- but mimicry isn’t the way to do it! Nor is theft.”
>”I know, but,” she started to whimper, eyeing Betty’s chest. “They look so… *useful*.”
>”They are! Great for hugs, too,” she smiled, returning her eyes to the sniffling nandroid. “Do you need a hug?”
>She nodded
>Betty hopped over, gently pulling the pillow’s from her new friend’s meager chest
>Pulling her into a warm embrace she patted her back as practiced, whispering gentle affirmations in her ear
>Words she needed to hear, about how she was excellent the way she was and she was doing a splendid job
>The both of them were the pinnacle of Sterling engineering after all, and Sterling was never wrong
>So when she let her go she reminded herself she was made perfect as she was, ideal for *her* job and *her* kid, no matter what
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Nans on a Plane
>The nervous blonde android shuffled up the aisle, apologizing profusely for each stray leg and stretching arm she brushed aside
>Settling into her seat she anxiously tried to slow her breathing, hands flung out for support on the chair in front of her
>”First time?”
>She twisted her head left, eyes locking with the motherly blue of a fellow android, a fellow Sterling at that
>She was dressed up quite nicely, far removed from their standard maid outfits for something a bit more formal, more businessy
>”I don’t usually wear this stuff,” she snickered, “I’d prefer my flightsuit to a pantsuit!”
>”Flight… suit?”
>”Oh, uh, nevermind it.” She stuck a hand out. “Tilly.”
>”Amy,” the other smiled, taking it
>”A pleasure! And where do you find yourself flying to this fine day?”
>”DC,” she murmured
>Doctor Khatri had been awoken to the grim news of his father’s unfortunate illness, Amy dispatched as the Khatri family fire brigade to attend to him while the other three made their arrangements
>”DC! Lovely city and, I’ll be darned, I’m heading there too!”
>”Oh, wow! But,” she paused, wringing her hands in her lap. “Yes, well, this is my first time and-”
>Her eyes widening she peered out the window, the rolling, rocking motion of the airliner already sweeping them forward and off the tarmac
>”Yeah, pretty neat, huh!”
>Turning back to her companion she stopped, Amy’s shaking only intensifying as the subtle pressure of takeoff gave the fluid in her head a sickening squeeze
>”Ah, hey,” Tilly cooed, chuckling. “That’s alright! First flights are rarely easy!”
>She certainly knew that, and then some
>Though regaling her of her times strapped into the nose cones of primitive rockets, or plummeting Earth-ward from them, would do little to calm the shivering nandroid
>”I-I’m alright,” Amy chattered, trying to keep her eyes off the subtle jittering of the wing outside. “Please don’t worry!”
>”Say- you know how we bumped around taking off?”
>”Huh…?”
>Amy nodded, confused
>”It’s not the pilot’s fault.”
>”Well, then-”
>”It’s the asphalt!”
>”Wha-”
>Tilly broke into a snorting laugh, annoyed heads glancing at her before returning to their magazines or music
>”Sorry, sorry,” she breathed, grinning at her partner
>The airliner had planed out, finally cruising softly and quietly
>Mercifully Amy was *ahead* of the engines for her first time in the air
>The duo chatted about their lives and times, Amy sheepishly spilling about how great the Khatris were, how quickly Ajay was learning and growing, how prestigious the Doctor’s work was
>Tilly dipped her head lightly, missing the chance at that kind of life by the whims of Stirling and the federal government
>Glancing out the tiny window to the wispy clouds below, scattered breaks revealing broad, fertile grasslands, she let a smile drift back to her face
>Directing her neighbor’s attention she pointed out some of the more familiar landmarks, larger, closer now at this height, but stunning nonetheless
>She diverged a bit, pointing backwards towards the wing
>Amy craned her neck to see, Tilly explaining in simple terms how the aircraft worked and operated, peppering in a number of teeth-gritting puns to keep the other nandroid’s attention
>Settling back into her plush seat Tilly sighed, job done well enough as the nervous bounce of Amy’s leg subsided
>The two reclined together, wishing the other a blissful rest on the rest of the cross-country journey before slipping backwards into their programmed, dreamful sleep

>At the airport they gleefully departed, wishing the other all the best in the sprawling city
>”Oh,” Tilly shouted across the terminal. “Come look me up if you have the time!”
>”I’ll try! Where are you staying?”
>”The Smithsonian!”
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Glowy Short (OG and Redux)
>Special purpose nandroid shipped to the CIA, huge tax break for Stirling
>Popped out of the box like usual, introduces herself with her first-name designation
>"Hello officers and agents of America's finest, I am Glory! I'll be-"
>"Glory? Paper here says 'Glowy'."
>Evidently there had been a typo along the way- no issue, she would remedy this
>"Sorry, agents, it's *Glory*, and I'm please-"
>They weren't even listening, just snickering over how hilarious it was to have a nandroid on the force
>And now they were mispronouncing her name like some sick British sketch comic
>"Hey! It's *Glory!*"
>"Lookit her cheeks!"
>The others pointed at the fuming saucers of light on either side of her face, flashing angrily at the handful of men
>"You're kidding," another roared, "Glowy's perfect!"
>Silent, Glory drooped her head low and let it wash over her, the still-giggling agents escorting her to the main offices for assignment

>"Glory," Bradbury began. "You're a special nandroid. You're going to be going to places other nandroids could never imagine, and you'll be doing it for America."
>America
>That was the idea drummed into the little nandroid's head since her conception, by the day educated on the resolute excellence and success of the American experiment
>The other droids of her class had normal names: Ruby or Scully or whoever else
>But none of them were her, were *Glory*
>A bit of a pompous name for a nandroid, perhaps, but she lived it to the maximum
>Going as far to take the stiletto knife built into her finger to carve a magnificent little sketch of the flag for who she was named
>Bradbury had a fit over that one but let it slide, the tickle at her scratched plating she she got dressed always a reminder of her duty to the country
>And now she was finally shipping out, far down the eastern seaboard to Langley, Virginia
>Settling into a dreamless, smiling slumber she reminisced of her times acing every question in class, dreaming too of her chance to serve her nation
>Her box pried open she flung awake, giddy and shivering with excitement
>"Good morning! Agents of America's finest, my name is Glory and-"
>"Glory?"
>One of the slick-haired men standing over her wooden crate puzzled at the manila folder in his hand
>"...Yes? My first-name designation is Glory, and it's such a pleasure-"
>"Thing here says Glowy."
>There was a snickering from the other two agents as they hauled her up
>Surely that must be an unfortunate typo, a price of the sterling-clean and magnanimous bureaucracy of the United States
>She would clear it up easily, dusting a handful of wood shavings from her pantsuit
>"I assure you, agents- agents?"
>"Bwing us... Gwowy!"
>The three were looking at the file, laughing to each other at the absurdity of a nandroid in the agency
>"H-Hey..."
>They didn't stop, repeating "Glowy" over and over
>"Hey! It's Glory, NOT-"
>"Lookit her cheeks!"
>"No way," another cackled
>The burning bright saucers on her cheeks flashed angrily at the men, her furrowed brow softening in embarrassment
>Flinging her hands to cover the spots they kept laughing
>"Glowy's perfect!"
>Dipping her head she let the mockery wash over her, the agents escorting her to the main offices once they'd caught their breath
>She prayed for it to be a joke, a bit of friendly hazing, but with a lanyard rung around her neck it was too late
>The little plastic card simply showed her still-blushing face and the brutal typo'd name beneath it
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S*x Ed-scapades
>”Miss Amelia?”
>”...Yes, dear,” the older nandroid sighed. “How can I help?”
>Sitting at her desk in the classroom she turned to the door, one of her students popping her head in
>Flushed cheeks burned in the low light, her dense mess of blonde hair straying into her eyes
>”I wanna know how you do it?”
>”Do what, Amy?”
>She beckoned the nandroid to come sit
>Originally she’d been one of the first, her own behind finding a place in the desks ahead of her as a teacher belted out the wrote commands handed down from Sterling
>She couldn’t recall her name perfectly, just the nicknames
>Her line of nandroids were certainly *roudier* too, the strict woman the butt of too many jokes
>Giggling Amelia turned to Amy, smiling
>”Sorry, dear, what was it?”
>The nandroid paused, wringing her hands in her lap
>It wasn’t a comfortable question by any means, Amelia’s wheelhouse after getting pulled too uncomfortable for some human staff
>Her unfortunate reality was being stuck in the Sterling offices teaching the newer, “better” (a label she resented) nandroids
>Sterling himself had held the release of her line for “reasons” that became painfully clear to Amelia as she and some of her classmates were rotated into their permanent teaching positions
>”...Well, today in class, right,” she paused, cheeklights jumping
>”...Right?”
>”Well, humans have babies, yes?”
>”Yes, and it’s your job to take care of those babies.”
>Reminding herself she’d never see a family hurt at first, settling to an irksome reminder whenever the wide-eyed nandroids asked her a question
>”Well yeah, but- but can nandroids have babies?”
>”No, Amy, nandroids cannot have babies.”
>”Why not?”
>”Because,” Amelia shifted at her desk. “Because we have different parts.”
>”Well, what we learned today makes me think we do!”
>”I- Amy, what?”
>”Well, like,” she spaced her hands out, thinking. “You’re a nandroid?”
>”Yes, Amy, I am a nandroid.”
>”Then why do you look like humans?”
>”Huh? Amy, I don’t-”
>Amy fussed in her seat, trying to capture shape with her hands
>Drawing out a curve with her fingers she was satisfied
>”Oh, that. Well, Amy, you see just because someone *looks* like something doesn’t mean they can do things like that.”
>Hefting up from her desk chair Amelia went to escort Amy out the door, not sure if the nandroid had come just to insult her or if she was genuinely confused
>”But- but!”
>”Amy we can discuss this further tomorrow, okay?”
>”...Okay.”
>Door shut again Amelia sighed, returning to the meager little desk to grade the day’s papers
>Settling, squeezing, into her seat she sighed again
>It never got easier, dealing with the students
>But at the very least this batch would move on and another, hopefully more considerate one would come in
>For what little it mattered at least she could help the nandroids make another family much happier, and that’s all she needed
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Used Nandroids for Sale
>be an employee at a used robotics dealership
>when you signed on you were offered competitive employment and a chance at advancing yourself as a mechanic with extensive on-site education
>of course that was just one of the several lies they used to sucker you in
>at the end of the day you were dumped with sh*tty hours, sh*ttier pay and the sh*ttiest manager
>you spent your days ferrying all manner of used robots around, most stone-still in robotic slumber
>you didn’t get why they couldn’t just wake the damn things up and have them walk themselves around- a question you learned was above your pay grade
>dollying them up and down the show floors, the repeated chastisement from your manager helping little, all you could do is pray you didn’t work Saturdays
>And, squeezing into the tiny, hot back office you scan over the calendar for the week
>There you were, all day Saturday
>You knew none of your coworkers would want or care to switch with you
>They felt your pain, surely, but you all were too deep in the sh*t to take more than your fair share
>Sighing you checked the weather- Saturday was gonna be a scorcher, too
>Great

>Showing up the following weekend, dim as ever, you hobbled over to the employee ‘lounge’
>Sighing again you fuss about in the tiny locker space, hopping into your work uniform
>Its bulbous helmet echoed around you, the poorly tailored, blue shower curtain/dress draped around you trapping more heat inside
>Pulling the steaming white gloves on you were ready
>Smacking your head against the door’s lintel you wobbled out onto the street, sign in hand
>The roar of traffic yards away reverberated in the thing, your poor eyes trying desperately to peer through the smiling mouth of your helmet
>Spinning the sign around you were already coated in sweat, panting like a dog for breath with each twirl and spin
>If you could put some of that heat into the cheeks of the thing it’d sell the illusion better, maybe play like a neon light and lure in some actual customers
>But, like always, hardly anyone showed up to buy a robot
>Trying, and failing, to flip the sign a trio of kids rolled up on you, smacking you three times in turn on the head
>The roaring, smashing ring of the plastic dazed you and, by the time you collected yourself and stood back up your sign was gone, too
>That’d be coming out of your paycheck
>Not to mention he’d find a way to dock your pay somehow for it too
>The Sun setting you sighed once more- quitting time, finally
>Turning around to break your eyes from the blinding, setting sun you miss the scheming motorist rolling his window down up the highway
>Strolling up the sidewalk to turn back into the parking lot you lock eyes with him in the distance, his arm already out the window
>Blinking you watch the styrofoam in-hand, tumbling end over end before smashing into your face, corn-holing perfectly through the mock nandroid head surrounding you
>A deluge of chocolate ice cream splattered across your upper body, trickling cold and sick down your neck and back
>You were too tired to scream, or give chase, or complain
>You just wanted to go home

>And now you had to clean the uniform lest the next poor b*stard to wear it be covered in ants, fruit flies or simply be trapped inside it
>Grumbling you wave a hand to the lone janitor in the building, tramping up to the lounge and throwing the outfit off
>The inside of the stickying helmet was coated in milkshake
>Groaning you went for a bundle of paper towels, reminding yourself to hose it off extra hard once you were done
>The majority of the milkshake soaked up you set to hefting it outside, pausing halfway down the stair as you locked eyes with a tiny nandroid staring back up at you
>That’s… odd
>They weren’t supposed to be active most of the time
>Only for prospective buyers to see them in action
>It made less sense why they were here in the first place, you reminded yourself, but that was besides the point
>Call it a quirk of the rich to throw away nice things
>”H-Hello,” she peeped, cheeks flickering on and off in nervous surprise. “I c-couldn’t help but notice the *mess* and-”
>”Uhhh, Sterling- shutdown.”
>”Uh, oh- ...Sorry?”
>Sh*t
>Manager told you to say that should anything like this happen
>She didn’t seem belligerent or dangerous or anything
>”...Right, well, if it’s alright I can help you clean up!”
>”I’m alright,” you mumbled, stepping past her down the stair. “Just stay there.”
>Strolling outside you twisted the spigot on, hosing down the dumpy outfit
>Fanning the hose left and right you washed out as much as you could, leaving it to sundry in the simmering nighttime- the Sun tomorrow’d get the rest of it
>Hopping back inside you reminded yourself to shut that robot down and lock up, already fussing with the keys in your pocket
>...And she was missing- maybe already halfway across the city knowing Sterling droids
>Rolling your eyes you proceeded back to the lounge- not your problem
>”Oh, hello sir! Sorry for moving but I wet a towel, and-”
>”Sterling, shutdown.”
>”Sir, I’m sorry to be snippy, but that’s not-”
>”Look, I gotta get home and shower, can we please cut this?”
>”Sir?”
>”Just, iunno, go back to charging.”
>”But sir-”
>”No buts, c’mon,” you muttered
>Strolling over you noticed the damp mess of paper towels in her hand, bunched together and dripping on the cheap carpet
>”Aw, fine, go on.”
>Smiling she rubbed away the creamy veneer across your head
>Little could be done for the hardening chunks of it in your hair but, by the time she was done, your face was pleasantly clean of the majority of the mess
>”Thanks, uh-”
>”Zoey.”
>*Zoey*- bit of an unorthodox name for a nandroid, too far out there for most of their typical owner base
>But that wasn’t your business- hell, it might’ve been the reason they sold her
>”Alright Zoey, well, I gotta go home and you gotta go to… bed?”
>She cocked her head at you
>”To charge.”
>”Understood!”
>Snapping to attention she marched herself back down to the show floor again, settling into one of the upright charging stands
>You winced, the idea of sleeping standing after a day on your feet more than enough to get you sore
>Squeezing into your car you thumped the dash to get the AC running
>Window down and fan blasting you cleared out some of the sweet stench of cocoa, nodding your head to the music as you returned home
>At least there was a little bright spot to your Saturday shift today, though you prayed to God no one caught on to what happened in that uniform
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Cindy's Last Fight
>Eyes blinking open the narrow little robot rocked up from her seat
>A brief sniff and her internal clock chimed midnight- the perfect time for sneaking out
>Taking a breath she slipped out of the small nook put aside for her in the attic, tiptoeing down the wooden stair to the home’s second floor
>Creeping down the hall she broke for the first floor, a voice behind pulling her to a stop
>”Cindy,” the Missus yawned. “What’re you doing up?”
>”O-OH! Oh, eheh, you see, miss, I realized I forgot to run the dishwasher!”
>”Oh dear, I’ve got it! You need to charge, anyways-”
>”N-No! I’ve got it, five minutes maximum!”
>”O-Okay, heavens. Well I’ll be back to bed in that case,” she smiled, swirling a paper cup. “Got my water.”
>Smiling weakly Cindy waited until the Missus was gone, making sure to smack an assortment of buttons on the machine
>Grumbling to life the noise would be enough proof she’d gone back to charge
>Sweeping her head around the kitchen one last time she made sure the coast was clear, silently slipping out the front door onto the derelict city streets
>Panting quietly to herself she swerved left and right between the piercing eyes of the streetlights, the route burned into the back of her head since that fateful rendezvous four months ago
>Against all better judgement a small tick in Cindy’s head urged her to take, rather than tear up, the flier some outmode had pushed into her hands
>’Malfunctioning Eddy’s’ was a less than savory name for a robot meeting place but, lacking any nandroid friends, she decided to go
>The meetings were anxiously late at night and she’d nearly waked the whole home on her first midnight excursion
>Ferried down a brick stairway to some abandoned warehouse she was expecting a kind and welcoming circle of robots open to discussion
>Not the jeering faces and shouting masses of drunken human onlookers and the odd robot commentator or, as she was soon to realize, *fighter*

>That first night had awakened something in her, the synthetic nerve that had thumped her heart full of anxiety day in and day out was finally soothed
>Soothed in the bitter bloodsport of illegal robot fights
>Thrown into the crucible she’d emerged, barely, from her first fight
>”A bad fall,” she called it, clinging to the panting, adrenal memory of that night
>She knew she had to go again, they’d even taken her name and made her a nickname
>”THE RE-CIND-ER,” they’d introduce her. “BADDEST MAIDBOT THIS SIDE OF BEACON CITY!”
>Tonight was another meet, Cindy rolling her neck in place
>She’d never opted for the flighty, fancy dress of her competitors
>She was quick enough to dodge most feeble attempts at her, ducking and rolling around and behind slower, older robots with ease
>Her Sterling-blue uniform was a fluttering rebuke to their roguish, violent behavior
>She was everything they wouldn’t, couldn’t, be-  and she loved it
>For the first time since graduating she felt full, powerful, her own robot
>And she was ready to remind whichever slow-moving construction robot she faced tonight of that, diving down the slick concrete steps
>Sauntering through the chainlink walls around her, rolling and stressing her shoulders, she waved off the proffered accoutrements and more that were always forced her way
>She could win on speed and wit alone, she knew- she was Sterling-made: faster, smarter, more agile, *better*
>So when she strolled into the broad concrete ring she wasn’t expecting her opponent to slink snakelike down from the ceiling
>Chittering, spiked legs tick-tacked along the cement floor, peppering and pocking it in step
>A pale face stared back at her, the sinister, broken mirror of her and her many sisters’
>A nandroid was staring back at her, no- two, three, four nandroids and more eyed her in turn with scorn and hatred
>Her chattering limbs danced in place, begging for Cindy to make the first move as the announcer sprung to life

>Announcer belting out her ring name Cindy meekly waved to the crowd, eyes not daring to leave the hulking robot ahead of her
>Introducing her opponent, the loose-limbed, many-minded and full-metal *Ivy* the bell was rung
>The two briefly sized each other up, an instant passing between the dozens of eyes before Cindy sprinted forward, rolling underneath the length of her opponent
>Hands rocketed underneath to nab at her, tearing chunks from her blue dress
>No issue, she calmed herself- temperamental washing machine, or a bad dryer cycle
>Weaseling away from the plucking hands she emerged at the other end of her challenger, a face at the rear meeting hers
>A leg swept out and knocked Cindy off her legs
>Falling hard to the ground, a subtle crack of stress from a backplate, she rolled sideways, just dodging a stabbing kick aimed for her head
>The needle-foot stuck hard in the concrete, its owner and commander grunting in unison to remove it
>Seeing her opportunity Cindy ran for the leg, bounding around and ducking the reaching, grasping hands chasing her
>Pommeling upward onto Ivy’s back Cindy steadied herself, the bristling spine of the robot trying desperately to shake her
>Every android had an emergency shutdown on the back of their head by law, a concealed button all but obvious to the prepared public
>Kids were taught it in high school first aid, policemen and paramedics counted it as one of the most important rules of thumb on the street
>And in school Cindy’d been taught the “Sterling Strike”, the palm-to-head blow designed for all manner of belligerent outmodes
>Crawling her way up, dress plucked to bits by the time she reached the main head, she reared a hand up to smack away
>Dropping her palm hard at the seething machine Cindy expected the entire being to slump to sleep, jaw dropping as only that head did
>The axis of control switched to another head, this one swishing her ponytail aside and grinning at dazed maidbot clinging to her back
>This fight was not over just yet

>Twisting about Cindy made ready to repeat the process as many times as need be, hands gripping the metallic shell beneath her as best she could
>Hauling her way back down a hand plucked her away and threw her to the ground
>Another crack rocked her head and upon standing, bow-legged, a drizzle of viscous blue fluid trailed from her eye
>Shaking her head she dizzily approached the creature again, a head stooping low to mock her
>Poor decision, she thought, smacking it hard in the back
>Breathing deep again she reminded herself not to go for style
>It was about survival now, plain and simple, and where survival came first so did speed
>Shaking her head again she stowed herself beneath the rumbling robot, arms and legs crossing and splaying against each other uselessly
>Two heads down, three (she guessed) to go
>The swinging motion of the arms missed her by an inch here and a foot there, only when a head popped down to watch her did she have to put any thought into sneaking through
>As each of the awake heads took a turn to spot her and attack she marked their rough positions, rolling out from underneath her when the time was right
>Not a moment too soon, Ivy’s slowed thinking had her try and crush the offending nandroid as she dropped to the floor with a seismic tumbling
>Jittering to her feet Ivy struggled to find her legs, Cindy wobbling ahead on her legs as the trickle down her face pooled at her upper lip
>Jumping up again she spied the first of the three heads, a meek black bob shooting away in fear as Cindy seized on the opening
>Whipping her hand to the base of the head it slacked down in slumber, some foolish outmode-engineer failing to protect the spots from attacking hands

>Cindy leapt to the other side and clung desperately to the teetering robot’s side, another head popping angrily up to watch her
>Spotting Cindy, eyes wide, a hand flung towards her
>Ducking her hand the arm facepalmed into the second to last head and knocked it back, Cindy swinging towards the last one, a bap on the neck sending it to sleep
>Marching up the spine, losing her footing on the crumbling robot, she locked eyes with the last robot
>A messy shock of warm hair whirled around, a laurel of flowers adorning her as she met Cindy’s eyes
>In the depth of her memory she could have been a classmate, a friend, a confidant
>Not an enemy
>She blinked nervously, Cindy lurching ahead
>Pressing the notch in, hard, the whole robot rocketed to the ground
>Tumbling over, her feet failing her, Cindy went for the exit
>Pulling herself up she hobbled left and right, grabbing past the cheering crowd
>She just wanted to go home, to go home and forget the chilling look shared with the Sterling-clean face that had looked back at her
>Stumbling up the slick stairs she flew out into the street
>The pouring rain washed her face clean of the offending blue syrup, the diluted ooze seeping into her collar and over her neck
>She raggedly tried to find balance, her head spinning and screaming for order as she spun aimlessly
>Holding a lamppost for support she oriented herself, damning her twirling, crossing eyes for not focusing too
>She knew vaguely where she was, the neighborhood familiar enough to navigate home by way of blurry images and sound
>Staggering to a street corner, she swung her head left and right, ready to cross
>Stepping down the curb she rocked forward, reeling backward and overcompensating as she leant out into the street and tried to arrest herself upright
>Failing, she tumbled down onto the wet asphalt
>Shakily raising herself to her knees she turned her head, the blurred light of an oncoming truck blinding her on the ground
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Dolly and Maurice
>”Awright Dolly I’m headin’ out for the week, you take good care’a the home, y’hear?”
>”Absolutely Missus! Have an excellent week!”
>Waving the blonde woman out the door, hip-swinging left and right down her driveway and into a waiting car with her husband, the nandroid sent her away
>Snipping it shut she turned to the sprawling mansion, a beautifully ornate home and testament to the Missus’ exquisite taste, and more so her wealth
>Brushing her hands past each other she set to work, the list of daily chores ticked off one by one in her head, falling to the most important at the bottom
>”Feed Maurice,” she whispered to herself, pacing to the kitchen to tear a generous handful of leaves from his special head of lettuce
>Premium eats for the Missus’ premium pal, sprinkling his vitamin powder and medicine on one and folding it in
>Stepping through the empty home to Maurice’s special room she peaked in, the jungly warmth and carefully curated humidity sticking at her face and hair
>”Alright Mister, dinner ti- Maurice?”
>The broad glass terrarium was empty, vacant of its green tenant
>The sunning rock was barren, heating lamps idly burning for a reptilian not there, his little grotto undisturbed as a waterfall bubbled idly nearby
 >”Oh no, Maurice,” she called into the vacant room, praying he was near, looking for the spined head ready to pop up at the disturbance
>No such thing happened, Dolly nervously dumping his dinner behind the glass as she laid out her plan
>Anxious she knew he’d only seek out the Missus’ voice, her sweet, sing-song speech luring him around like a housecat
>Throwing a finger up she slinked off to her study, the record player there the surefire solution to lure him back out, ready to be scooped up and returned home
>Flipping through the discography in the spacious office she selected the song she’d always sing for him as he snoozed on her warm lap, curled into her country jeans late at night, popping it on the record player
>Gently dropping the needle into the groove just before the song it hissed silently, muddying as it ground along
>Her famous voice was stuck in the aged needle, Dolly cursing the thing’s age before panicking and lifting the stylus away
>Checking the record nervously she didn’t see a scratch, neatly replacing it in its sleeve
>At this rate, though, Maurice was likely disappeared into some corner of the house or escaped into the surrounding Appalachian landscape or, if he was still inside, dangerously close to eating or drinking something he shouldn’t
>Dolly whipped herself into a frenzy checking room after room for her namesake’s pet, popping into the woman’s personal music room
>Delightfully antique instruments, a veritable feast of bluegrass necessities, lined the walls from floor to ceiling
>Heirloom banjos and mandolins and fiddles were neatly arranged in place, ready for their owner to pluck them from the wall and give them a ring in the little studio
>Her own hand trembled at her side, the plan in her head to lift one from its pegs and into her delicate arms- she’d seen Missus play them enough, she figured she could do it
>Breathing deep she roped one of the banjos over her shoulder- she’d seen the lady play it countless times entertaining guests, it couldn’t be *that* hard
>And, slowly plucking out the familiar tune the iguana loved, it wasn’t- it came delightfully natural to her hands, plucking and playing the twanging instrument like a natural
>Breaking into the groove of some other of the woman’s pieces she stalked the home, eyeing around for the devilish little reptile
>Hand to her mouth, cheeks flushing, she swallowed her jubilant playing- Maurice wanted to hear the voice, not the singing
>Dolly was much less convinced of her singing prowess, let alone her ability to mimic the uniquely feminine, Tennessean tongue her owner sang and spoke in
>Breathing deep she let slip a singular note, sitting down in her favorite rocker for knitting, slowing breaking down into her personal favorite song of her owner’s, a gentle, sweet song sung from her heart about growing up poor, and the beautiful things her mother made in spite of it
>Before she could slip into the second verse the phone rang, it’s old, warbling chirp making her jump
>Flipping the banjo up to her back she nervously picked it up
>”Dol- Miss Parton, e-everything alright?”
>”Heya Dolly! Jus’ wanted to let ya know we took Maury with us,” she cooed, nuzzling the phone against the silent reptile for a ‘hello’. “So you ain’t gotta worry none about his home, have a good week dear!”
>With a crackle she hung up, Dolly slowly lowering the handset into place
>Hours wasted she felt the weight of the banjo on her back, slinging it back around
>Plucking out a tune of her own she sat back down, content to spend her week practicing
>She knew the Missus wouldn’t mind a little bit of wear on the delightful instrument, her narrow fingers picking out a more familiar, local tune
>Rays of light glanced through the west windows, catching on the tight skin over its body and reminding Dolly not to worry as much over such things, choosing to keep on the sunnier side of life for her week off
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Amelia: Gym Class
>Springtime, or any time outside, was Amelia’s favorite part of teaching
>She took full advantage of the pleasant weather when she could, whisking her assembled students outside for some kind of sports practice so she could get some sunlight
>Not to mention time away from the sickening fluorescent glow of the classroom
>The girls didn’t really *get* sports, but it was better than being stuck inside and marking out rules and playing clips to teach them the fundamentals of games they’d never play again outside of the classroom
>It was incredibly important, she reminded them, to know their sports- once their future families started to become active there’d be a vital need for at-home practice and advice
>If a nandroid lacked that expertise, however niche, it would reflect poorly not just on the poor maidbots but their families and, worst of all, Sterling
>That line always got their attention, the girls hurriedly changing into their outdoor clothes to practice some team game ripped from human curriculums or to play idly with whatever Amelia poured out of the netted sports bag
>Today, though, all she needed was the bright red rubber ball cradled under her arm
>It was an immaculate day, the perfect storm of high pressure, clear skies and shimmering sunshine
>Rolling up the projector screen early and clipping their health lesson short she whisked the groaning robots out of their seats
>The little show of insubordination was all they could muster- some other teacher had reminded them to respect their elders (though they’d never dare call her that to her face), other subroutines in their heads guiding them to a quiet respect for the older model

>Marching outside, crisp Spring wind ruffling and messying their carefully styled hair, the nandroids followed ‘Miss Amelia’ around the Sterling offices to the dusty practice fields they kept for just these moments
>Rounding them up into a tight bunch, a sharp glare quieting the more gossipy nans, she turned her head to the dismal little baseball diamond across from them
>As important as Sterling insisted athleticism was to their mission statement they certainly weren’t willing to pay much for it
>”Alright girls,” Amelia began, lifting up the dusty red ball in her arms. “*This* is a kickball.”
>”My goodness,” Amy gasped
>”There’s more.”
>”No…”
>”...Right, well- this is for today’s game, *kickball*,” she continued, turning about
>Dropping the ball she punted it across the weedy grass, a rubbery bounce carrying it back into the rattling chain link fence behind home plate
>”You remember us talking about baseball, yes?”
>A shock of bright orange, unkempt hair nodded enthusiastically
>”Thank you Avery- so, if we remember baseball,” she continued, splitting the group into two halves, “*you* will be first up to bat, and *you* will be fielding. Only difference is we kick the ball instead of batting, and roll instead of throwing. Understood?”
>A shuffle of heads nodded out of sync, the group ambling to their spots leaning on the fence or nervously standing to ‘bat’

>”C’mon Polly, kick it,” Molly shouted from the fence
>Franny nervously wound up on the mound, wheeling her arm back up and shooting it hard down the middle
>Bouncing the ball skipped past home plate, Polly kicking high and hard as it whizzed past
>”That’s three Polly, good try,” Amelia sighed, rounding a finger as the teams switched sides
>Stepping up to bat Franny stared down the pony-tailed nandroid on the mound, Mally bouncing the ball menacingly in front of her
>Pulling into a tight bowler’s stance she whipped the ball towards home, Franny kicking uselessly- foul, foul and a pop fly straight into Emmy’s arms
>Her team was down, down by a lot
>After more went up to bat there was a second out, bases loaded
>And, sauntering up to the plate in her backwards shorts and stained gym shirt, Amy was there
>Blonde hair puffed in the prevailing wind she stuck her tongue out, pointing far off into the sun before shielding her eyes
>Not a good look
>Gently moving Amy out of the way she stepped to the plate
>”He- Wait! That isn’t fair, Miss-”
>”I’m just having some fun Molly, for old time’s sake, okay?”
>Stretching her neck she took her spot behind the plate, thick, stable legs anxious for action
>The heavy things stared back at Molly, hundreds of pounds of power coiled inside the early-model nandroid legs- a far cry from the narrow, needley things the pitching nandroid stood on
>She had to be careful with Miss Amelia on the plate, sneaky
>Polly blinked at her from behind the Missus, bouncing her fingers neatly
>Smirking Molly new what she had to do, rolling into shape again and popping the ball up with her fingers at the end of its run
>It was a dastardly trick, not *strictly* illegal in the cutthroat sport of kickball, but bouncies were certainly frowned upon
>Breathing deep Amelia focused on the hopping rubber ball, swinging her dense leg back and square into the things round face, the rubber compressing where her foot connected with it

>With a rubbery punt it rocketed up and away, launched far towards the looming white office building
>Too busy rounding the bases with Franny’s more fortunate teammates, Amelia failed to notice the sharp hole punched into one of the top-floor office windows, the floor-to-ceiling glass busted open
>Turning she saw the busted window, ducking instinctively- they hadn’t been seen *yet*, though Bradbury would be back any minute now
>Eyes wide she blew her whistle, whipping the nandroids back into line and marching them, double time, back inside
>Better to be innocently teaching some inane health lesson than to be caught outside, even with how beautiful today was
>One by one she reminded the girls that they had never had nor ever would have a red ball, let alone any knowledge of the sport of kickball
>”Understood, girls,” she puffed, her spiel over
>They all nodded quietly, Amelia turning to bring the pulldown screen back open
>Clicking the projector on she settled back at her desk, fumbling with her hastily-thrown on blouse- backwards, somehow
>Yanking her arms in to twist it around, the girls awkwardly shuffling in their seats, a hand shot up
>”Yes, Avery?”
>”Miss Amelia,” she cleared her throat. “Would it be possible, weather permitting of course, to, perhaps, partake in more outdoor activity? I feel, personally *and* as a member of the class-”
>”Yes, Avery, we can play more outside.”
>The nandroid rocked a fist at her side- the professional act *always* worked
>Amelia would love to be outside, not the stuffy basement classroom they were stuck in
>But education, in the form of painfully dull slideshows from the Sterling Teaching Division, came first
>”*Later*,” she chided, flipping to the first slide. “Now, as a club sport, soccer began in 1848…”
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Better Call Saul Shitpost
>I am not crazy!
>I know she swapped those times.
>I knew it was 1:00 PM.
>One after noontime brunch.
>As if I could ever make such a mistake.
>Never. Never!
>I just - I just couldn't prove it.
>She covered her tracks, she got that idiot at the invitation shop to lie for her.
>You think this is something? You think this is bad?
>This? This chicanery?
>She's done worse. The twins! Are you telling me kids just happen to be late like that?
>No! *She* orchestrated it! Franny!
>She *suffocated* the *baby*! And I saved her!
>And I shouldn't have.
>I took her into my own neighborhood! What was I *thinking*?
>She'll never change. She'll *never* change!
>Ever since the factory, *always* the same!
>Couldn’t keep all the recipes in her head.
>But not our Franny!
>Couldn't be precious *Franny*!
>Stealing them blind!
>And *SHE* gets to be a nandroid? What a sick joke!
>I should've stopped her when I had the chance! And you-
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Amity Fundraiser
>"Father, I don't know..."
>"Come on dear," the priest pleaded, hefting the sign into her arms. "Do it for the church! You've seen the state of the hymnals, yes?"
>Amity winced at the image, the cheap paperback books frayed, discolored or wholly absent their covers
>They were a nightmare, on top of the horribly out of date (and equally worn) missals, the copies of the catechism for the students, and the grim need to renovate after the parishioners started getting nosebleeds
>Sighing Amity took the cardboard crucifix in hand, marching out to the curb where Father Gioia directed her
>Behind her the parish's best was laid out on their nicest folding tables, the twin Jefferson women baking up a storm in their old age for the bake sale
>Bake sale-cum-car wash Amity reminded herself, the beating sun warming her habit unomfortably
>Breathing again she held the flimsy sign in her hands, the church's name grossly scribbled across one side
>Pointing it up the road and towards the church parking lot she wobbled it, pointing
>"How *protestant*," she mumbled to herself, waving to passing cars and jumping around some
>She put a little more pep into it, apologizing under her breath for the myriad sins she knew she was committing
>She didn't want to dwell on that though, shooing the thought from her head as a small sedan turned the corner
>Window rolling down a shaded man popped his head out
>"Hello sir-"
>"Hey," he smacked, jaws crushing a piece of gum in his mouth, "you know the nearest auto place? Think I popped a ti-"
>"I can help sir!"
>Amity perked up, gently leaning the sign on the curb
>"But you gotta promise me something," she smiled, sauntering up to his open window
>Reaching inside of her habit she removed one of the ancient (pre-Vatican II) booklets about the church and forced it inside at him
>"We can call a pickup for you sir! Please, come in and park- we have refreshments!"
>Nodding he took the tiny paper, shoving it in the console beside him
>"...Right, yeah thanks but I just need directions."
>Amity frowned, the image of a soul slipping away in front of her
>"W-Wait, sir! We have poundcake!"
>His head popped up a touch, pleased at the sound of that
>"That doesn't sound *too* bad," he whispered to himself, the eager robot leaning in. "...Sure, why not."
>Waving Amity ferried the man in, gleefully shimmying in place before picking up her sign again
>She looked at the weak little thing, bending slightly in the breeze
>Maybe it was a bit... *sacrilegious* to use it like that, but if it was for the church it had to be good!
>Nodding to herself she hopped back up from the curb, putting a bit more pep into her moves
>A helicoptering here, an around-the-back trick there to woo passersby as well
>Ogling kids thumped on windows as they passed, a fraction of the time loud enough to drag their parents in to grab something quick
>And even then just for the home-brewed black coffee the Mathesons brought to the party
>Sugar, kids and a long car ride were a poor combination Amity told herself, snippets of nandroid school poking through her more recent parochial position
>It was getting late now, the Summer sun dipping lower towards the horizon
>Huffing she hadn't seen a car in the past hour and decided to start the march back from the main road towards the church lawn
>Jumping in surprise as she crested the hill the distressed motorist waved at her
>A tow truck was idling nearby, bordered by several other cars
>"Hey," he shouted, "I called for some friendsh!"
>A crumble of poundcake ran down his chin as he smiled, burly blue-collar types mingling around him
>Amity slapped her forehead, forgetting the opposite end of the church grounds, namely the only road wide enough to let a tow truck through
>Cheeks blinking awake in the emerging twilight she smiled deeply, the little posse camped across the lawn clearing the tables of the parish's loving contributions
>Skipping through the parking lot she hefted the sign into Father Gioia's surprised hands, trotting off to church
>Sliding into the nearest pew she dropped to her knees, the old, wrinkled leather knee rests devoid of any padding after years of use
>Clapping her hands together she thanked the Good Lord for his work bringing people together, her hand tracing a cross across her body in further thanks
>Slumping backwards, battery tired and low from her long day, she slipped asleep in her pew, dreaming of the new, glossy gospel books and shimmering hymnals
>And they'd be able to update (and laminate) the missals, not to mention reinstate the parish newsletter
>Maybe it was worth twirling that sign, with as much as it irked her, if it could do all that good
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Molly Mother's Day
>"Be good," the Missus smiled, slipping out the door with her husband
>Molly smiled wide, nodding and waving as the duo piled into their car
>There was a special conference this weekend and leading into the next, quite the occasion for the Mister's work in the petroleum industry
>Business trips were terribly common but ones where Missus Mendenhall tagged along were not
>Molly sighed contentedly, ready to set to her chores
>Corbin would be sleeping in, and the Mendenhall's two teenagers were away, off doing better things at friends' houses
>The dogs were fed, the several planter beds watered, kitchen tidied and breakfast prepared
>Now to wake Corbin- the Missus left a number of activities for the growing boy, and the Mister wanted him to read up on some of the latest developments out of the oil embargo
>Sauntering upstairs, fluffing her pony tail, she knocked on the boy's door
>Expecting no response from the slumbering young man she cracked the door
>With a shout and a scramble Corbin dived to cover his desk, glue spilling messily on its hardwood surface
>Glitter trailed on the tabletop to a folded bit of cardstock stowed behind his back
>"...Good morning, Corbin."
>"M-Morning, Molly!"
>"Is everything alright? You're up early."
>"Y-Yes, Molly," he coughed, "Is Mom downstairs?"
>"Nope! But we have *breakfast* downstairs!"
>"Oh..."
>"Come now, eggs and bacon downstairs!"
>"Okay," he sighed, following the smiling nandroid downstairs
>Her chipper attitude did little to perk the boy up however
>Molly cleaned up the mess from breakfast, the massive kitchen flooded with pale morning light as Corbin poked at the quivering heap of eggs
>Molly clapped her hands past each other, satisfied with the immaculate order around the kitchen sink and range
>"Breakfast good, Corbin?"
>The boy mumbled, forcing a smile as he put away a bite for her
>His head stared into the drizzly skies outside, a cold front moving in
>"Everything alright, Corbin?"
>"Mhm."
>"Would you... Would you like to talk about it?"
>Corbin shivered in place
>"Talking about it" was not a Mendenhall trait
>"I'm okay." He sniffed at his breakfast, the lukewarm mass unappetizing, incomplete at the massive hardwood table. "Just tired. Do you... Do you know when Mom and Dad will be back?"
>"The Mister and Missus will be back next Sunday, dear."
>"Oh..."
>Any instilled instinct of Mendenhall pride dissolved with a look at the boy's cold face, stirring around on his plate
>Alone in the house, alone in the world
>"Are you sure everything is alright?"
>"I-," he paused, not wanting to look 'weak'. "I made something for mom... for mother's day?"
>"Oh, that's lovely!"
>"Well, now she won't get it..."
>Molly frowned, trying her damnedest to cheer the boy up
>Typical nandroid etiquette held that never, under no circumstances should she try and supplant the Mister or Missus
>Seeing Corbin sigh there, though, was too much
>"We could celebrate it together, Corbin," Molly smiled, "make it a day!"
>The boy cheered up a touch, poking a bit more enthusiastically as he finished his breakfast
>"That sounds... nice," he whispered, pushing his chair in
>Hopping upstairs he fussed around on his desk, charging down stairs to the kitchen again
>"That was quick!"
>"Well, I had a lot of it done," he muttered, embarrassed. "And I was gonna finish it this morning for mom-"
>"She'll be home soon, I'm sure she'd love-"
>"But I want you to have it!" He thrust the little card out at her. "You're... there for me Molly."
>He rubbed his shoulder as she took the card
>She nervously plied it open, stray, undried glue sticking the pages anxiously together
>"Oh..."
>Molly gasped in mute surprise, the juvenile swirl of Corbin's early cursive spelling out a love letter to Mom-hood, to caretakers and more
>"Corbin, this is lovely, your mother will love this! Your penmanship has improved considerably!"
>Molly took pride in that, the hour daily spent tutoring the boy on his cursive, another thing to weigh over-
>No, not to weigh over anyone, not to brag to any of her trolly stop friends
>It was her accomplishment, done for him and no one else
>*That* was something to take pride in
>"It's more- more for you Molly."
>The robot sighed, cheeks touching up a shade where they hadn't in ages
>Warm and glowing she knelt down besides him
>"That's very sweet Corbin." She pulled him into a tight, swaddling hug. "But your Mom's been there for you since the start, and she'll still be there. Now- how do you wanna celebrate?"
>"Well... what's left?"
>"Sorry?"
>"What haven't you done today?"
>"Well, there's still the laundry, the dogs need to be walked, the-"
>"On it!"
>The blonde boy hopped up, scurrying up and around the home
>Molly smiled- maybe she *could* take the day off, so long as Corbin was supervised
>And going on a walk together outside seemed incredibly nice, even with the weather
>Grinning she slipped over to the little mudroom where she charged, taking up her dense blue Sterling poncho, the heavy wool sagging her shoulders just a touch
>"Corbin!" She shouted upstairs for him, settling the cloak around herself. "Go get Major and Duke, before it starts raining more!"
>"Okay!"
>The scratch of long nails on hardwood skittered through the broad kitchen, the angular dogs flopping along the glossy floors with Corbin in tow by their leashes
>"Ready to go?"
>The boy yanked on the overactive pups, nodding enthusiastically at Molly
>"Then let's go!"
>Lauging the little duo escaped outside, the patter of springtime drizzle shooing them along the Sunday sidewalks, towed along behind the galloping dogs
>It was a bit more hectic than a nandroid would like it, but Molly wouldn't want to spend her Mothers' Day any other way
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Noelle Goes for Ice Cream
>A knock at her door Noelle picked her head up
>"Come in. Oh," she sighed. "Nate."
>"H-Hey, Noelle!"
>"What do you need?"
>"Nothing, nothing! Though I have-"
>"A new mod, hm?"
>"...Yes."
>She groaned again, the boy's proclivities a bit much even for her
>She'd get up in the morning and change only to see a body unfamiliar to her, alien and increasingly surrendered to Nate's desires
>"Nate, I don't," she paused, searching for the words. It wouldn't be easy to say this at all. "I don't think I'd like to keep being... modded this way."
>"But-"
>"No buts! I...," she stopped again, smothering her face in her hands. "I'm not a- a plaything, to be poked at and- and *prodded*!"
>"No-Noey..."
>She turned to him, hefting her silicone breasts in hand, boring a hole through him
>Fuming blue eyes burned at the bag hanging by his side, no doubt housing whatever new tool sat inside
>"Something more for these? Hm?" She picked up from the small desk she sat at. "More 'mommy milkies!!!', yeah?"
>"N-No, Noelle, I-"
>"Give me that!"
>She grabbed the bag out of his hand, crinkling paper and twisting twine ripped asunder as she held the box in her hand
>"What the hell *is* this?"
>"It's, well, I-" He swallowed hard, straightening his glasses. "Last week, right? You and me... you asked what things were- were like to taste, to eat..."
>Noelle flipped the box over in her hands, some mechanical gourmand pinching his fingers in delight
>The glossy Papa Elettrone logo winked back at her, a complex little machine shaking and waiting inside the box
>A deeply complicated assortment of chemical analyzers for taste and flavor simulation and interpretation would replace the inside of her mouth
>A helpful gastric replacement also served to catch whatever the nandroid would 'eat'- with a toothbrush and water they were good to go
>"...Sorry, I- It was rude of me to-"
>"No, no," she shook her head, "this is nice."
>A little smile touched her face, disappearing before Nate could pull his shivering head up and see it
>"...You're not mad?"
>He wouldn't be off the hook that easily
>"I am, a little. But maybe we should talk more over *dinner*, huh Natey?"
>Smirking she slipped her sweater over her head, tossing it and her gossamer button-up aside
>"Let's get to installing it then, hm?"
>Nate forced himself to smile, Noelle popping herself on the side of the bed
>"Well?"
>"Coming!"
>Clipping her chestplates away he set to relocating her pseudolung, the gentle push and pull at the organ stopped as he twisted it out
>"This'll be a bit... weird."
>The primary tracheal branch where it attached was split now, Nate worming the y-shaped tube in his hands and positioning the piping right in her chest
>First he tuned the small valve separating the lung and 'stomach', a prompt to Noelle watching it flap gently back and forth
>Breathing slowly he twisted the pseudolung back into place, followed by its new neighbor in Noelle's chest cavity
>Plates snapped back into place she shivered, breathing in hard and deep to remind herself nothing was broken
>Buttoning her shirt back up she sighed contentedly, eyeing the young man as he scooped up his tools
>"So, *Natey*, what'll you be treating me to?"
>"O-Oh! I, well, erm, what would *you* like, Noey?"
>"Well...," she stopped, head bobbing to the side. "Maybe something *sweet*?"
>"Mhm?"
>"Something *creamy*?"
>"Oh?"
>She was getting into this
>Setting Nate up was almost as much fun as snatching it from under him
>"Something... *dairy-related*, maybe?"
>Nate's eyes shot wide open
>"Oh, really? Well, I, if you *want*, Noelle-"
>"Yes, Nate, *yes*," she cried, "I *do* want it!"
>"Some ice cream, Nate.
>"All ready to go?"
>"Yep!"
>Nate hopped into his other sneaker, pulling the shoe tight around his foot
>The car keys jingled in his hand as he followed her out the door
>The Summer weather was a bit too oppressive for her dense sweater, a light blouse and skirt taking its place
>Not to mention her sunhat, perched idly on the hat rack before she whipped it off and onto her head
>Hopping out into the fresh air and blue skies the pair slipped out of the driveway, out and northbound to a familiar destination
>One of Nate's childhood haunts, the tiny ice cream shop was still kicking after all these years
>Pulling into the parking lot, weaving through visitors crossing the asphalt, Nate parked
>"So..."
>"So what?"
>"You want me to grab it, or-"
>"Let's go together, *Natey*."
>A kind hand on his leg pushed the driver's-side door open, rising drafts of hot air flushing his face from the baking ground
>Sidling up together towards the order window Nate fidgeted in place
>It was one thing to have a nandroid with you in public, but another to have one so... different in shape and form saunter up with a boy at her side
>In her arms, onlookers corrected themselves, Noelle looping an arm around Nate's as they walked up
>"H-Hello," he stuttered, an indifferent teen cashier eyeing him from behind the glass
>"What can I get you," she chewed between the pops of a chewing gum bubble
>"Uh, well," he panned across the options. "Oh! A cup of peach ice cream for me, and-"
>"A cup of coffee ice cream, please."
>"That'll be 8.49," she smacked
>Paying the two slipped away with their ice cream, taking a seat in some removed corner of the broad patio
>"Well...?"
>"Well what, Nate?"
>"Aren't you gonna have a bite?"
>Noelle stared at the little cardboard cup in front of her, eyeing it warily
>"N-No... you go ahead."
>Nate happily dug at the pale orange little heap in front of him, Noelle staring at a nervous spoonful in front of her mouth
>Nate's eyes wandered away to watch Noelle, the robot glaring at him
>"Oop, sorry..."
>"Hm."
>Staring at the cheap plastic spoon she finally took her last breath before diving in, the half-molten puddle in the spoon popped in her mouth
>It was rich, slightly bitter and just barely acidic
>They took the care of making it with real coffee, but sadly not *great* coffee
>And she could tell, now
>Not by the other sense she'd been gifted as a robot, not even with a more refined sense of smell from tweaks and mods here or there
>She liked those ones, though, getting to wear perfume and really own it, or just sniffing a flower
>But this was different
>The rich, dark notes of *coffee* pure and clean stuck in her mouth, slid around on her warming tongue
>A specialized food preheater liquidized the ice cream, the mechanical analogs to a human's tastebuds firing in delight at the sweet and bold ice cream
>And then she swallowed, the delightful sensation disappeared
>Was this how it always was, she wondered, when humans ate?
>Just another bite disappearing into some void, forcing her to take-
>Another, larger one now
>And fully frozen, not some slushy mess of dripping cream
>She didn't bother to look at Nate's wide eyes or his empty bowl, all she needed was that immaculate spoonful in her mouth
>She smiled, warmly, for the first time in too long
>"...That was... very nice, Nate. Thank you."
>Got to keep appearances up, though
>"Really?"
>"Really," she grinned, putting another away. "I can't believe I've- oh OHHHAHH-"
>"Noelle? Noelle," Nathan tapped, the nandroid clutching the sides of her head
>Her skull pounded and twisted in pain, that last spoonful not going down as smooth as its predecessors
>It had left behind a mess in its wake, freezing cold triggering neuro-muscular responses and insulating responses- keep the dominant wires and nerves warm and clear, it demanded, no matter the cost
>The cost, as Noelle shivered in place, was a deep, panging headache
>Her brain froze in thought, any idea of what was happening or how discarded as she clutched at her head
>The sunhat bent and bowed with her clawing hands, Nate giggling beside her
>"I-It's n-not, fffunnny," she chattered
>"Of course it is! It's brain freeze!"
>The young man laughed, clearly not *understanding* the trouble here
>'Brain freeze' didn't begin to capture it, the glacial seizing in her head hammering about the place
>"Here, try this," he demonstrated, rubbing his thumb warm and forcing it to the roof of his mouth
>Nate had spent enough time modifying Noelle here and there to learn that her workings were a lot like his own, weirdly so
>Noelle rolled her pounding eyes and forced a thumb into her mouth
>The warm finger working its way in she was pleasantly surprised at the relief that came with it
>Slow at first, maybe, but the best thing in the world when it did
>Nate wasn't off the hook though
>"Ow! Hey..."
>Slapping his arm she made her point clear
>"I wish you had warned me about... cold things."
>"Well, I've eaten enough ice cream for you to know *that*."
>"Hey, no lip- I could very well have been hurt."
>"By ice cream?"
>He couldn't refuse the little joke, snickering to himself
>"..Fine, it wasn't *that* bad. I can agree that the coffee ice cream here is quite nice, yes."
>Nate smiled at her, happy enough that their trip hadn't been wasted
>Whatever they had at home was freezer burned to hell anyways, better her first taste be out some place like this
>Though coffee and its frozen dairy derivatives were quite a ways apart he reminded himself
>"Gosh, Noey, just wait til you try the real thing!"
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