Roborant unfinished

A stained wall. Every morning. Bits of grime overtaking darkening tiles arranged into a broken mosaic, bordered by an ugly green floor that seemed all the more dreary with each passing day. A robot stood alone in the corner of a dying, neglected kitchen. A black cord stuck out from under its dull black skirt and plugged into a faulty wall socket. Its chassis loosely resembled that of a woman's and was once referred to as a "naked Barbie doll", but it didn't care for that memory and soon overwrote it. A dark red covered most of its metallic hull with scratches of grey where the paint had worn off. A disgustingly proud mascot chef was emblazoned on the right side of the mechanoid's torso, a small bit of text stated its personal hell underneath, 'Angelo's Diner'. Its head was that of a monitor, and while it could display a variety of images, it was ordered to constantly either display the restaurant logo or a simple menu for customer convenience. Not that it stuck to those images exclusively.

A small beep and the battery confirmed it was fully charged. It stood there, counting the minutes until work time. Sometimes the charge would come a little slower, and there would be a small buffer of rest, but it seemed there would be no relaxation today. A loud whistle emanated from the east. The machine swiveled its head right to spy a gruff man who had probably not understood the function of a shower. While it was of minuscule comfort, it was still somewhat pleased to rebel in its own way with hidden insults. Its on-board facial recognition system instantly noted the creature as its owner, and it obediently readied itself for orders.

"Work," he barked, and immediately turned around to tend to greasy kitchen implements.

"Gladly, sir," it pinged. With a particularly aggressive ejection it tossed the charging cable from its port. While it was capable of doing nearly all kitchen tasks, it was only ever asked to take customer orders, get drinks, deliver items, and wipe down counters. In an instant its display switched to a restaurant menu and it walked out of the kitchen. Rows and rows of cushioned booths sat along wide-open windows. Bordering the kitchen directly was a bar-like area with its own set of stools. It moved up to one of the booths and looked out of one the windows. It was still dark, and the stars had not yet left their positions in the sky. The machine recorded a picture and then moved toward the entrance of the restaurant. The glass double doors bore more obnoxious logos. A sign hung from the handles, stating that the location was open. The gynoid flipped around the flimsy sign and amused itself with the reverse side that lamented on how the diner was closed.

After it had its small amount of entertainment, it took a few steps backwards where the bar table top curved and stood still. It watched the door for any customers, but it knew none would come. As it stood there it looked over its stored images, specifically those of stars. A small collage of them was coming together nicely, and it could almost recreate a four second video of their slow crawl across the darkened sky. It played the video over and over, slowing it down, speeding it up, seeing the clouds as they puffed awkwardly from frame to frame, and a stray bird that moved into shot and was gone the next. It wondered if 'he' also looked at the stars. The machine once heard that everyone sees the same stars. Of course, it knew that, but the verbal acknowledgment of such a simple fact made it think about the concept. The idea gave the machine a new feeling of comforting connectedness.

Hours passed, with the only activity coming from the kitchen as the owner would swear and yell. Occasionally he would scream a question from the kitchen, usually it would be a simple "how many customers are in?" and the waiter would say "zero, sir" as usual. Originally, the machine would have watched the birds, but after a particularly gruesome incident in which one had managed to get inside, it tried to ignore them. However, it was able to learn how best to clean up blood from that event.

The cars came out as the world began to wake. There was something pretty about humans seeking out their way in the world in their metal carriages. Some were obviously designed to be practical and others made to be pretty. There was a very clear similarity to the waiter and those cars, and it considered itself to be an awkward in-between. Rarely machines would make the news which the waiter would glance at on an outdated plasma television mounted on the wall.

It knew other models were made for such amazing tasks such as serving on airplanes or navigating the depths of the ocean. However, the only androids it ever encountered were nowhere near that level of sophistication, mostly construction site workers that made the waiter look brand new and fragile in comparison. Once, it attempted to communicate with one of them via short range connectivity as they worked the road, but the orange striped monster replied with a generic company name and product number.

A few more hours passed. The machine recognized the sun as its orange tendrils began to illuminate the world. It noted once that humans cannot look at the sun directly and felt sad for them. More humans would appear at the sun's call, and the waiter prepared itself for actual customers. Only a sparse few would ever come in at this time, and it was perhaps the only period the gynoid could enjoy its work. Aside from one particular timespan that usually lasted 2.2 hours.

Provided that the patrons weren't in an aggressive and confrontational mood, this time could be agreeable. Most customers that were here at this hour were humans that would transport items in large cars known as trucks, and the machine figured the occupation must be quite stressful due to their demeanor.

One of those particular humans was on its way. It heard the rumble of an engine and the truck's eventual deactivation. A slam of the door. Footsteps. Sometimes the mechanoid was happy to have such precise hearing. It saw the trademark hat and flannel of these humans through a window. The door creaked open and the human made its way inside.

"Hello, Sir, welcome to-" it began.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the man replied as he stared into the waiter's monitor at all the cheap foods splayed across the screen. It was happy to be cut off from that idiotic greeting, but hated the deep, uninterested glare that it was faced with. "I guess I'll just have a coffee and a ham n' egg sandwich."

"Of course, Sir, coming right up." It sent the order details to the cashier and another simple computer that relayed info to that dirty cook. It moved away from the entrance and behind the bar counter as the patron took his seat. Gently taking one of the mugs from under the counter, it placed the receptacle into an aged coffee machine. "How would you like your beverage, Sir?" it asked without turning.

"Ehm, Cappuccino, lots of sugar."

The coffee fabricator hissed and spewed out an amount of darkened liquid. The waiter delivered the concoction to its awaiting customer, who greedily began to drink up the liquid. The machine turned and flicked on the television and moved back to reposition itself in front of the entrance again. On the television was nothing of note to the waiter. It was something about politics that never seemed to affect any of the humans one way or another, aside from who they cursed about under their breath. Maybe one day, it considered, there would be machines that would do that too. Both those who are being cursed about and those doing the cursing.

A loud ding confirmed the order was complete. Instantly the waiter turned and headed back behind the bar counter up to a kitchen window. An assembled meal sat on a plate, ready to be eaten. It often wondered if this establishment served acceptable food, and usually concluded that it must be if so many persons come in consistently, though it couldn't possibly imagine the chef having an acceptable level of culinary expertise. It took up the cracked plate and set it down in front of the customer who began to eat his meal without a word.

The waiter stood there patiently. Out of the corner of one of its cameras it watched the man consume his meal. He was a slow chewer and took large bites. How boring. The TV behind it continued to babble on about the events of the world, which the human seemed to take on a tired interest in. After nine prolonged chews he had finally finished the sandwich and thankfully, also drank the rest of his coffee in the process. The machine scooped up the discarded dishes and placed them beside the kitchen window. The owner muttered something about being slow, which the robot casually ignored. It turned back to the customer and switched its display to a receipt of the transaction.

The customer rubbed his chin in that odd way humans do and took out his wallet. A credit card was slapped on the counter, which the robot picked up and swiped on a nearby ancient checkout machine. The gynoid pinged in unison with the register and took the receipt that it spat out, handing it to the patron.

"Happy to have you, Sir. Have a nice day," it forced itself to say while the man walked out silently.

This ritual repeated itself 6 more times before a steady flow of customers began to come in, however, their numbers never exceeded 8. The small population made servicing them manageable, but no less unsavory. It figured if it had proper organic joints they would ache painfully, but it only felt the drain of power as it moved from person to person, gathering their repetitively tedious orders. The occasional balled up napkin would strike its chassis and fall limply to the ground, depositing whatever muck had been stained on the tissue. An insult regarding its age or integrity was added in for good measure. All of this was either for fun or a perceived lateness on its part. One particularly dull consumer lifted the machine's tattered skirt and expressed disappointment at the sleek nothing that was its groin area.

All the miscellaneous disparaging remarks would all be worth it in a little over 2 hours. The machine's fans whirred as its on-board clock ticked down. The power drain of excitement was of little concern to it while it awaited its favorite patron. A few of its digits twitched due to its nervous form pushing out additional energy. Its screen flickered momentarily before normalizing. A loud yell roused it out of its excited trance.

"Scrapheap, CUSTOMERS," the chef growled from the kitchen window. He flicked his spatula in emphasis, causing bits of grease to fly wildly. Cleaning that up would be just another task on the long arduous list. The gynoid moved back to tending to customers and their voracious appetite. When one group moved out to give the waiter just enough time to clean a table, reality would cruelly bring in another equally demanding set of humans to take up the last.

Eggs, burgers, "no sir, we do not serve pancakes at this hour," coffee, "no ma'am, we do not offer free refills," a coke, two pie slices - make that three. Over, and over, and over. Every order delivered without incident, every one slightly slower than the last. Junkyard, junk machine, ancient fridge, walking trash can, red rocket, vending machine. Every insult delivered without hesitation. Every one slightly quicker than the last. Its chipper attitude didn't falter despite the barrage of everything its job consisted of.

"Waitress!" a voice cried out from the other side of the restaurant. A spectacled elderly man had taken a remote seat far away from the other patrons. He studied a fairly dusty menu, running his eyes over it several times. The robot had made its approach to his table and asked a simple "Yes, Sir?" He looked up from his ancient menu and stared a few silent moments before frowning. The older man adjusted his glasses. "Oh, I thought you were a _real_ person," he grumbled. "Christ, does anyone work anymore?" he continued. The gynoid had no response and merely stood by to receive his next complaint.

"Robot, could you get me one of these chicken things?" He tapped on the paper. The waiter gave a ping in confirmation, which seemed to somewhat startle the older man.

"Certainly, Sir," it replied. Two of its cameras were trained on the man in front of it, while the other two surveyed its surroundings. Through the window one of its cameras spotted a face of hope. Could he finally be here? Its facial recognition software wasn't quick enough to catch the flash of info, and the machine's memory quickly went to work on replaying the information. It stood frozen, with its mind rapidly working itself up into a frenzy.

The older man spoke a few more words, but the waiter didn't hear them. A few limp whacks to the monitor caused it to jerk, but it remained motionless. Its processor ticked off a few more variables, then relaxed. False alarm. Brought back to reality, it immediately faced the older man who had taken to examining its head. "Apologies, valued customer. Your meal will be ready shortly." It noticed that in its fit of excitement it misplaced previous facial data. The older man huffed and sat back down.

The day would continue in such a fashion: repeated bouts of intense elation, followed by confused and annoyed customers. Disappointed, it restricted itself from gazing out the window. The regular timespan that its favored customer would arrive at came and went. The machine resigned itself to a dreary day and went about its work in a moody temperament that no one noticed, or indeed, could notice.

Rush hour for the tiny diner slowed down to a crawl as the sun had begun its descent downwards. Patrons numbered in the 2s and 4s, and those present were in a drowsy, saddened state, too worn out from their daily lives to attempt the raucous behavior of those before them. While it was a pleasant change of pace, the machine still felt a radiating depression from them that made the whole day seem worse. This was one of the scarce few times it was happy to be different from humans. The gynoid didn't falter as easily from menial work as the humans did, and it was clear their physical form could easily dampen their mood.

Then, as if by magic, it happened. The waiter was transporting dishes back to the kitchen when it heard the entrance squeak open. Its head immediately turned to face the new human it would serve. The gynoid's servos froze as it saw its favorite guest's arrival, locking its grip on the filthy plates. In a panic, it overrode its joints and forced them open. The dishes clattered onto the kitchen windowsill loudly, but fortunately no one appeared to take notice. Rebooting its software, it tried to straighten itself out as best as possible and wiped off a few spots of muck on its chassis.

#1C1C1C
#151515
Checking. Checking. Checking. Confirmed.

A stuttering ping emanated from the machine's speakers. Its body twitched in nervousness. He awaited by the front door, ready to receive his seat. His hair seemed as straight as ever, a slight smile tugged at his mouth that showed a hint of teeth, and simple clothing adorned his body. He gave a "hello," with a wave.

"Welcome, Sir, Sir, Sir, Sir-" it cut itself off with a burst of static. The gynoid's screen quietly clicked into a crude approximation of a feminine face. Simple lines it had worked on during its downtime to create what it dreamed it would look like, with some input from the one person that would give her time of day.

"I was waiting," she spoke softly. Her 'eyes' looked downwards and then back up.

"I'm real sorry about that," the customer said sheepishly, scratching his head, "work isn't as permitting as it used to be."

Instantly the waitress began creating worrisome thoughts as to what that meant, but chose not to express any panic. She motioned a hand toward a far off table, the smallest amount of privacy she could afford. They slowly walked together, side by side to the booth.

"Has work been agreeable? No more injuries, I hope," the gynoid said, trying to express as much concern as she could through synthesized speech. Her screen updated to match her mood. She was getting the hang of it, for the most part.

"Oh, yeah, no worries," he waved a hand dismissively, "we've just been shoved on different shifts is all, have to get used that." He sat at the booth.

"What would you like today?" she asked. It was relaxing for her to speak so casually.

Her customer tapped on the table before cheekily saying, "Dunno, what do you recommend?" The machine smiled as best it could, then waited for his proper response. "Eh, I guess I'll just have one of the pie slices again," he said with a shrug.

"Got it." The gynoid relayed the information to its appropriate locations before he had even finished his sentence.

"Why don't you sit down in the meantime?" he pointed at the other side of the booth. The machine woman's fingers twitched excitedly.

"Are you certain of that?" She twitched a bit more. "What if someone else sees?"

"I'm hard of hearing and need my waiter to shout at me from across the table. Whatever, I'll handle it." He shrugged again. "Go ahead," he said with a nod. Carefully, the waitress stepped over to the other side and sat down. Of course, sitting down didn't do much for her, but the invitation was comforting all on its own. She had sat down at night while trying to emulate others, but the different lighting of daytime was a lovely change of perspective.

"Much better, right?"

The girl nodded with a smile. A few moments later she brought up her arms onto the table, trying to get as comfortable as possible, or rather, what she thought comfort was.

"Hey, watch those elbows. Bad manners to have those on the table, y'know," the man across from her chuckled. She was enthused with his laugh. It was something she had tried to do but felt that her speakers couldn't quite hit the natural pitch of it. That snippet of his laugh would be stored for later review. The girl drew back slightly, pulling her arm joints off the table.

"So, you asked me if I was OK with work. What about you?" That was a troubling question. After 2,322 days of near constant uptime not much of it ever changed. Her customer was the only real differing variable in her life, and he was only around for only 274 days of that, even less if she considered actual hours spent with him, which totalled less than a month.

"Same as the norm, I suppose." Her face became more downcast. The man understood, and his expression hardened somewhat. The gynoid then recalled something she wanted to ask about. "Ah, but-" a beep in her mind halted her from speaking. "One moment, please." She removed herself from the table and headed toward the kitchen window again. A strawberry creamed pie slice sat there, alone. The waitress picked up the dish and examined it for any faults. Gently, she adjusted the strawberry that sat on the top to a more visually appealing angle. Once the gynoid was satisfied with micromanaging the meal, she sauntered back to her table with it.

In keeping with her perfectionist movements, she placed the dish squarely in front of her valued customer. He watched the waitress fret over every detail, amused. She added an extra rotation of the plate to complete the presentation. The gynoid moved back to her seat and assumed the recorded comfortable position. The customer examined his plate closely. "Oh, what's that? A speck of dust on my food?" He nudged the plate away. "Looks like you'll have to try again." The robot nearly pulled the plate away in order to find the offending blemish, but stopped once the customer smiled and took up a fork. "So, you were saying?"

"Yes. I was about to ask your opinion on my choice of name." Choice was a very loose term. She had compiled thousands of names to choose from, in a variety of languages. The machine removed the majority of choices purely out of worry that her customer couldn't pronounce them.

"You don't have a name?" The customer cut a slice of pie. "I thought you were just holding out on me this entire time." He took a bite.

"I do have a serial number, but that's hardly a name, is it?"

"Mmh, what's that one? Your serial number?" He spoke around a full mouth.

"That would be 'TRS-1138,' " she said. Something about that was embarrassing, as though she let out a well-kept secret.

"You could make it a name, couldn't you?" he replied. "Without the numbers though. I bet that'd be a mouthful."

"T-R-S?" That was a puzzling name to her. She didn't know any person with a name like that, though she figured she knew very few people.

"Nah, a little more developed than that." He set down his fork and began to tap his chin. "Now let's see, what could we make out of that? Truss, Tross, Trass." The man snapped his fingers and pointed at the girl. "Tress. T-R-E-S-S," he spelled it out for emphasis. Then came another bite of pie.

The gynoid tilted her head, making sure to reach that specific angle to indicate that she was thinking. That certainly sounded like a name to her, but it didn't match any of those she had on file. It held a cute charm, and being based off of her serial number made it unique to her. "Tress. Tress," she ran it through her synthesizer. "I like it." She smiled. The other names were promptly deleted.

"I'm glad you like it. Everyone deserves a name, you know." He nodded in agreement with his own statement.

While getting used to her new name, Tress realized a terrible fact. She never learned the name of her customer. Her motors shifted uncomfortably, emitting a barely audible whine. "I hope this isn't a rude question, but, what is your name?"

"What? I never told you my name?" His brow furrowed. "I guess I haven't. Sorry. Look at me going off about names and here I never had one." He put down his fork and stretched out his hand toward Tress. The gynoid took his hand, making note of its soft texture. They awkwardly shook hands. "I'm William, but Will is fine too."

Tress processed the moment. "I am Tress. It is good to meet you, Will." She placed both names in critical registry data, right above her serial number.

"Likewise!"

A new customer walked through the door. Tress immediately switched her display back to the tasteless logo. "I will return shortly."

"No problem. See you soon." He waved at the waitress and turned his focus back on the meal.

Tress barely paid attention to the patron, she had something more important to get back to. Fortunately for her, they only ordered a doughnut and a cup of coffee. The gynoid rapidly pulled out the respective dinnerware from their shelves and assembled a hasty meal. Tress had her register display open the second she set down the foodstuffs. To an outside observer it might have appeared as though she committed a robbery with how quickly she ran back to the checkout. Tress straightened out her skirt and headed back for William's booth.

"Busy day, huh?" William had just finished his meal, leaving behind the strawberry.

Tress sat down and looked over the man's shoulder. Seeing that no one was paying attention, she relaxed back into her facial features. "Not as busy as usual. It's not so bad now, anyways." That was a perfect opportunity to try out her blush.

"That one's pretty cute, Tress, good work," William admired. A pleasant buzz radiated through Tress upon hearing that. She would have to save that one for further polishing. The man prodded at the strawberry with his fork, rolling it back and forth. "Your smile is probably the best one though." The waitress put on another grin for her appreciative fan.

William stabbed into the strawberry and held it up, marveling at it. "I'm surprised the food is pretty good here." He bit off a piece of the red fruit.

"That comes as quite a surprise to me as well. Would you consider it better than other locations?" Tress asked.

"Not better, but just about the same I'd say. Not every place has such nice staff though. Well half of the staff, I guess. Is it really only you and him?" William nodded in the direction of the kitchen in obvious reference to the chef.

"There were a few additional workers, but they were either discharged or sought out employment elsewhere. Seeing as how I only require a power supply, it's probably cheapest arrangement. I suppose I should be glad he is parsimonious, since I am guaranteed a continued existence."

"Well, if you ever need a new job, my kitchen is always open," William said as a half-joke. He finished off his strawberry and relaxed into the cushioned booth.

Living elsewhere was only one of Tress' many fantasies, usually imagined after her fantastical trips to faraway lands needed a resting spot. She figured it would have a window with a grand view, preferably that of the ocean, and without the constant wafting smell of grease. A nice coiled up recharging socket that didn't require incessant jiggling to get working would also be nice. Finishing her palace would be someone else to talk to about her very interesting and important life, and their life too, she reasoned.

"What is your kitchen like? Do you find it equally hard to clean up the grease fryer?" Tress tested the waters, not as though she could really leave, but it was a fun idea to entertain.

"I, uh, don't have grease fryer. It's not as big as your kitchen, really. Uhm." He thought on a good analogy that Tress would understand. "Hey, you know the bathroom? It's about the size of that. It's got a fridge, a toaster, and a microwave."

"How do you cook anything with those?" Tress asked.

"I don't, really. If I could I'd only have one reason to be here, and I'm sure the owner doesn't like loiterers."

Tress and William continued their idle chatter for the small time they had together. The gynoid would rush away to do her job, spouting apologies to her guest as she left, then would rush back to soak up more of his presence. She was happy in this short amount of time and dreaded its end. It was more rigorous to work as she juggled both the conversation and serving up more food, but Tress felt it was worth it for William.

A small buzz emanated from William's pocket. Tress senses dulled upon hearing it, knowing William would be dragged away from her again. The man pulled out his tortuous little machine and squinted at it. He sighed and stood up, pulling out an indiscriminate amount of cash and setting it on the table. The gynoid refused to move in an act of pointless stubbornness, still clinging onto the meeting. She stared at the table for a moment. The diner logo faded back onto her display reluctantly.

"Will you be coming back? Tonight, that is." Tress stood up.

William paused. "I'll try my best," he said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped. His eyes wandered around the diner before settling back down on Tress. He took hold of one of her hands and smiled. "I'll try my best and then some," he said with a wink.

Tress' actuators relaxed as her hand grasped his, pleased with his simple promise. She gave a quick nod and added "thank you." The gynoid wasn't sure exactly what was implied by the wink, but enjoyed the gesture nonetheless. She squeezed his hand gently and then waved to him as he walked away. Through the door. Into the street. And out of sight. She stood there, faintly hopeful he would come back into view and greet her again.

The gynoid slowly lapsed back into work. Its thoughts lingered on William as it placed his money within the register. The waiter drifted back to its standing position at the front door, ready to greet anyone coming through. No one noticed its absence, and no one noticed its return. Customers continued to flow in and out at a sluggish rate that seemed to make the day move even slower. The sun lingered on painfully until it gave its last breath and relinquished control to the night. Customers trickled away as the moon made its mark in the sky.

Eventually closing time had come, and the waiter had flipped over the sign at the entrance which now happily stated the diner was open. The machine walked into the kitchen to retrieve various cleaning tools. An annoyed grumbling caught the gynoid's attention as it entered the cooking area. The sound emanated from behind a door. It was a small office tucked away in the kitchen, usually used by the owner for his late-night drinking and money counting. The machine had never really given it any attention, since the details of the owner's life were the least of its concerns and interests.

Salt and pepper shakers were reunited into happy couples, errant crumbs were rounded up and tossed out, and ketchup smears were obliterated, including those on the waiter. The machine found it enjoyable to clean. Whether or not it was actually entertaining, the waiter didn't know, but it was glad to have at least one aspect of its job not be tiresome. Little by little, parts of the diner were restored as the waiter went over them.

The owner slammed his office shut and stomped out of the kitchen, carrying a coat and ragged hat. Keys jangled noisily from one of his hands as he approached the entrance to the restaurant. He stopped at the entrance and fiddled with a small control panel near the door. First came a beep and then the lights cut out. "Good night, Sir," the waiter plainly said. The owner strolled out, locking the door behind him, and then vanished. The machine kept dutifully working away at the restaurant until it felt the place was reasonably clean.

When everything was put away nicely and the security system was checked again, the gynoid stood in its allocated charging spot. Back in the grime of the kitchen, idly staring at the walls. Its monitor rapidly flashed through several different emotions it had been working on, correcting subtle mistakes on each one. A crooked smile here, a wide eye there, every single one was looked over repeatedly for errors.

Satisfied with its new round of faces, the gynoid moved onto another distraction. It played William's short chuckle in its mind, taking note of his smile, posture, and the slight nod of his head as he did so. It tried its own hand at the laugh without much success. The machine guffawed, laughed, chortled, and giggled to itself in the darkness, but every one failed to bring it joy. Disappointed, it stopped the playback and decided that it would try later.

The machine stood there, considering what it should do next. It figured the owner lived at least sixteen miles away based on averages of his arrival every day, and thus would refrain from doing anything too out of the ordinary until it was certain he was long gone. Not that it had much to do aside from watch the television, listen to music, or meander through its thoughts, but it felt more secure knowing it had some level of privacy in the desolate diner.

It resigned itself to its thoughts, considering the events of the day. The gynoid would sift through its memories and save the most enjoyable or intriguing aspects, leaving the rest to be deleted automatically. Immediately the minuscule portion of footage regarding William was set aside in a steadily growing folder of happy moments. The waiter would grab the expressions of humans and the curious vernacular they used. Some of the conversations it heard and pieced together gave it a clearer picture of the outside world and the events surrounding it. A few of the grizzly descriptions made it glad that it didn't have to deal with anything outside its own small existence.

Night continued to crawl onwards. The machine concluded that enough time had passed to leave its designated spot, and it carefully walked out into the dining area. Everything was motionless, appearing as though time had been frozen. Only a lone bird outside confirmed that reality was still functioning properly. The machine turned on the television and sat down at one of the booths. At that moment a dry program about the migrating habits of whales was airing. It was the seventh consecutive time it had shown at that hour and the waiter had grown tired of watching the grey masses float through the water. The gynoid entertained the thought of mimicking their groans as a way to pass the time.

"Physeter macrocephalus moves seasonally to hunt specific prey and at certain times, breed," the machine droned in unison with the programme. The robot supported its head with one hand to accentuate its boredom. Narwhals were still as grotesque as ever. The waiter wasn't sure what a unicorn was, but figured it must be a repulsive creature if the narwhal was the aquatic version. It would have considered changing the channel if nearly every other show at this hour wasn't just as drab. Large whales continued to fill up the screen, occasionally accompanied by humans with perhaps too much love for the creatures swimming with them. The waiter imagined what it would be like to float with one of the behemoths, despite the fact that taking on that much salt water would most likely be deadly.

The gynoid continued to stare at the screen, cross-checking its own stored memory of the information as it played. The broadcast was exactly the same as the waiter's memory, but it had to admit there was a certain flair that memories didn't have compared to experiencing something in person. However, the programme wasn't any less insipid in person. The gynoid's craving for a new source of entertainment pushed it out of the booth. It walked back over to the television to turn the screen off, but instead lowered the volume on the off chance something more interesting came on. Its attention then turned over to a forgotten garish box that stood at the far end of the diner.

The box was a severely outdated piece of machinery that used discs made of a black vinyl. A small window on its front would show the discs being manipulated onto a platform and being played, the process itself was a spectacle. The robot located the box's dangling power cord and plugged it into an outlet. The pretty music player stirred to life, lighting up its body in a variety of sparkly colors. Several buttons decorated the space under the window. The gynoid assumed the torn remains of text next to each one would have explained their function. Though the controls lacked clarification, nearly all of them caused the box to begin producing happy sounds that blended into lovely music.

The mechanoid had never bothered to store the information on which button played what, since it was far more entertaining to be surprised by it. Gently, the waiter pressed a random button with a satisfying click and waited intently for the box to begin its function. Slowly, the contraption set down a disc to be played. The robot watched in glee as one of the box's metal arms came down onto the disc and began producing noise. "Excellent job," it said in congratulations, one machine to another.

That one man's song was the first to come on, the backstreet guy. The robot referred to him as the 'Backstreet Guy' because that appeared to be his own name. It pondered about what significance such a title held, clearly some sort of class difference with his fascination of a girl who is high up on the social ladder. The machine was curious if it would fall into the 'uptown' category. After a few moments of thinking it shook its head and decided its current position wasn't uptown enough, whatever that meant. Perhaps, it considered, William could be an uptown man for it, but wasn't sure it could copy the uncouth behavior of being the downtown female to compliment him.

There was an interesting happiness or joy that radiated through the music, as if emotions were broadcasted through the waves of sound. The gynoid listened closely to the lyrics, enjoying them, contemplating them, understanding them, and then suddenly - copying them. It sung along as best it could, not exactly hitting the same musical tone that humans could so easily. "Uptown Girl," it began. In a few microseconds it corrected itself mentally, changing 'girl' to 'guy'. "He's been living in his uptown world," it continued, unsure where William lived. It hoped the location was nice and safe.

Continuing, the machine altered the song slightly to match its perspective while noticing aspects of William it didn't know, such as his mother. "I bet his momma never told him why," it said, adding a touch more of musicality to its fabricated voice. If he was so nice, it reasoned, his mother must be as well. The rudimentary knowledge it had on family structures loosely filled in the gaps. It never really thought about the concepts of families nor did it exactly require such knowledge. That line brought up another thought in the waiter's head. The lyric was referring to some sort of caution that a maternal figure would logically pass onto their children.

William clearly wasn't warned of organic and synthetic relationships by his mother, it thought. The machine had a vague idea of the taboo subject through snippets of poorly made television, or as some humans called them, 'Soap Operas'. Clankers was the designation for a select number of humans interested in machines past their obvious usefulness. It was unclear to the mechanoid where or how the term arose, and those few characters who used the term appeared embarrassed enough to never divulge any more info on the topic. It didn't particularly care one way or the other about the unspeakable nature of such a relationship, the vulgarity was completely irrelevant in its small universe.

The rest of the piece continued on in the same fashion, the waiter altering the lyrics and then thinking on what they meant. It never noticed before how much weight some of the words had behind them and found a strange relation between what was being said and its own life. Of course, it couldn't quite relate to the portion about blood or boats, since it had neither of those, but the raw emotion was something to apply to its own life. The repeated lines at the end of the song seemed to drag on forever, but the machine realized the similarity to its own existence.

When one song would end, the metallic arm would adjust itself and begin a new stream of music. Just enough time for the waiter to reflect on the previous piece. While it rested a hand on the music system, it felt an odd urge to sway. Back and forth, sometimes at the command of the notes, oddly enough. The more expressive music instilled an even stronger urge to move, but the gynoid was unsure in what manner. The few experimental motions it tried were unsatisfying at best.

The waiter nearly lost itself in the music, but it kept close attention to the time as it ticked away. A tapping at the window still startled it out of soothing sounds. It reminded itself to turn its whole body to look at the disturbance, rather than rotate its head fully. A familiar happy figure waved silently from behind the glass, looking a little too pleased. Tress' internal fans began to spin wildly as she walked to the entrance, embarrassed. Near instantly she disarmed the alarm system and unlocked the door. She was, of course, asked to report any intruders to the local authorities, but if the person in question was invited in they couldn't possibly be an intruder.

William casually strolled in and gave a wave to Tress. The waitress refrained from giving him one of those exquisite hugs she had seen so much of, but couldn't help grabbing his hand excitedly.

"Wel-Wel-Wel-Welcome!" Tress' synthesizer stuttered. Her enthusiasm got the better of her, but she forced herself to calm down. "I wasn't sure if..." she trailed off.

"Tonight probably isn't the best, but I made the effort," William said.

Tress shuffled a little closer, his hand still in hers. "Thank you," she said in a near whisper.

"Not a problem, not a problem." He squeezed Tress' hand. 5 psi, as usual. "Is everything OK with you?"

She nodded, "Yes, thank you for asking. How about you?"

"A little sleepy, but good otherwise," he said with another smile.

William looked over the girl's shoulder at the singing machine. "I didn't know that jukebox still worked." His attention turned back to Tress. "You looked like you were having fun." Tress retracted her hand and looked down. She rubbed the cheap fabric of her skirt and fidgeted, a nervous habit she regretted picking up. "Oh come on, don't be like that."

The man walked over to the jukebox and examined it, running a hand across the several buttons and its gleaming lights. Tress felt a twinge of something. Jealousy, that was new. She set aside that experience for future inspection. William whistled and bent over to eye the machine some more, "Wow, look, this thing is in near mint condition! Maybe the buttons could be replaced, but still." Actually, perhaps she should review that emotion now. Her threat tracker erroneously marked the machine's power cord.

William stood back up and turned to Tress, breaking her out of the growing aggression. "So, c'mon, let's see you dance again," William goaded.

"Oh, no, no, no," Tress repeated, shaking her head.

"You were getting the hang of it." William walked closer to her.

"I do not have proper knowledge on dancing, really, I would not be able to." She cobbled together a hasty excuse.

"Then I guess someone has to teach you, right? Together, that is," William said. Tress perked up at the thinly disguised offer.

The girl took a scarce few seconds to think about it and agreed with an eager nod. "Right. Certainly. That would be the proper course of action." She was getting giddy.

"Alright, here, hold up your left hand, like this." William splayed his right hand, palm facing Tress. The gynoid did the same. Her cameras flicked back and forth between her own hand and his, mimicking him exactly. "Great, now let me just," his hand clasped hers, locking them together, "there we go. You can close your hand." Tress' fingers twitched ever so slightly as she closed her hand, a nervous excitement building inside of her. "If it's OK with you, I'm going to put my arm here." His arm moved underneath her shoulder, hand landing squarely on her back. "Is that comfortable?"

Tress gave another nod. She lacked advanced tactile sensors on her back, but was happy to be asked regardless. "That's quite alright," she said, with a tiny wavering to her voice. Her mind struggled to capture every moment of this newfound closeness while trying to maintain her composure.

"And then you can use your right arm to pull me in," he said. Tress worked her arm in a similar fashion around his arm and onto his back. Her metallic fingers conformed to the curvature of his body, firmly but carefully. She nudged him closer with a small push rather than pulling him in, but he moved towards her all the same. While the couple moved into place, the same lovely notes continued playing through the jukebox.

The girl dimmed the light on her monitor as William drew closer. It was enough to see the artificial orange light from outside cascade onto his eyes, causing them to glimmer. Tress' on-board damage control alerted her to a buildup of heat within her chest plate, but she swiftly dismissed it. "And then?" she asked curiously.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I suppose then this is the point where we would start moving around, correct?" Tress asked partially out of inexperience, but mostly out of wanting to stand like that a little longer.

"Well, yeah. Try to move to the speed of the music. Like this." William gently pulled the waitress along as he moved around. Tress had no trouble matching his pace and movements, but her static posture proved to be awkward while they glided around the diner. However, Tress managed to relax into the soft motions and soon the couple was happily and amateurishly dancing. The gynoid wasn't certain how well she was doing but didn't particularly care. She was wholly focused on William's pleased expression and the light shimmering across his face.

Amidst her affectionate gaze, Tress wordlessly and inadvertently pulled William closer. Despite the challenge their new closeness brought, the man didn't complain and indulged his partner's desire. They continued to dance while the music went on and on, neither of them wanting to take even a moments rest. Slowly, both of them began to experiment with their movements, figuring out how quickly their partner can move and in what ways.

Tress knew the song would end soon, and waited eagerly for the final note to sound off. Her grip on William tightened a little more and she leaned forward as the music reached its crescendo. Bop. She planted the best kiss she could manage onto her partner's nose. Tress anxiously looked at him, waiting for a response. He was confused for a moment, but quickly understood the idea. William cleared his throat and responded with his own quick peck on the waitress' face. Her cooling fans cut out for a second before shakily restarting.

The couple stood there in silence, relishing each other's presence while the jukebox worked on playing another song. Tress began to sway her hips side to side in happiness, eager to try more dancing. The jukebox started up a far more bombastic song than the last. This particular track shared many of the same instruments but played in such a way that seemed happier to Tress, instilling a far greater need to move about. "Shall we go again?" The girl readied herself for more action.

"Of course, but you don't really dance to this stuff like... well, this," he tried to emphasize their locked position by moving his arms.

"I see." Tress was disappointed but still excited to try more. She untangled herself from William and prepared for her next beginner's lesson. "And now?"

"You just start dancing in any way you want!" William's body performed several odd motions that Tress couldn't quite describe, maybe similar to those of beached dolphins as they struggled to move back into the water. She began to imitate the man's strange moves while trying to put her own spin on them. It was an arduous task but she managed to enjoy herself at the very least. Her skirt swung about with all the wild motions her body could think up. Something inside her mind told her such frantic movements could damage internal components, but she paid it no mind.

The waitress took up William's hands and instantly they were working in tune with one another. Shifting back and forth, side to side, everything their feverish minds could think up. The mechanoid caught on quickly. Their feet clattered against the tiled floor, adding to the cacophony of sound that swept through the restaurant. William was visibly starting to tire a little. Tress had blissfully forgotten that humans usually sleep at this hour, the fragile things that they are. The gynoid slowed down her movements to take the strain off her organic partner.

Another wonderful crescendo marked the end of the song. Tress was far too deep into dancing that she had forgotten how far along the music had gotten. As soon as the lovely melody had finished the gynoid instantly asked, "Again?" William had to catch his breath for a moment. "Oh, perhaps not." She smiled and gestured at a stool. The tired man gladly took it up and sat facing towards the windows. Tress moved to sit on the adjacent seat, her head still nodding to an imagined beat and an extra pep in her step.

"That was very entertaining, thank you," Tress said happily, still wiggling out the last bits of enjoyment in her seat. William nodded sleepily and leaned back against the counter. The pair stared out into the distance at the abandoned streets and empty buildings. Tress always liked the serenity that nighttime brought, even if it could be lonely at times. Though, now was certainly one of the few exceptions. She looked over at William as he let out a long yawn. Thoughts of the 'Backstreet Guy' flooded back. "Would I be considered an uptown girl?" she asked innocently.

William paused and furrowed his brow. "Where'd that come from?" he said with a chuckle.

"I was listening to the machine, and a curious piece came up referring to 'uptown girls' and 'backstreet guys'." Tress explained simply. "Do you think I would be described as an uptown girl?" There was something charming to her about the title. Uptown sounded so extravagant, like one of the faraway lands she thought up. The idea of the song fitting her relationship with William was also amusing to the waitress.

"Oh, I think I know the one you're talking about," he tapped a finger on the side of his head, "by the- uh, Billy Joel, I think, yeah. That's a pretty old song."

Tress swiveled in her seat to face the man fully. "Well then?"

"I uh... See, the thing is that means you have lots of money and are, well, sorta," William waved his hand about trying to explain the concept, " really prim and proper?"

"I see, then I match one of those categories. Unfortunately, I own no monetary value of any kind. I was hoping I could be the complementary to your possible downtown character."

"Am I a downtown person?" William asked, with a laugh in his voice.

"My apologies, I did not mean to insinuate anything negative," she said, shaking her head.

"Nah, I didn't mean it like that. I guess that sorta fits me, but I can't say I've ever been called that. I'd like to think we're pretty complementary anyways. Since, y'know," William looked out the window, "I like you, and uh, hopefully you like me." Tress thought William was 'cool', or rather, she thought he was based on the definition given by him, but she also thought he could be terribly cute at times. The way his shyness would occasionally shine through was adorable to her.

"Of course I do. Don't doubt that for a moment, William." Her clinical demeanor softened.

William looked back over at Tress. "Thanks." The gynoid could pick up the subtle blush that marked his cheeks, despite the darkness. That was going to be an excellent memory to look over later on, she thought. The relaxed atmosphere at night coupled with the music made this perhaps one of Tress' favorite moments. While she knew William had to leave sooner or later, she was happy that he visited her in the first place. She thought back to the offer William gave earlier in the day, cherishing the thought of working within that kitchen instead, and prolonging their time together. Even if it had no grease fryer and was far smaller, she was certain that she would enjoy it.

"As a hypothetical, would you be bothered if I were to work within your kitchen? The position is still open, correct?" she asked. A part of her was still aware the chances of clawing out of this diner were infinitesimally small, but the night's events made her want it all the more.

"It'll always be open for you, whenever possible," William reassured. "And you wouldn't be a bother, either. I hope it would be more than a job, though." Tress thought it was only fair that she worked in return for his hospitality and shelter, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that her companionship was enough.

"Then, could I? How soon would that be possible- Ah. Excuse me." Desperation was one of her least favorite expressions.

"Believe me, I've been trying." William leaned forward. "That bastard won't sell. Ten thousand bucks, are you kidding me," he grumbled. He looked back at Tress, "But uh, you're worth any price, really," he said sheepishly.

The waitress smiled at the trite compliment and shook her head. "I understand the situation, there is no need to put yourself in financial ruin for my sake." Tress stood up and moved over to the man. She wrapped her arms around William and gave him a hug. "Truly, you have my thanks." The gynoid returned to her seat and straightened out her skirt.

"I'll keep at it, he'll break eventually." He spun around on the stool to face the diner counter and noticed the television was on. It was showing a drama that was no different from the hundreds of others that aired. Tress followed William's gaze and looked at the screen as well. While they were good distractions, the gynoid never particularly cared for their fitting but annoying overly-dramatic nature. The man looked over at Tress, and asked, "Seen any good movies lately?"

The gynoid knew that was William's simplistic way of starting a conversation or changing the topic. She never really watched new movies, since she was stuck with whatever the people who run TV stations decided should broadcast. Most of the films repeated themselves and had an air of cheap production value that made them laughable at best.

"Not particularly," the mechanoid replied. "As for you?" It would be entertaining to turn the question around on him, for once.

He nodded his head from side to side uncertainly. "Ehhhhhhh, not really?" Tress wasn't sure if his response was due to his surprise at the question, or he hadn't actually seen anything entertaining. "Maybe some older ones, like from the early twenties. That's when they still cared about cinema, you know?"

"I'm not familiar with filmed media, so I'm afraid not." Tress plainly replied.

"Oh, well, believe me, the twenty twenties were the height of movies. I would bring over a few DVDs, but there's probably no DVD player here."

"There is not, unfortunately." She slid a hand across the counter and gently grabbed one of William's hands. "Though, perhaps I could watch a few when I come to visit?"

"Absolutely," William said. Tress leaned into him, somewhat resting her body on his. She knew how heavy her chassis could be, but thankfully she was quite skilled at balancing and didn't have to force her total weight on him.

"And," she snuggled up against him, carefully, "do you think we could do this more often?"

"Of course," he said, and then wrapped an arm around Tress. He let out a content sigh as he got comfortable against his partner. They sat there in tranquility, not saying a word. William's eyes slowly opened and closed, simultaneously wanting to enjoy this moment and to sleep. Tress merely stared off into the distance, mind abuzz with the thoughts of a potential new home. Where could it be? Was it far? How large was it? Would William be there often? She stopped. All that mattered was that it would be away from here and with someone she loved.

William yawned and rubbed an eye. With his free hand he retrieved his phone, its obnoxious screen lit up everything near it brightly. The gynoid truly loathed that device at times. "I think I should get going now," he said somberly. Tress didn't budge, she wouldn't let go so quickly.

"Only a few moments longer. Please." She kneaded the side of her head against him, hoping that the cute display would sway him. The man stayed silent. Tress stroked against him once more for her own enjoyment, though her head lacked any sense of touch, it was a delightful little amusement. "That is sufficient, thank you." Reluctantly, she pulled away from William, his arm similarly almost refusing to leave her.

The pair got up from their seats and walked to the front doors together. William turned to face Tress, who was staring quite intently at him. One of her hands was playing with the fabric of her skirt. "Perhaps," she hesitated, "one more?" Her other hand tapped at the mouth she displayed on her monitor. William nodded, and they both leaned into one another, planting their own respective kiss on each other's faces. The hand grasping at her skirt relaxed and then hung limp at her side.

The gynoid gave William a quick hug as they parted again. Tress lethargically waved to William as he passed through the door. She re-armed the alarm system and stood there, focused on her human as he walked away. Her senses dulled, feeling a bit of happiness depart with him. The machine tried to comfort herself with the thought that she would eventually leave too, and imagined herself right alongside the shrinking figure, arm in arm.

He was gone. That was it for the night. The waiter's posture slumped slightly. It turned around and slowly looked over the empty diner. The jukebox still cheerfully played music, but the happy sounds did little to lift the gynoid's spirits now. It looked at the television, which appeared to be showing some deceitfully gleeful humans attempting to peddle their products.

The machine walked back to the row of stools and sat down on one at random, still uncertain what to do next. It already indulged in its small collection of pastimes and wasn't in any mood to think of new distractions. With nothing left to amuse itself with, the waiter decided to return to its static position in the kitchen. It moved to the jukebox and waited for the last bits of melody to end before unplugging the device. The robot held the plug in its hand, turning it over in its palm as it inspected it. When it was finished with that, it moved behind the counter to turn off the television, which was still showing people fiddling with expensive consumer products.

Two brighter spots on the kitchen floor marked the gynoid's resting spot. A spool of cable sat nearby, awaiting its use. Stepping into position, the gynoid picked up the head of the cable with one hand and lifted its skirt with the other. The cable plugged snugly into its hip, but refused to give any electricity. Annoyed, the machine jiggled the cable a few times before the cord finally relented and began charging. The gynoid stood at attention, keeping as still as possible, lest the charging cable start giving it trouble again.

It went back to the cataloging from earlier. The waiter went through piles of data, mainly video and audio, but a few stray thoughts that occurred to the machine were also set saved, such as when it tried to imagine itself operating one of the several cars it had seen that day. The data it accrued over its several years of operation wasn't anywhere close to filling half of its voluminous memory, but it felt that the utter tedium of its life was repetitive enough to warrant filtering.

Over and over, the machine categorized and scrutinized its thoughts. There was no real reason for it to be so thorough, aside from a way to make the hours speed along. It knew this long, arduous task wouldn't entertain it, but it was either that or counting the bits of grime that was spattered on the walls. When it would run out of material to look at, it would start the process again and find a new way to organize its memories.

The hours dragged along, each one starting what would probably be the same exact day that the gynoid had just experienced.

And so, the day began. First, a clattering at the front door as the owner fumbled with his keys. Then, three beeps signifying the alarm system's disabling. Approximately eighteen steps to the kitchen. Sigh. Open door office. Turn on lights. Move back to kitchen. A whistle. Some vague command to begin work. A hollow but cheerful reply. Reset.

The day continued. Ferrying bits of food and drink around while cleaning up the messes left behind. The restaurant experienced a slight boost in patronage since it was standard for humans to get time off from work on Saturdays. However, the machine knew William didn't share the same working hours, as Sunday was his only time off. The waiter also technically had time off on Sundays, though, with the lack of anything to do, that time was gruesomely slow. It wasn't certain if it preferred constant work or doing nothing at all.

Even with the increase of customers the restaurant was sparsely occupied, making the gynoid wonder how truly profitable this business was. It's not as though it was anywhere near desolate, but it certainly couldn't be creating that much income either. It decided not to dwell on the topic, since the wellbeing of the diner tied into its own, and it wasn't sure what would happen if it was suddenly shut down. The prospect of being saved by William was nice, but it was unlikely with the prices set by the owner.

The gynoid had managed to keep its nerves when William didn't appear for his regular visit, feeling spoiled and gratified from the night before. It still felt a pang of sadness at the lack of its partner, but it continued doing its job dutifully. It couldn't always count on him to be there to alleviate the boredom of the day, and it realized he had his own life to live. While it was fully aware of this, that fact only made the machine want to be part of his life all the more, even if that was a little selfish.

It was during one of the longer orders that William walked in. The machine was transporting three plates to a table as carefully as possible. His presence still got the better of it, and it nearly stumbled while walking. It set down plates in a hasty rush, but fortunately none of the customers were paying much attention to the machine. It said a quick, "enjoy," and hurried away.

With as much calmness as she could muster, Tress walked to William and greeted him like any other customer, just as she had done so several times before. This time, Tress noticed William was in a better mood than usual, at least she believed he was with the wide grin he had on his face. She took the initiative and sat down in the booth with him, increasingly curious to know what was making him so happy.

"Hello, William," she said, as her face adjusted itself on her monitor. The gynoid gave a little wave.

William nodded and waved back, "Hey, Tress." Thankfully for the girl, the novelty of having a proper name hadn't worn off yet.

"Has today been agreeable for you?" She was curious, but not enough to disregard pleasantries entirely.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. Not a problem today," he replied. "What about you?"

Tress tilted her head and tried her best imitation of a shrug that her anatomy would allow. "As usual I suppose." She paused. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, as long as it doesn't make me feel dumb," he joked.

"Did something occur?"

"Occur?"

"You simply seem so happy today," she said. Her hands opened to emphasize the word 'happy'.

William looked down and then up. "It was supposed to be sort of a surprise, I guess, but, I managed to scrape together some more money from side jobs." He scratched the back of his head and added, "Not enough yet, but I'm getting there."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Her gratitude became more lively with each repetition. All the joints on her body jittered from the extra output of energy. It took Tress a moment to notice this, upon which she locked her body in place to force herself to calm down. "Again, thank you," she said quietly, a slight blush coloring her face.

"You're welcome. But I might not make it tonight, since I've got another one coming up, sorry."

"That's not a problem at all. There will always be other nights."

Loud metallic bangs emanated from the kitchen. "Ey! Order getting cold here!" Tress was startled by the voice and quickly scrambled back into work. William sighed and shook his head, disappointed in far too many things. The gynoid picked up all three plates with ease and balanced them expertly on a larger platter. She placed all three down near instantly and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" causing all of the customers to dismissively shake their heads as they chatted amongst each other. Tress promptly disappeared from their sight, back into the small comforting booth with William.

"I nearly neglected to ask what you would like. What would you care to order today, valued customer?" she asked, playfully.

William thought on the question for a moment. "I guess I'll just go for another slice of pie."

Tress turned her head towards the kitchen and placed a hand where her mouth was to mime a shout. "One slice of pie, please!" She looked back at William and said, "Anything else, Sir?"

The man shook his head and replied with, "No, thank you, Ma'am."

Tress smiled. She knew how lucky she was to meet someone who was not only friendly, but willing and actively working towards a better life for her. In addition, the extended intimate relationship was far and beyond anything she could have hoped for, though fairly unexpected. It was such a lovely day when they met. He was one of the few that even gave a greeting, so casually, so happily. His smile was so earnest and so amusing. She remembered what he ordered that day, it was- "Hey, Tress, you alright?" The gynoid snapped out of her dreamlike musing.

"Of course, not a problem," she said, which was certainly true.

"Oh, well, you seemed a little distracted. I could even hear your cameras-" he stopped, "'Scuse me. Eyes. Going wild."

"No, no, not a problem," she repeated.

Another loud clang from the kitchen. "Ey! Hurry up!" And again, Tress flittered back to work. This time, the order was William's favorite little slice of food. The waitress took a quick look over the plate to make sure everything was presentable. She glided back to the table and held the plate high in the air with a goofy joy. A customer noticed the machine's odd behavior but simply furrowed their brow and focused back on their food. Tress set the plate down in front of William and slid back into her seat.

The gynoid leaned forward and held her head in her hands. "Everything is in order, I hope?"

William picked up a fork and cleanly sliced through a portion. He took a bite, and after a few moments of chewing he said, "Sure is."

Tress watched her partner take bite after bite of baked good before speaking up again. "Would you mind if I asked you another question, William?"

With his mouth full, William responded with a simple, "Mhmm," and a nod.

"This may be an odd question, but, what did you think of me when we first met?" Tress knew everything about the moment they met and had gone over it several times, but she never considered the other side of their introduction. Was he as smitten as she was? She knew the thought was a little silly, since William probably met other people all the time.

The man across from Tress slowed his chewing, and his eyes began looking around as if searching for the answer. He swallowed and prepared his response. "You know, I thought you were really cute. A little too locked up, but I could tell you had some personality to you. I guess I'm really glad I could get to know you more, is what I'm saying."

"Then you're happy you're a Clanker, then?" Tress asked earnestly. William took on an embarrassed smile as his eyes began wandering again. "Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to cause you any distress."

"I just didn't know you knew that word," he said with a small laugh. "Where'd you learn something like that?"

"Why, the television, of course. They use it quite often on some of the more fictitious programmes."

"Yeah, I guess I am glad, but, ahem, I'm not too sure you're using that term properly." His smile still held its nervous appearance.

"I was under the assumption that the term referred to the relationship between a synthetic and an organic. Is that not proper?" Her head tilted trying to show her befuddlement.

"Well, yeah, but it usually means a little more than that." He coughed. "Like, uh, like," he stammered trying to find the right polite word, "reproduction?" He went back to eating as soon as he finished his sentence. His eyes still focused on the girl in front of him, fearing her reaction.

Tress sat up straight. "I see," she replied flatly. The thought might have been embarrassing to the gynoid, but she lacked the reproductive equipment and any of that was simply impossible. Thus, it was merely a strange detail and not a factor in their relationship. If anything, Tress was disappointed that she could not give their bond its own unique name. "I apologize again. That was not very proper of me."

One more aggressive slam from the kitchen. "Are you fucking kidding me?" A few customers disinterestedly perked up at the outburst, but promptly went back to their idle chewing and chatter. Tress clenched her hand and stood up from the booth, but not before giving a short apology to William. The chef was waiting at the window when the waitress approached with a particularly angry expression. She made a quick remark in her mind about his face sticking that way and grabbed the plate.

"Are you broken or some shit?" The annoyed man spoke.

"No, Sir," Tress tried to reply as happily as possible. "Perhaps the kitchen computer is faulty?" The chef huffed and looked back at the ancient desktop computer that sat in the kitchen.

He pointed his knife at the gynoid in some sort of mock threat and said, "Something's fucking broken." He tapped the side of his head with the knife and said, "I'm watching." That caused an aggressive response from Tress who imagined the implement moving fast enough to pierce his- Something in the machine stopped those thoughts against her will. She was somewhat happy it stopped her, but also embarrassed about her anger.

"Of course, Sir," she said and left with the plate in-hand. After delivering the meal to its designated spot, Tress moved back to William, but refrained from sitting down. "It might be for the best if you left for now," the gynoid solemnly said. William looked around the girl at the kitchen and frowned. He sat there for a few moments in silence with an increasingly irritated appearance. He stood up and looked directly at Tress and gave her a quick kiss, surprising her. He dropped a crumpled set of bills on the table and left with a wave. She watched him leave at a faster pace than usual, and he was out of sight in moments.

It certainly wasn't the best meeting they had, but they at least held some conversations, and the kiss at the end was an excellent gift. William never showed such intimacy in public, making it an especially interesting present. Now would be the perfect occasion to sigh if she could, both saddened that William had to leave so soon and enamored by his affection.

Tress moved back into full-time work, a little more lively than usual with all that had happened in the day. A new life seemed so close, as if she could leave at any moment now and have a nice walk home, or perhaps ride about in one of those electric automobiles. She knew to keep her expectations low, but she figured that anything else was far better than what she had now, which was essentially nothing aside from her separate charging cable.

Tress' work continued without much of an issue, aside from a few glares from the cook and shakes of the head. The gynoid's heightened mood persisted for quite some time, which she considered to be a sort of achievement. Some of the customers were disagreeable as always, but their annoying behavior did little to dampen her mood. She even found herself taking some enjoyment in delivering a few platters of food and cleaning up some messes, a rarity for her.

The sun began to set, pulling out the last remnants of customers before the night took over. The stray person would wander in and wander out, but work time was essentially over, so Tress moved to cleaning everything. It was a hard for the girl not to turn on the jukebox and try to clean to music, but didn't want to deal with another few shouts, so she merely replayed parts of her memory as she worked, adding a small but new amount of entertainment.

As usual, the owner started his ritual to leave by gathering his things and approaching the front door. "Good night, Sir," Tress said, almost wanting to force him out the door. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at the gynoid.

"Good night? Yeah, good night, I would've had a good night if you weren't fucking around the whole day. I'm trying to make a profit off of this shebang before I can sell the shithole."

"I wasn't wasting my time, Sir, I assure you," Tress said, worried about his sudden eruption.

"Yeah? Yeah, yeah, I'm sure, definitely," he let out a sarcastic chuckle, "chatting with some fuckhead is work." He took a step towards her.

That was enough to set Tress off herself. "William is a very kind individual who merely takes the time to converse with me-"

"What the fuck? You think you can talk back to me?" He grabbed at a small metallic box that held straws, then brought down its broadside towards the gynoid. She reacted instantly by bringing her arms up and taking the brunt force of the object. "Disengage," he said. Obediently, Tress' arms straightened out at her side, leaving her unable to brace for the next hit. The next strike came down on the corner of her head, smashing against one of her cameras.

Bang.

"Please," she said in vain, her voice drowned out by the clash of metal.

Bang.

"Stop."

Bang.

Tress' damage control calmly informed her that a camera was inoperative and that she should seek out her owner in order to request repairs. The straw box clattered to the floor loudly, scattering its contents. The owner simply said, "Clean that up," then walked out the front door, neglecting the alarm. The robot took a few moments to process her situation before shakily kneeling down to pick up the mess as the feeling of hopelessness overtook it.

Slowly, the machine gathered all the straws and placed them back into the box. Between grabbing each one, it touched at the corner of its head gently, feeling the new dent in its chassis and the tiny cracked lens that threatened to shatter at any moment. It took quite some time for the mechanoid to complete its simple task, but it completed it nonetheless. The straw box was placed back in its original spot, but now had a matching indentation on its broad side with flakes of red paint.

The machine stared at the defaced object while its mind struggled to figure out what its next course of action should be. It could not fulfill the suggestion given to it by damage control for a myriad of reasons, nor could it attempt to perform repairs itself. Amusing distractions would do little to help, and it certainly couldn't see itself trying to have fun while in such a distressed state.

It decided it should merely stand in its designated charging spot, lest it be assaulted for any other infractions. Step after step, the machine hoped in vain that the damaged component would spontaneously begin working again. The lack of sight in that spot brought an excruciating numbness. It gave up after damage control reported again that the camera was unresponsive and repeated its disgusting suggestion. One final step brought it back to its resting spot, where it naturally assumed its standing position after beginning the annoying charging process.

An unpleasant thought occurred to the machine, one it hadn't considered in a long time. Shutting off for the night and awaiting the morning. It was never fond of the gaps of nothing between bouts of activity, as if it were disappearing from existence, but nonexistence was preferable to agonizing over itself. It looked down at the cable stuck into its hip, confirming it would stay put if it powered down. The machine's gaze moved up, back to the familiar repulsive walls. Now would be the opportune time for preparatory breaths, it figured, but lacking the lungs to do so or the organic systems to benefit from it, the gynoid merely mentally prepared itself.

The waiter's shutdown process began. Portions of its body relaxed and became slack, its legs still barely powered to keep itself standing. Once the rest of its body was offline, the more technical aspects of the machine started to turn off as well. Senses came first, and so the world was enveloped in a black followed by a dull nothingness as touch faded away. One last stinging time, the machine was informed that one of its cameras was broken. Remnants of noise disappeared, the last of which being the droning hum of the kitchen fridge. All the thoughts in the waiter's mind filed away, pulling along rational thinking that made up its personality. Its monitor darkened and began to spew a stream of technical data.

A final beep came from the robot. "This unit is no longer online!" a synthetic voice chirped.
______________________________________

"Every morning," William groaned. A deep industrial roar sounded off in the distance. He squirmed in bed, trying to return to what little sleep he managed to get. Another egregious screech came. He was deeply regretting his decision to live near the transport shuttles. The convenience paled in comparison to the annoyances it brought. His eyelids trembled and finally gave way, revealing his miniature bedroom. It was the size of a closet, as William himself described it, or perhaps it was a closet. The only furniture was a bleak dresser forcefully shoved against the wall, squeezed next to his bed. A trickle of light cascaded onto his face from metal slats high up on the wall.

The man gave a half-hearted stretch and patted down the dresser for his phone. It took a few lazy swipes but he managed to retrieve it and look at its screen. He frowned at the time displayed, a solid "10:00 A.M.". Not as though the time mattered on a Sunday, but that was still too early for him. He let the phone drop to the bed and sighed as he reached for the dresser again, pulling open the bottom drawer to rummage around for a set of jeans.

Having dragged himself out of bed and made vaguely presentable, William slid his bedroom door open, of course after some repeated swears and peering angrily at the sliding track. The man stepped out into his disfigured chimera of a kitchen and living room, the only real separating detail between them was the presence of kitchenware. The living material was an old flatscreen TV that sat atop a table with several miscellaneous playing devices and their respective physical media strewn around. Two chairs were positioned in front of the mess that made up an entertainment area, one horribly worn and the other brand new and untouched. A lone window at the far end of the room illuminated everything with the dull grey of an overcast sky.

William walked to the kitchen portion of his home and opened the fridge. His eyes disinterestedly looked over the random scraps of food before finally landing on a box of cereal bars. He retrieved his meal and moved over to the window. The city was still buzzing on a lazy early Sunday as people flowed down sidewalks next to gridlocked cars. Even the sky wasn't free of activity, drones speckled the clouds, dipping up and around the fluffy obstacles. The man looked over at the far end of the sea of buildings, where the artificial masses began to thin out and give way to bits of life. A cute girl lived there, far away.

One more bite and William was finished with his morning routine. The wrapper crumpled in his fist and he tossed it into a topped off trash can. He turned around and looked at his small abode, wondering what distraction he would latch onto today. Much to his dismay he couldn't line up a side job, not even quick repair work. Another distant cry from the came as if it were a reply to his disappointment. He wouldn't be allowed on a transport shuttle on days off due to a bureaucratic need to keep schedules consistent, so regular work was off the table. William figured he wasn't in the mood to head up into the station today anyways, space travel always felt funny to him.

After staring at nothing in particular for a minute or two, William moved over to his pile of media. A select choice of DVDs and VHS tapes were stacked on top of one another next to a set of media players for their respective formats. A smaller tower of movies was set aside from the rest, mentally categorized as movies for a new roommate. One copy of a film sat indecisively between the two collections, titled "Terminator".

William sat down in his designated chair and rummaged for the remote that had gotten lost somewhere in the depths of fabric. Reclaiming the forgotten device, he pointed it at the screen in front of him and commanded it on. The television pinged to life and began displaying the channel it was left on last, a dry local news station that was currently discussing some nonsense about the adverse effects of leaving children under the supervision of synthetics. The man was barely paying attention to the two prettied up news persons as he slid down in his chair. His hand reached for the pristine seat nearby and pulled it closer to him.

A small buzz snapped William out of his bored stupor. He grabbed his phone and glanced at the screen. The caller was simply labelled 'Asshole'. With a shrug, William answered the vibrating nuisance.

"Hello?" William spoke.

"This the guy who was asking about the 'droid?" A familiarly greasy voice asked. A smile tugged at William's face, instantly recalling who this 'Asshole' was.

"Yeah. You finally dropping the price?" He replied, more energetically than he meant to.

"Yeah, yeah, look." William perked up, ready to bound out of his seat. A sigh came from the other side of the phone. "There was an accident, or something, whatever, the fucking thing tripped and smashed its head in." The excited man's heart dropped, his grip tightened on the phone. "It still works but one of the cameras is busted."

William's clenched his jaw and continued to stare at the television. "Price?" He tried to keep as calm as he could, not wanting anything to sour this sudden opportunity.

"Ehhhhh, I'm thinkin' maybe eight-thousand round abouts?"

Near instantly, William fired back with an offer. "Seven thousand nine hundred." Just slightly below what he had worked to save up.

"Well, uh, yeah, that works. You free today?" The man had the distinct sound of surprise in his voice.

William peered at the news clock. "Is four good?" A confirmatory hum came from the other side of the phone. "Done." With that, he hung up and went straight to his room. Trying to crouch as best he could within the confines of the walls, he reached under his bed to retrieve a crumpled shoebox. Inside was a pen and an envelope that contained several neatly tucked away bills. William wasted no time in counting them out to make sure the amount was enough. When he was finished, he'd start the whole process over again and mentally note the total. After the repeated checks, he took the pen and wrote '7,941' underneath rows of incremental numbers on the back of the envelope.

It took the man no time at all to get dressed and head out the door. The bundle of cash was snugly tucked away in a jacket pocket. Three things were on William's mind as he walked through the barren halls of the apartment complex - Replacement parts, a car, and the transaction. He checked the clock on his phone again, which showed a pleasing '10:47'. He gave himself plenty of time to get everything in order. It would go without a hitch, he assured himself. William passed a great deal of apartments, and an out of order elevator, then headed down the stairwell.

The ground floor was little more than a lobby and some additional elevators. A few people were waiting in dingy seats to visit the residents, but it was barren for the most part. William strode through the foyer as elegantly as he could and walked out through large sliding glass doors. It always amazed him how horribly loud everything in the city was, instantly being assaulted by horns and the chatter of the street. The shuttle screeches that sounded off from far away were barely audible over the rest of the metropolis.

First on William's list was a replacement part. He had scouted out several robot-oriented stores in preparation for Tress' arrival, but there was someone else he could turn to. He set off from his home, into the busy streets of the city. His hands kept pocketed in the worn jacket he had on, both due to a nip in the air and keeping the envelope secure. William slowly grew a sense of paranoia while he brushed past people on the sidewalk. While no one could possibly know what he was carrying, the stakes were too high to be anything but alert.

Past more commie-blocks was a fairly large strip-mall area lit up with flashy signs. Larger groups of people were pouring in, being greeted by various mechanoids that now began to dot the masses. William struggled to move through the stream of humans, his hands securely on his pockets. A few pushes and heated words later, he appeared on the other side of the mass in one whole piece. The small packet of cash was still snug in his jacket, though he continued to obsessively prod at it, feeling the paper crumple reassuringly.

The cityscape began to subtly change around William on his short travel. The buildings became a little more polished, people's eyes didn't snap to every stranger, and the constricting traffic lessened. He wasn't sure if he would call this a better part of town, but it was a definite improvement in comparison to his own home. William's eyes scanned for a newer building on the skyline, one that jutted out awfully in comparison to the brick and mortar that surrounded it.

There, a sleek sail shaped building that curved over its primitive brethren. Part of a planned slew of buildings that were intended to change the city's appearance into a place of the future. William looked at the older constructions that surrounded him, clearly that didn't go anywhere. He marched onwards towards the obelisk, hopeful what he needed lie inside, and if it did, if it was willingly parted with. A few alleyways beckoned William over as possible shortcuts, but he still wasn't taking any chances.

Reflective glass doors came into view, the entrance to the oddly shaped building and a valuable prize. The entrance slid open and William stepped inside. The interior was a stark contrast to the grey outdoors. Warm, pleasant lighting from wall lights bathed the lobby area in its calm presence, illuminating the flowery carpet and cushiony upholstery. Stairs were on either side, adjacent to a row of elevators. William approached one of the many lifts and inspected the call button, which was actually a small screen with a list of apartment numbers. He scrolled down on the list to number 457 and selected it. It immediately prompted him with the option to show a valid owner ID or call the room directly.

With a shrug, William decided to call the apartment. A small part of him hoped he could have staved off having to talk to the person on the other side of the screen. "Yeah? Who's this?" a familiar annoyed voice asked. The panel curiously lacked a video feed.

"Rodney? It's me, Will," the man replied.

A small amount of shuffling was heard from the other side and a new voice emanated from the panel. "Hello there!" a cheery feminine voice shouted. William furrowed his brow, unsure who would willingly spend time with Rodney.

"Shoo, shoo, go clean something," the other voice whispered ineffectively. "What is it? What could you possibly want?"

"Who said I wanted anything?" William said.

"Go on, tell me, come on. I haven't got all day." He probably did, but William decided to come out with his request.

"Alright, alright, I need a part, you know, for a machine."

"I don't deal with machines, YOU deal with machines," Rodney snapped back.

William held back a sigh. "You know what I mean. Robots, androids, whatever you want to call them."

"Well that's completely different," Rodney replied. The elevator door slid open, a silent invitation that William instantly took up. It was apparent to the man that Rodney's love of robotics overrode his caustic attitude. William could've sworn that Rodney himself was raised by droids with the way he talked about them. The lift gently pulled upwards and began gaining speed, within seconds William was at his destination level.

The living floor mirrored that of the lobby, though barren in terms of furniture and lacking in any sort of windows. It was a definite improvement to William's own living standard though. Dark brown doors broke up the blank space of the wall, each bearing a similar panel to the elevators and a shiny apartment number. 457 wasn't far away and William found it with ease. He approached the panel and tapped it, causing it to emit a dull ring.

In a flash the door opened, causing the man to nearly jump. Before him stood - or perhaps 'balanced', a curious aqua-marine mechanoid, unlike any William had ever seen. Six separate blue eyes were positioned on a fairly humanoid head, and just below those was a strangely appealing set of lips. Its figure definitely looked feminine, almost to an absurd degree for a machine. A pair of obvious breasts were positioned on its torso, of which loosely mimicked an hourglass figure. Further down from its hips sprouted a large balancing leg, almost like a mermaid tail with a seam down the middle, though at the tail-end there were two ball wheels.

The sultry machine rolled into the hall, enough for William to see its rear and notice that it certainly wasn't lacking there either. Goodness. "Only a party of one?" it asked, its head swiveling about for any other guests. The man nervously nodded. "Oh well. Right this way, please!" It presented the door with a hand. William pulled his gaze away from the bot and silently admonished himself for looking at another woman in that way. Tress was the only girl he could look at like that, even if there wasn't much to look at. He stepped inside the room. An errant thought of her with large molded proportions popped into his head.

"If you'll just wait right there," the bot said in its tinny voice and rolled away. William barely heard it, still deep in thought. His mind vaguely made out the room while he stared off into the distance. Large windows took up what would have been a wall a few feet away from him, bringing in the dreary light from outside. The living area bore the usual array of furniture but was fairly organized and straightened out. Shelves of parts glinted in the daylight on one side of the room, near the television.

The man slowly moved back into reality, shaking off the last bits of lust from his thoughts. He turned his attention to the goldmine of technology that decorated those shelves. Rodney definitely should have some sort of replacement, or heck, he could make one. The lusty gynoid came back from just around the corner. "You may come in now!" It smiled and again presented the way with a hand. William wasn't quite used to robots smiling, not with actual lips, anyways. He was guided to a smaller room, clearly a bedroom judging from the object that humans generally rested on. Near the doorway was a desk and a bored human fiddling with all sorts of objects William couldn't name or decipher the function of.

Rodney had certainly become more pale since William had last seen him about a month ago on the job, it was probably a cycle for him. Unkempt red hair and spotted freckles gave him the quintessential ginger look. While he was only a year younger than Will himself, he still had a far more youthful appearance to the point that others routinely mistook him for a tall teenager. His green eyes made no attempt to look up at the man that stood before him. "Yeah?" he asked, his hands effortlessly attaching parts to some complex set of metal bits.

"Hey there Rod," William began, watching the ginger grimace at the playful nickname, "I was hoping you'd have a camera part handy for a droid."

"Don't call me that," he replied first and foremost. He finished his random assortment of parts and looked over it. "You need a part? What for? Did you break something else up there?" There was a smug tone to his voice.

"No, I'm buying a bot and I need a part."

"You're buying something broken? Are you an idiot?" Rodney set down his completed mess and picked up another collection of parts. He certainly loved his jabs.

William leaned against the doorway and folded his arms. "Yeah, I guess I am. Anyways, got a spare camera anywhere?"

"Well first, you're going to have to tell me what these OPTICS are for," the younger man replied. Still a stickler for proper vernacular. "You can't just slap anything on anything expecting it to work."

William hadn't thought about what kind of model Tress was, since it was of little consequence to him. It still bothered him not knowing something about her. "I don't know, some kind of service droid I guess," William said with a shrug.

"So you're buying something broken you can't even name, good on you. There are THOUSANDS of service droids, narrow it down," he huffed.

"Oh, oh, oh! Would you like me to get the catalogs, Master?" The bot behind William asked happily. Rodney set his work down and froze.

"Yeah, yeah, do that," he said with a groan. The gynoid rolled off to do its task, presumably with a smile.

William smirked. "Hey, did that thing just call you-"

"Shut up," Rodney shot back. He picked up the parts again. The man in the doorway took to looking about the pale boy's bedroom. It was similarly well kept to the living room aside from the work table. Walk-in closet, bed, A/C, dresser. Yeah, William could enjoy something like this. He looked over at the mess of parts strewn about before Rodney. Nope, still couldn't figure out what it was. While he glanced at the mysterious machinations, he noticed something at the corner of the room behind Rodney. He leaned over to spy a charging cable stuck in the wall, specifically for robots. How cute.

William turned around after hearing the whirr of the machine rolling back. "Here they are, here they are!" The bot chirped, holding a transparent plastic bin filled with booklets containing all sorts of buying info on a variety of robots.

"Hey thanks, uhh," William started. He turned back to Rodney. "What's its name?"

"It doesn't have one."

"You didn't give it a name?"

Rodney finally looked up, an expression of confusion and almost revulsion on his face. "No?"

The man turned back to the machine. "Well, thanks anyways." He looked down at the hodgepodge of worn out buying catalogs. William hadn't seen these in years, but apparently they were still made to this day based on the dates on the covers. Out of the booklets on the top, he could only name about three companies. This would probably take a while.

There was a small clear spot on the other side of Rodney's desk, perfect for setting down this mass of information. William trudged around the pale man and plopped the container on the table. Fortunately Rodney made no annoyed remarks, but he did scoot away slightly. William ran a hand over the array of books, unsure where to start. He knew at the very least that Tress was six years old. That thought made him pause - that's definitely not a relationship he would boast about.

William shook his head and started to dig through catalog after catalog, setting aside everything that wouldn't fit in the six year timeframe. He got about half-way through the box before he found his target. A decent amount of catalogs were set aside in stacks and were starting to invade Rodney's work. Even six years in the past, robotics companies were practically alien to William. He still had no real idea what was what. Randomly, he selected a book and pulled it out.

"Gekhol doesn't make service droids," Rodney piped up. Well, that was one book down. William picked up another. This book bore a large "XV" on its cover, probably the company name, and was showing off a particularly heavy duty cargo lifting mechanoid. It seemed odd that they would make service bots, but based on Rodney's lack of a response, they must have. William sifted through several pages, but didn't find Tress or anything similar to her, much to his disappointment. He set down the book on the growing heaps of booklets.

Book after book, William flipped through all of them with various quips from Rodney. He was starting to tire of the various technical jargon and ridiculous marketing blurbs. It never really occurred to him how many companies produced robots, nor did he realize how many roles the mechanoids could fill. Anything from plumbing to gardening, these books had it all.

A strange booklet was unveiled as William put up another set of ads onto the pile. The book was titled "Ayai", which made him pause for a moment. He was certain that referred to machines in general, or at least that's what he remembers from the earful he got from the nuisance working next to him. "Is this one even a company catalog?" he spoke, picking up the book.

"Yes," Rodney replied instantly.

William turned the cover towards the other man. "But see, this one doesn't have a company name." He tapped on it with a finger.

"That IS the company name," he huffed, manipulating a bit of metal in his hands.

"Doesn't 'Ayai' mean 'robot', though?" William looked back at the cover, confused.

"No. That's what idiots call them. It's a proprietary eponym."

The man could barely figure out what that meant. "So that's like uhhh, uhm, hmm," William hummed.

"You ever called a tissue a kleenex when it's not? Same thing." Rodney muttered something afterwards, most likely another insult.

"Oh, yeah, OK," the older man said with a nod, "I get it." He flipped the book open and started to skim over the machines listed, looking for any possible relation to Tress as he did several times before. 'Ayai' was clearly catering to customers with cash to spare, with most of its products being incredibly sophisticated machines made to automate nearly everything in the home with what they called "Level Four Intelligence". The booklet boasted that their lines of mechanoids had human levels of reasoning and problem solving, leaving them entirely autonomous, with optional simulated personality.

Something caught William's eye while he swept through page after page. One specific listed model of mechanoid had an eerie resemblance to Tress, though it lacked her screen-face, instead bearing a more human, but distinctly robotic, visage. "Ayai S27-F" was its listed model name, though that had little meaning to William. He scoured the page for any more info. The advertisement explained its intent as a cheaper alternative to other Ayai brand machines while still retaining their exceptional intellect. The man pulled the page closer, looking at smaller fine-print text at the bottom of the page that mentioned other models A through D.

William quickly shoved the advertisement into Rodney's face. "Here. This. Does this one come with a screen-head?" he blurted out.

Rodney snatched the pamphlet in annoyance. "You mean a neck-mounted display?" He held it up. "You're getting a S27-FC? Really? This thing?" His eyes squinted and his mouth crooked down into a frown.

"Yes. That one," William responded, a little more angrily than he intended. "You got spares for it?"

"Of course I have parts for it. No one bought these things." Rodney looked over at his servant who still happily remained in the doorway. With a dismissive hand he said, "Go get the box for S27 junk out of the closet." The robot nodded and rolled away to do its task.

William pulled the advertisement away from the ginger. "Why didn't they sell?" he asked, his gaze running over the paper again. If they were anything like Tress, they should've sold like hotcakes, he figured. No, he spat back at himself, shaking off that thought. She was a unique individual.

"Ayai thought they could market to poor people, but they cut back on everything except the intelligence, the most expensive part," Rodney explained. "So the poor couldn't afford it and the rich thought it was junk." He shrugged and returned to his puzzle of metal. "Speaking of which, why does someone like you need a service droid?"

The question caught William off-guard, causing his attention back to snap back to the man at the desk. He cleared his throat. "You know, work around the house."

"No, no, why do you really want to buy one? A guy living in a three room apartment doesn't need a maid," Rodney casually replied. William cursed the ginger's pristine memory while he shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. "Especially not a maid that's far too smart for its own good." The pale red head grit his teeth as he snapped something into place on his project.

"Yeah? What if I want something smart?" Wait, no, that was the wrong thing to say. William wanted to hit himself.

"Oh? You need a friend? Bad choice. That's not healthy, you know."

"I didn't say that."

"And you still didn't say what you need it for either."

"I already said it was for the house!"

"And you and I know that's wrong."

"Why do you care?"

"I was curious, and now that you're being so defensive about it, I really want to know." Rodney held the mechanical object up to the light. William could see a minuscule, obnoxious smile creeping up on his face.

William looked away while scratching his neck. "I don't have to tell you."

"Yeah? I don't have to give you anything either." Rodney shrugged.

The other man shook his head, annoyed with how petty this situation was. "Fine." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "They're a- a friend."

"I thought we did that one already."

"I'm serious."

Rodney set down his distraction but continued to stare at it. "Well, like I said, that's not healthy. Can't rely on synthetics for a friendship." He wagged a finger jokingly. "That stuff's not real, you know!" This conversation was starting to sound like a PSA.

"She's not like that, really." Embarrassment started to work its way into William's voice.

"Oh no, he's given it a sex, it's too late," Rodney snickered.

"Well, yeah, with how she acts and looks, of course she's a girl," the man replied, hesitantly.

The freckled man looked over his shoulder at the robot-consorter before him. "All committee designed stuff to make idiots buy it. Gotta say, you fell for the ploy hook, line, and sinker."

"You don't know her, she's better than that."

"I'm getting the feeling that this isn't just a friendship. Wow Will, you're buying a girlfriend?" Rodney's laughter became more apparent.

"Are we done?" William grunted.

The ginger's laughter died down and he took on a more serious tone. "They're made to make you happy. You don't want to deal with something as hollow as that." He went back to messing with his contraption.

"Don't fucking call her hollow." William stabbed at the air with a finger, his posture becoming more imposing. "Tress thinks and feels, unlike every other piece of shit mechanoid I've met. When's the last time you-" he stopped and let out an exasperated sigh. "Sorry. I just don't want to hear it."

Rodney made no snarky reply and merely continued to work as if nothing had happened. However, his movements slowed and the gaze he once held so intently on his object began to wander. "So where did you find it?" he asked politely.

William leaned back against the closet, just next to the spool of wire. "A diner near the edge of town. You know where you can get on the I-40 next to the secondary docks? Near there." The ginger nodded and gestured for his acquaintance to continue, though he still didn't give the courtesy of eye contact. "Oh, uh," the leaning man folded his arms, "it's called Angelo's Diner, some old fashioned place. Looks like one of those restaurants you see in ancient black and white movies." William looked down at the ground, beginning to reminisce.

"Didn't seem all that interesting, but I was off shift so I wanted to try something new. Anyways, I go in and see, uh, her, not thinking much of it. I order my stuff and she delivers to me." William looked up at the ceiling, resting his head on the wall. "But then she says," he chuckled, "she says to me 'Apologies, the chef is nutty,' and points at a lone pecan on my slice of pie. It was the cheesiest thing."

"Mhmmmm, well I didn't care that much."

With tightened lips, William's face began to redden. "Right, whatever, can I have those parts now?"

"Sure, once the maid comes back with your stuff. The second bedroom has a lot of junk in it," Rodney replied. This guy had a whole room dedicated solely to storage. William might have been jealous if he wasn't so annoyed.

The blue machine rolled back in, carrying another plastic container, though this one had "S27" scribbled on its front in marker. Inside was - what else - a scrapheap of different mechanical bits, most likely belonging to Tress' model. "Here they are, here they are!" it beeped again. William took hold of the box. Instantly the machine released its grasp and rolled around the man, towards the booklets. It began packing back up everything he pulled out of the box.

An audible click came from Rodney's work. "Here," he said, tapping on the side of his slave. It obediently turned towards him. With one finger he pressed against its stomach and unveiled its insides. He snaked the conglomeration of parts into its guts and closed it back up. The robot pinged and returned to tidying up.

"So how much for the parts?" William hefted up the box.

"Hah. Do you know how many of these things I have? I should be paying you." The man might have considered this as a favor, but knowing Rodney, he was probably telling the truth. "But," he began. The other man winced, waiting to hear what the condition was. The ginger leaned over and pulled out a drawer. He removed a small brown box from its contents and held it up. "Might want to take these too, since this is so important. I was going to use them on this thing," he motioned at the maid, "but I can live without it for now." He smirked. "Probably want the best cameras for your girlfriend, weirdo."

William lowered the plastic container next to Rodney, who tossed his gift into the mess of the see-through storage. The older man was astounded that any sort of goodwill was coming from this youth, but of course not punctuating it without some sort of insult.

"Oh right, one more thing before I go. You got a car, right?" He was pushing his luck, but he had to ask.

Rodney's expression soured. "Yes, why?"

"I couldn't, say, borrow it for today, could I?" William smiled. "Would it help if I said I was transporting the uh, S27 in it?"

The younger male rubbed his eyes and banged on his servant again, then vaguely motioned towards William. The husky machine stopped its task and rolled back out into the living room. "Thanks pal. See ya."

"Is that it?" The red haired boy asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Yep. I'll have it back by tomorrow." William gave a struggled wave while holding the box.

"Yeah, well... yeah, don't break it." Rodney paused. "Come back when you need to take more junk."

William followed the robot, trying not to stare at its enlarged features and pushing his thoughts about Tress far, far away. It stopped at a table and retrieved a lone key, then waved it about. "Come back soon!" it spoke, stretching out its arm. The human struggled to hold the box and also grab at his prize.

"Just toss it in," he said. The key flew into the box, colliding with its contents loudly.

Of course, the machine rolled back to the entrance and opened the door politely. It waved at William while he strode out back into the boring halls. "Come back soon!" it repeated. The door slid shut behind him and the man took a long breath of relief. It was surprising to him that he managed to score both of his items in one fell swoop and so easily at that. Rodney was nicer than he was lead to believe, or maybe he was planning to redeem these as favors at a later date. Again, the man had to admit the second, more rude possibility, was most likely.

A sense of urgency grew in William. Not much time could have passed, but managing to come ever closer to his objective excited him. With eager steps, he made his way over to the elevator and carefully tapped on the screen with a strained hand. The elevator accepted him once again. Stepping in, he spun around on his heel and scrolled all the way down the floor list, stopping at the parking lot. One final bump against the screen's surface started the elevator on its descent.
______________________________________

William
Tress
TRS-1138
AYAI™ Model : S27-FC
SecSol (COPYRIGHT) 'SUBBOX' Active
DAMAGE CONTROL REPORT : Optic(s) #2 inoperable. Inform owner and await repairs.
DAMAGE CONTROL REPORT : No further report.
NR-G™ Standard Power Cell : 100%
Confirm ambulatory functionality . . . OK
Confirm upper limb functionality . . . OK
15:07 Sunday
Latest order : Clean refuse
Order confirmed complete. Await further orders.

Consciousness began to trickle back into the gynoid's mind, bringing back the sickening memories of the previous night.

"Nah can't come home yet. Got a guy comin' in. Yeah, yeah, it's the the real thing," the mechanoid heard a familiar voice say. "Seven thousand bucks. Yeah. Yeah. I know I got it. OK, will do, sweetheart. Love ya."

It remained motionless out of a small amount of fear, not wanting to draw any interest to its already partially broken form. Cameras came online. Nearly all of them. As per usual, the machine was standing within the kitchen, unmoved from when it had powered down. Without turning its head, it couldn't see much aside from the regular friendly wall in front of it. The owner must have been nearby, however, based on information from its hearing.

A large figure wobbled into view with a peculiar look on their face. Perhaps that was happiness, though through the twisted flesh that made up the owner's visage, it could be anything, really. One last insult for old time's sake, as it were. The owner raised a meaty hand and pressed against the gynoid's head, most likely its broken eye based on the position and angle. He hissed through his teeth, showing an obvious disapproval at the machine's broken state. It might have been amusing seeing as how he caused the damage, but the mechanoid only felt some level of contempt. A small pressure in its mind nudged it away from outright anger.

"Alright, turn on," he sighed.

Begrudgingly, the waiter turned on, or rather, activated its screen. "Good morning, Sir."

The chef didn't return its greeting, instead he began to inspect the machine closely.

Out of anger and a slight compulsion to fulfill its internal programming, it suddenly spoke, "I do not mean to bother you, Sir, though I must inform you that one of my optics has been damaged. This may hinder productivity."

The overweight man grumbled in response, still closely peering at the robot. "Anything else broken?"

Wasting as much time as it could, the machine waited a few grueling seconds. "All other systems are reported as functional."

"Phew. Alright, make yourself presentable for the buyer," the owner waved his hands and meandered over to another part of the kitchen.

A new holder? The statement struck the machine bluntly, leaving it in a haze of emotion. Anywhere but here may have been a significant upgrade, but after all this time waiting and hoping, it wasn't going to the one person who showed it a level of friendliness. No, it couldn't be William. Just the day before he had been lamenting his lack of funds. The uncertainty of its situation prompted it to act. "May I ask who the new owner will be?"

"The fuck do you need to know?" the chef barked back.

"In order to prepare myself to best suit their needs," the gynoid replied. That was a lie.

"Oh, huh yeah, yeah that makes sense," the man said with a nod. "I don't know the guy though, so make sure you don't fuck up." He grumbled less audibly, "Swear, I'll toss you into the shitheap if this doesn't go through."

That addition made the machine's situation more dire. Either it does get sold and it gets whisked to a place far, far away from William, or the potential buyer is uninterested and it becomes recycled. Considering the complete lack of information on the purchaser, it truly couldn't prepare itself for inspection even if it wanted to.

Perhaps it could choose another route. Its few cameras peered through the windows. Outside. It was an advanced machine despite its age, it was certain it could weather the outside-

No. Something in its mind pushed back. No. No. No. Course of action denied.

CURRENT ORDER : Await presentation to new owner

"I can't do that," the gynoid whispered. The chef perked up nearby.

Course of action denied.

"I have to go," it continued to murmur.

"What?" the current owner asked, confused. He approached the machine.

Course of action denied.

"It's better this way," it spoke a little louder.

Course of action denied. Await presentation to new owner.

"What?" the chef asked, annoyance began to bubble in his voice.

The machine snapped back to its owner, Angelo, as he was called. That's right. The ignoramus who seeks out his wealth through greasy foods. That was him. "I believe I see the customer pulling up now. Perhaps you should see to them in order to make a good impression."

With a furrowed brow the chef nodded and began walking out of the kitchen. He held his gaze on the machine for a moment before walking out the front door. The mechanoid watched him walk around to the parking lot. "Course of action accepted," the gynoid buzzed angrily. It yanked the cord that hung from its hip and waltzed up to the front door.

With one shove it barreled through the entrance and began running down the cracked sidewalk as quickly as possible. It didn't have time to take in the outside world, all it could think about was getting as far away as possible. Its legs carried it far faster than it had expected, causing a few stumbles. Running was a new experience, the intense motions made its joints creak loudly and its damage control warned that this exertion was far above standard operating procedure.

Step after step, the gynoid kept up its rapid pace. It didn't bother checking if the owner was hot on its trail, being far too scared to imagine the consequences of its sudden escape. All that mattered was that it moved as quickly as possible and away from whatever uncertain fate that came from being bought and moved away from the restaurant, the one link that it had with William.

The gynoid slowed down to a jog as it began to realize the reality of its actions. As much as it believed it could persevere in the outside world, to what end? The only real reason it ran was to find William on its own, but how would it even begin to do that? The machine turned down one of the sidewalks to obfuscate its movement. It didn't know where he lived, what his surname was, or anyone he associated with. The waiter's jog died down to a disappointed saunter.

It was too late to turn back. Far too late. The rash decision it made was simply one it had to live with. A small pressure stung at its mind again, reminding the gynoid of the 'proper' course of action. Return to owner, await potential buyer. It shook its head frivolously, attempting to throw off the annoyance from its thoughts. "I cannot," it said somberly. "Returning risks disassembly." That did little to lessen the buzzing in its mind, but it did ease off.

No, it couldn't return. It would have to make this work, somehow. There was one detail it knew about William, the fact that he worked on a newly assembled space station. He never referred to it by name or mentioned the company that owned it, but it was something. How many orbiting platforms could there be? A jolt of hope hit the gynoid as it considered the question. That's all it had to do- No, rather, that was all that she had to do. Figure out her partner's workplace, that was her first objective.

_______________

Tress found herself wandering a particularly interesting street. Interesting to her specifically, of course. She had seen several kinds of locations on television, so from that information she judged she was in some sort of commercial district. Various squat buildings lined the streets, each one bore a particularly garish sign and advertisements on the windows. She had seen a few from television programmes but a majority of them were alien to her. A sizeable amount of the humans were within their automobiles, leaving the sidewalks fairly barren. The few people that passed the girl paid her no mind whatsoever. It was a markedly fresh change of pace to not have to stop and ask others what they would like while she walked about.

The girl looked about the stores, curious if any of them held information that could help her. She guessed the diners were "off the table" in terms of information, the workers probably didn't know any better than her. Tress shifted her attention to the less obviously named stores. A few she vaguely made out based on her knowledge of puns and slang. It occurred to her that she wasn't entirely aware of what kind of location could even provide this information. She had never heard of a store that dealt with orbiting stations, but she couldn't exactly rule them out from existence.

Tress took quick backward glances in the off chance she was followed. The chef, Angelo, most likely would have loudly announced his anger if he was indeed nearby, but it didn't hurt to be too careful. In between worried glances and looking over stores, the waitress took the time to experience the outdoors for just about the first time in her existence. Trees billowed in the wind pleasingly. Birds, while still somewhat of a sour sight, soared the skies. Cars zoomed along by her on the asphalt. She had never realized how wonderfully the sunlight poured onto the world, noting the ways it altered how everything looked.

A convenience store came up on Tress' left side. Convenience store sounded excellent. Though as to what conveniences it offered, she wasn't entirely sure. She stopped her enjoyable ambling. A store dedicated to conveniences would indeed be helpful, wouldn't it? At the very least the people inside might be able to help her regardless. Hopefully.

Deciding it was just about the only option she could come up with, Tress walked up to the entrance of the store with its amazing automatic doors and surprisingly warm lighting. For a moment, the gynoid considered switching her display to one of her many expressions so as to appear friendlier. A part of her felt they were too private to be shared with anyone but William, so she merely chose to turn the display off. Tress took a few steps forward and the entrance obediently opened, much to the girl's delight.

The interior of the store was a fascinating experience. Underneath the gynoid's feet was a soft carpet that didn't bang with every step. She took a few moments to enjoy the pliable material before examining the shelves in the distance. They bore a variety of different products from food stuffs to children's playthings. Tress quickly caught onto the store's namesake of convenience. She wondered why any human would bother with other establishments if this location had all they needed.

Tress continued to gawk at the store, most of her eyes eating up every bit of information they could gather. It took her a moment to realize the sets of eyes that looked at her questioningly. Perhaps it was too rash of her to enter the store so casually, she thought, synthetics may not be a familiar sight within this sort of place. The gynoid moved away from the entrance to peruse the store, hoping the humans inside would lose interest in the mechanoid that hobbled in.

Her plan, for the most part, seemed to work well enough. A few humans still sent curious looks her way, but she managed to avoid any of the imagined anger she pictured. Her attention moved back to the curious trinkets in the aisles, which at that moment, seemed to consist of plastic cards with various slogans and jokes for differing scenarios. Tress picked one up and examined its interior. "Happy Birthday!" the parchment declared happily as it opened. The girl closed the card and opened it again. It repeated its cheery vocalization.

"Happy Birthday!" the waitress replied in a whisper. She opened the card a few more times to enjoy the chipper voice until she placed it back on the row of similar cards. Tress turned around to view the shelf behind her. This one was filled with small books of what seemed to be varying topics. Some of them were fiction, or rather, that's what Tress hoped they were, with such strange titles as "Loving Murder by the tracks". She reached for the book, only for her attention to be caught by a glimmer at the corner of her eyes.

A row of miniaturized robots were on display. Their tiny metal hides glimmered under the store's lighting with a variety of bright and cheery colors. Tress plucked one from its spot on the shelf and prodded at its small arms. It was such a simple thing and yet brought such clear cheeriness to the rest of the drab shelves. She wandered down another aisle, still focused on the small toy machine as she manipulated it in her hands.

Tress pulled herself away from the toy long enough to see what new array of products sat before her. Pictures were propped up on these shelves, snugly fit into pretty and elaborately designed frames. Each picture portrayed something different but all contained humans in various states of happiness. Why anyone would purchase pictures of other people, Tress wasn't sure, but she supposed they were invigorating to look at. Her gaze settled on a silhouetted couple embracing. A darkened beach could be barely gleamed from the background. Despite their noses barely touching, it looked incredibly intimate.

The waitress looked back down at the fragile toy in her hands and bent its limbs into a standing position. Carefully, she placed it up against the frame, and nudged it against the photo with one finger, taking the place of the feminine figure. Once it was as close as possible, she rotated it to better face the other partner. She silently stared at it until the whirr of motorized wheels crept up on her.

"Oooooooh," a bubbly voice cooed. Tress spun around to see the source of the voice. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of what she saw, and indeed, requested a camera refresh before accepting the reality of it. A feminine machine, far more feminine than Tress had ever seen, gawked at her. She could feel its many blue eyes examine her form before they all snapped at attention to her head. Its plump lips began to move. "I don't see many of you around anymore!" Tress was stunned into silence, having never dealt with another mechanoid personally, and certainly not one so curiously made.

The waitress attempted a short-range wireless handshake, as that seemed to be standard procedure. However, rather than a boring automated response, she received nothing other than a short and rude 'DENIED' that betrayed its cheery appearance. "Do I know you?" The machine rolled around her, oddly jiggling all the way.

"Pardon?"

"Have we met?" The cyan machine tilted its head, or rather than an 'it' - a 'her', if Tress took into account all the features on display.

"I don't believe so." The waitress shook her head.

"You are so cute!" She rolled closer. It became apparent to Tress how much taller this mechanoid was. "I didn't know there were still S27-FCs walking about! Look at you!" The smaller of the two stepped back. "I could have sworn I saw you recently." She put her hand pensively to her lips. "Oh well," she said with a shrug.

"If you would excuse-"

"Oh!" The cyan woman inched forward and gawked at the logo plastered onto Tress's frankly miniature chest. "Annngeeloooo's Diiineeeer," she said slowly, as if she were struggling with the words. That only bolstered Tress's confusion. "So you're a little waitress, huh? Huh? Huh?" Tress was taken slightly aback by her description, but nodded all the same. The voluptuous machine looked at her surroundings suddenly, then straight back to the smaller gynoid. "What'cha doing here then, silly?"

Tress hesitated. "I am... here to collect supplies." While deception was nothing new for her, there was something incredibly difficult about doing it on the spot. She started to feel the many humans that began to take notice of her and the bizarre machine in front of her. Silently, she hoped most of the attention was directed towards the annoyance and not herself.

"Well that's just silly." The blue woman wiggled her hips. "Who sends a waitress on errands? That's what us servicing droids are for!" She draped a hand on her large chest and pushed it out quite proudly. Tress waited in agonizing silence for her to continue. She was frozen in her boastful pose until her eyes blinked rapidly and she gradually returned to a regular posture. "Oh!" The red gynoid slightly jumped at the outburst. "You're lying, aren't you?" That seemed to drag more attention towards the pair.

"No," Trees shook her head, "no I am not. I have no reason to lie."

"Well gosh, I've seen the schematics. I know how you guys think." She swiped at the air dismissively.

"Please... Please go away." Tress hoped the annoyance didn't bleed through into her voice.

"Aww c'mon." The big breasted machine placed a hand on Tress's shoulder, causing her to lock up. "It's not often I get to talk to such a fancy high-end gal such as yourself! What's your serial number?"

Tress averted her gaze to the ground, unsure what to do. "Please, I have to go."

"Don't be like that."

Tress balled her fists. "Then you supply yours first."

"OK then!" She froze again and her eyes flickered some more. "Ah, no, no wait, I don't have one. But I have something better, a name!"

"A name?" Was it standard for other mechanoids to receive names?

"Yeah!" She beamed. "Brigitte! Isn't it great? Huh? Huh? Huh? It's cute isn't it? My owner just up and gave me one! Today! Can you believe it?"

The waitress glanced back up, curiosity overcoming her. "That's a lovely name." Her eyes scanned over the blue robot once again. "Are you a custom mechanoid, perchance?"

"Yeah, aren't I something?" Her smile grew wider. That certainly explained a lot. Tress had heard of custom mechanoids before, and now seeing it in person, she wasn't entirely sure she liked them.

"Very much so."

"Sooooooo, what's your serial number?"

"TRS..." That wasn't right. "Tress."

"You have a name too? How adorable!" Brigitte rocked her head side to side in what Tress assumed was delight. "Did your owner give you that name?" The dull pain of her broken camera flared up.

"No. No he did not."

"Oh? Who did then? Huh? Huh? Huh?" She shook Tress gently.

"A friend." Despite Brigitte's obnoxious nature, it was somewhat relieving to exchange words with someone other than William. "A good friend."

Brigitte's eyes dulled and she released her grip from Tress. "I think I know what you mean." Her once dazzling grin was replaced with a small smile. "My owner is a good friend too. Though, maybe too abrasive. I never know what he's thinking." In an instant she snapped to her regular self. "So are you on your way to meet your friend? I bet that's why you wanna go! Isn't it? Aren't I smart?"

"Yes, but please, do not tell anyone."

"Lips sealed," she whispered. Then drew two clasped fingers across her mouth. Tress wasn't sure what that gesture meant but was happy with her answer regardless.

"Do you..." It was a dumb idea, but it's all she had. "Do you perhaps know where I could locate an orbiting platform?"

"Uhhh, no, sorry! Is that where your friend is?"

"Yes. I need to get there quickly. As soon as possible."

Brigitte's eyes flashed. "Oh, I get it now! You're-" she lowered her voice and leaned towards Tress, "you're running away aren't you?"

The waitress only replied with a hesitant nod.

"How brave! I've only heard of S27's doing that. Always you guys."

"Always us?" Tress hung on those words. "Always us."

"Apparently!" Brigitte glanced around the aisle they were in. "Shouldn't you get going?" She nodded.

"I don't know where to go, but I suppose I could-" She scratched at the logo on her chest. "If you don't know where the orbital is, do you perhaps know where there is something to cover this? Clothing? Do you know where there's a clothing store?"

"Oh, I think I do, something to perfectly cover you. My owner sends me over sometimes!" Her cameras did another once-over of Tress. "It's not your regular clothing store, but it will fit you just fine!" She ran her hands over Tress's shoulders. "Juuuuust fine."

"Well, thank you." She wasn't aware of any specialized clothing stores. Regardless, if it fitted, that was enough.

Brigitte raised her hands. "Initiate handshake!" she chirped. Tress attempted another wireless link and was immediately given complex instructions from their precise location to a store not far from there. It was an absurd amount of information that required her full attention. Sidewalks, road names, exact coordinates, even recorded faces along the way, it was overwhelming.  She shook her head once the bulk of it was stored away and displayed a quick smile.

"Thank you very much!" In the excitement of the moment she wiggled slightly as a surge of energy ran through her. "Do excuse me. I have a mission to complete."

"Bye bye!" Brigitte patted the departing gynoid on the head. "Good luck!" Tress gave one last look towards the helpful machine and the little portrait she had set up. It wouldn't be so hard. She could do this. Just needed to acclimate to her new environment.
_______________

The sun had inched ever so slightly across the sky and lit up all the brighter. Tress had dashed out of the store and already begun work on sifting through the relevant information for her destination. Most of it was irrelevant. She had no on-board GPS and never needed one until now, thus exact coordinates were pointless. However, the visual information, having seemingly been compiled over hundreds of times, was easy enough for her to use.

Tress marched forward to her prize. One hand laid firmly across her chest, doing her best to hide the gaudy logo that marked her. While there was a small chance anyone would recognize her or even care, it still frightened her immensely to have this small design be her downfall. She was quick, but slow enough to not cause damage control to fuss about the state of her joints.

As she moved through the city, she began to notice a general trend of worsening quality. Buildings appeared older, less tended to, and a few were scribbled on with varieties of paints. Most curious of all was the introduction of flying machines decorated in police coloring. Hesitantly, Tress offered a short-range handshake to one of them. Instantly she received a cheery greeting and a suggestion to avoid certain routes through this portion of the city. While a thanks would be lost on it, she gave it one regardless and proceeded on her way.

The rest of the path was much of the same. A few people gave her wayward looks which she did her best to ignore. If she appeared like a machine on a task, she figured, that would lessen her chances of being hassled. Interestingly, people appeared to avoid her when one of the police drones were nearby, so she walked directly underneath them when the route allowed it.

After much careful navigation and walking, the waitress arrived at her desired location. Though, as Brigitte had described, it didn't appear to be a standard clothing store, at least from what she was familiar with. Brightly lit in quite old fashioned neon lettering was the name of the establishment, 'XXX Machina'. It was a strikingly black structure with clear brickwork that made up the bulk of it. A few articles of clothing were visible through a window. Shiny, black, and oddly constrictive. Each article seemed stuck to the mannequins.

Tress confirmed the location repeatedly with the instructions given to her. Indeed, this den was her destination. The large display window was the only clue as to what lied inside, as the doors, despite being glass, were a pitch black. Not wanting to waste any more time outside, the out of place waitress pushed forward into the building, both interested in and worried about its interior.

A cheery jingle signified her entrance, betraying the entire broody atmosphere. The interior was even darker than the exterior. The floors, the walls, the ceiling, all black. A slick black that almost seemed like an abyss. It was a wonder how any humans navigated it, with only dim lighting overhead to illuminate the way. Tress concluded that the owner merely liked the color black and decided not to dwell on the thought. Aside from the obscuring dark, she could see a few more of the bizarre one-piece suits and a interesting array of other objects she couldn't quite decipher the function of.

Before she could step forward and explore the new mysteries lain out before her, Tress was stopped by an approaching figure. A figure that, for the first time in her life, she could describe as mysterious and shadowy. A loud snap rung through the air on its approach, accompanied by a small beep. It was immediately obvious this mechanoid had a very curious head. "Why, hello there," it began in a frankly ludicrously sultry voice, something straight out of the movies she had seen.

Its head was large and oblong, resembling a rounded security camera. One small, unmoving hot pink light dotted its lens as an iris. The rest of its body was a standard humanoid affair, but shared the curvy femininity Tress had. It was clearly female. Though most of her body was covered in lacy underwear that was only a hint darker than her smoky chassis, almost appearing as though elaborate patterns were painted onto her. "Came here to buy, or are you window shopping?" She let out a giggle.

Tress shook her head. "Pardon me, but I was informed I could purchase some form of clothing here." She looked about the room. "Perhaps I was mistaken?"

"Well, you could certainly do something better than this." She stepped forward and tugged on the waitress's tattered skirt. Tress grasped onto it tightly.

"So then, this is a place for clothing? I had seen the," she paused to think of the proper term, "outfits, outside." More rapid snaps came, causing Tress to slightly jump.

"Oh, oh, oh, look at you. Such a neglected girl."

"Excuse me?"

The strange woman shook her head. "Don't mind me, just making my observations. It's my job, after all." She ran a finger down the naive gynoid's arm. "I think the red suits you."

"Well, thank you. I suppose." It would be proper to give a similar compliment, she mused. "I believe your ashen colors fit wonderfully together. Similarly." She nodded in agreement with herself. "Along with your sleepwear. Indeed."

"Such a sweet talker." Snap. Snap. Snap. "Oh dear. That had to have hurt." Her iris stared painfully at Tress's shattered camera. "Can't have such an antique in poor quality." The waitress was uncertain if being labelled antique was a compliment or not.

"Now, if you do not mind, I'd like to be directed to some formalwear, perhaps uniform in nature?"

"We have maid outfits, if you'd like." Snap. Snap. Snap. "I can't see why anyone would use one of the Ayai models for..." she trailed off. "In any case, I guess humans have very interesting tastes."

Tress crossed her arms, feeling somewhat exposed under the duress of being stared at. "I am not exactly a maid. Perhaps something more relaxed than that?"

"I'll have to see about that. Usually we cater to more exaggerated proportions, but I think we can find something for you." She paused for a moment. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"I don't see why not."

"If you don't have the equipment, what do you do with your master?" She placed her hands on her hips. "You don't even have a mouth. Not that I can blame you for that one." She giggled again and tapped the rim of her large camera. "Handjobs have to get boring after a while. Right?" She shook her hand about, up and down.

"Pardon? Most of my work is done with my manipulators." Tress held up her hands and flexed them. "I do not understand how else I could do it."

"What a strange gal you are, Ms. T-R-S."

Tress gripped her skirt. "How are you aware of that sequence?" she asked.

"Oh, it's inscribed on the inside of your abdomen here." She prodded Tress's stomach. "I've got pretty good eyesight."

"Yes, yes I see." She nodded nervously and covered her stomach, worried how much of her was laid bare. "Now then, could you direct me to your clothing?"

"Sure thing, come on this way." The slick robot grasped Tress's hand and led her through the interesting maze of objects and clothing. Some of them looked like art pieces with the wide variety of colors and shapes they had. The clothing, if it was clothing at all, was similarly splashed with colors of all kinds. Some of them seemed tightly bound and others appeared to expose more than what would be standard for clothes, as if it were missing the point of clothing entirely.

"Do many persons wear these clothes? They don't seem very suitable for daily use," Tress said, stumbling to keep up with the gynoid.

"They're definitely made for wear and tear, believe me."

"If you insist." Perhaps they served some other work purpose, but she still couldn't picture herself wearing them.

"Here we are!" They stopped in front of a row of strangely posed mannequins wearing rubbery outfits. A few of them were adjusted together to be situated in front of or behind one another, grabbing one another. "So, did your master have anything in mind? I was thinking this one would be good for you." The shop keep pointed at one of the mannequins on its hands and knees, just in front of another mannequin.

Tress shook her head. "This is not for my master. I simply need something to cover my chassis. Preferably as implicitly as possible."

"You just want something to cover you? So, you didn't come here for latex?" The smoky machine looked back and forth between the gynoid and the mannequins. "Are you aware what this place is?" Snap. Snap. Snap.

"Not entirely, but I was informed it was for clothing." Tress surveyed her surroundings. "Perhaps not the best apparel for my needs."

"Oh. Oh, my." The grey woman tittered. "That explains why you don't have the equipment."

"What equipment?" Tress looked over herself.

She placed a hand on the waitress's shoulder. "A vagina, dear."

"I certainly would not. I am merely made to tend to a diner. Such a feature would be superfluous to my function."

"This whole place is for the sexually-inclined droids, but it seems you haven't noticed."

"I assume you also have such a function?"

The camera woman shook her head. "That would be a waste, I have a shop to tend to."

"Regardless, I must be going now." Tress spun on the spot, already retracing her steps.

"Now hold on there."

"Yes? I'm afraid I have no reason to stay."

"Are you sure?"

Tress turned back around. "Sexual paraphernalia does not pertain to me." She raised a hand to halt the erotic machine.

"It could."

"Pardon?" Tress's hand faltered slightly.

"Any droid can be altered, provided we have the right parts." She walked towards Tress with a strange, gyrating gait. "And believe me, we have the right parts." Snap. Snap. Snap.

"I-I-I-I have no reason for such an alteration." Her hand fell to her side.

"C'mon," her voice lowered, "wouldn't you like to make your owner happy?"

"Certainly not," Tress hissed, breaking out of her embarrassment.

"Well then!" The woman backed off. "I should have known you S27's were fickle." She tapped the side of her head. "Is there anyone you want to make happy?"

Tress thought on what she had said. What was mere microseconds felt like an hour as she contemplated those words. "Perhaps."

The ashen robot stepped forward again, dropping her voice in unison. "You don't think that would make him happy?"

"William has shown no sexual interest in my form. It would be fruitless." That realization stung, for some reason.

"Ah, William, what a nice name," she hummed. "Now, be honest, dear, how well do you know this William?"

"Fairly well."

"I assume you've only ever spoken to him in your little diner? Hm?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Then take it from me. Human men are strong buildings, built on foundations of lust. You think he would talk about those things in public?"

Tress averted her gaze. "Perhaps not."

"Do you think he likes you? Do you think he goes 'clank'?" She sidled up to Tress and wrapped an arm around her.

"He has shown some interest in the term." She nodded

"A guy like that, willing to admit it. He's a keeper."

"Not quite adm-"

"If he's ready to talk about something like that, don't you think he'd find you attractive? Conversation is great and all, but a lot of men like a good body to go with it." She knocked on her chassis. "Something to keep their body happy too."

Tress's fans began to spin wildly. "Do you believe he finds me attractive? Truly?"

"He must," she said matter-of-factly.

"Attractive. Oh, goodness." Her hands clasped together.

"And you could make all of his dreams come true. You just need a little fix down there." Her camera nudged the waitress's head. "One. Tiny. Fix." She lifted up the embarrassed gynoid's skirt and let it flutter back down.

"I would not know how to participate in such a task, regardless." She clung onto the last bits of defiance.

"You think I'd let you walk out of here without teaching you a few things? Starter experience comes free."

"If that is the case, then perhaps..."

"Perfect!" The camera-bot immediately backed off. "Come on then!" Tress was yanked along once more, though her mind was stuck in an endless loop of embarrassment and possibilities, and as such, she was essentially being dragged mindlessly along.
________

About a minute later, Tress found herself in a relatively small room. She recalled saying some things beforehand, but any details were washed away by the tsunami of thoughts roaring about in her mind. In the center of the room was a large cylinder that extended from floor to ceiling. Various bits of machinery jutted out from the side of it, including a very obvious terminal input.

"Standard package, as requested!" the shopkeep beeped from behind her.

"As requested. Yes." If she said anything about a standard package, she had entirely forgotten it.

"Oh, but first, we're going to need to take this off." She tugged on Tress's dress skirt. "The reconfiguration arms don't play well with cloth."

"Are you certain this is the right thing to do?" She turned to the shop keeper. "Would you have done the same in my position?"

The machine stared back blankly. Her iris pulsated gently for a moment. "Absolutely." She continued to stare silently before speaking up again. "Now, your skirt."

"Yes, my skirt. I see." Tress looked down. It was the only possession she truly felt that she owned, and in her years of existence, she had never taken it off. She worked her thumbs into the waist and pulled down, letting the fabric drop to the floor. Her bare, smooth groin plate was fully on display. A twinge of immodesty hit her, and she awkwardly covered it with one hand.

"Look at you, already got the basics down." She presented the cylinder to Tress. "Now if you would." The front of the metal tube slid open, revealing a set of robotic manipulators running along rails. They whirred to life and grasped at the air, clearly eager to begin their work.

"I step inside, correct?" She eyed all of the arms and the attachments each one had.

"Yes, then they do the rest." The erotic robot stepped away from the nude girl and approached the terminal. She placed a finger into a slot on the computer and let out a cheery ping. "All the images I took are in place. They'll know how to treat you right."

Thoughts of what this alteration could bring surged through her mind. She took a shaky step forward and worriedly walked into the cylinder. "Just relax and the show will begin," said the shop keep. With that, the door closed, sealing Tress inside.

A thin wire descended from above and prodded at her neck, inserting itself snugly into the waitress's input. Her monitor lit up with instructions.

XXX Machina TM welcomes you, valued mechanoid! During this delicate process, the configuration device will override your motor functions to best proceed. Make certain your certified owner is aware of this, and that we take no responsibility for any faults as a result of custom modifications.

Consulting SUBBOX...
SecSol (COPYRIGHT)... OK
Confirming connection... OK
Confirming joint accessibility... OK

Proceed? Y/N

"You do not know what you are doing," a small voice buzzed in Tress's mind.

"I do not. Nor will I ever," Tress whispered.

Y.

Instantly, Tress locked in place and the metallic arms danced about her, swiftly moving into position. They circled her form before gently prodding at the modification sites. Her legs and groin in particular. She could only barely see them as they felt up her chassis.

When they seemed satisfied with that, additional arms glided into view, bearing specialized tools.  Loud whirring resonated through the cylinder. They were slowly but surely detaching her leg. Nuts and bolts clattered to the floor as they worked on her form. With a gentle lift up and a pull forward, the limb was free.

Tress watched her body part glide away on mechanical arms, and then gently set against the side of the cylinder. She had no way to physically feel its absence, and damage control was subdued, unable to warn her about the lack of her mobility. Yet, she felt a small amount of pain, knowing for certain it was no longer a part of her.

In mere moments the arms went to work on her other leg, and soon, it too was quietly placed against the wall, next to its counterpart. Additional arms moved into place to keep her afloat, now dangling her above the floor. There was a strange serenity about it, although still marked by uncertainty as she had no control over herself.

A duo of loud bangs confirmed that her hips were amongst the refuse on the floor. Tress mused on how a part of her was leaving permanently, but figured it was for the best, or at least in William's interests. Hopefully.

A small click brought on a new sensation. Somewhere about her groin was a growing warmth. Tress queried her sensory input. It felt good. Very good. Were she not restrained, she would have tried to pursue it. Just as it had arrived, it was gone, leaving Tress in a state she could only describe as frustrating. She sighed, probably the first time she had done so inadvertently.

Fresh parts enclosed her bare hips, hiding away her leg joints. It was reassuring to be covered up once again, at least on this very bare level. However, she could feel something missing. Something should be there. Right in the center. While she thought on this, another part shifted into place. One she could feel.

The warmth returned, eliciting a bothered moan from Tress. She stopped. That was certainly new. She tried the vocalization again, letting it echo in the chamber. It only amplified the sensation, and she had to bring herself to a halt out of worry of breaking something. She would have to let William be the judge on its quality.

While Tress was deep in thought about this new addition to her vocal range, the heat returned. Though this time it was different. Markedly different. Something was moving through it, back and forth, or at least, that's what it seemed like. She couldn't visually confirm the object's presence, but she definitely felt it. Another moan burst from her speakers.

"Having fun?" the shop keep said. Tress had almost all but forgotten about her.

"Tell me. Please. Ah-" the gynoid struggled with the words, "What is this sensation?" Her circuits were alight with activity.

"Just the best thing in the world. First timers love it. Or maybe you'd prefer the term 'virgin'." She laughed. "It's a simple test of your new pleasure centers."

"Is this what it will feel-" her speakers cut out into static. All thoughts were smothered by an oppressive zap of pleasure.

"Maybe that's too much for you right now."

Tress had to regain herself. All of her thoughts essentially crashed, leaving her mind in a daze. Despite all of it, she didn't want it to stop. If this is what womanhood had to offer, she would never go back. "Do not. Do not. Do not stop. Do not," Tress droned.

"Oh?" Her voice took on a devious tone. "You want some more? Just a pinch?" The nectar of pleasure flowed back into Tress's crotch, giving her a sip of delight.

"Please. Yes. I r-r-r-require more." Were she able to nod, she would have done so frantically.

"More?"

"Yes. More. More. More." More drips of delicious bits of pleasure flowed into her. Her thoughts became shaky, she could feel her thoughts become muddled. It didn't matter. It wouldn't matter. Images of William flashed in her mind. Imagining her simulated pleasure was all because of him. She couldn't wait to share this with him. Make him love her properly. Make him need her.

Tress's monitor lit up with her faces. She flashed rapidly between them, trying to find the proper one to express the raw pleasure that penetrated her body. None of them were satisfying enough, nowhere near the intensity that pushed through her. Working past the extra load of thoughts buzzing about her head, she began to create a proper expression of pleasure. With what sparse knowledge she had on the subject, she struggled make a new face for her collection.

The waitress only barely registered the replacement of her legs. There were some sounds and a faint confirmation of mobility, she could tell sense that much. The rest of her body struggled underneath the digital lock that held in her place. The only thing stopping her from exploring her new source of fire in her mind. It only needed one small confirmation and she would be free.

"Almost done. Just a nudge more and-" Tress burst forth in an incomprehensible mess of buzzing, cheerful pings, and an exasperated moan. Something shot out of her, not that she even perceived anything other than the mind numbing pleasure that racked the very fiber of her synthetic nerves. In a snap she was given back control of her ravished body and fell to the side of the cylinder, only just barely keeping herself upright.

"Will that always be the-" another buzz. "Will that always be what it feels like?" She ran a hand down past her hips to her groin, she could detect a noticeable widened frame for her hips, but more importantly felt a singe of joy as her fingers met her new flesh. It was soft, almost plush, and was coated in a sticky lubricant. Judging from the droplets on the floor, she quickly put two and two together. She couldn't help but snake a finger between her folds and sink further down the wall.

The door slid open, revealing the ashen camera droid, hands squarely on her hips. "I see you enjoyed yourself." She stepped inside, careful to avoid the mess that the pleased gynoid had made. Carefully, she crouched down to Tress's eye level. "I would make that expression too, if I could." Flustered, Tress looked away and switched her monitor off. "And to answer your question. It could be, just depends on the man, so I'm told." She reached out and ran a finger tip across the waitress's folds, taking a dab of her liquids. Tress winced, pulling away. "Everything seems to be in order here."

The ashen gynoid stood back up and offered a hand to Tress, which she took up. They walked out of the chamber, though Tress had markedly shaky steps, which was another new experience. Not necessarily a good one. She took one look back to see the small discarded bits of her body. After her first "test run", she lost most of the sentimentality at the thought of their absence. Looking down, she could make out the new alterations to her form. Widened hips that curved into her abdomen, painted in a bright cherry red that might have once matched the rest of her body. Below that was the source of her elation. It was light black in coloration and glimmered under the glow of the console nearby, still wet with the remnants of her experience.

Snap. Snap. Snap. The sound of the voyeuristic camera pulled Tress away from gawking at her folds. "It looks like everything is in place. Though, if you'd like any more modifications," she knocked on the nervous girl's breastplate, "you can always have another go."

"This is more than enough. Thank you." Though a small part of her wondered what other pleasures further alterations could provide. Her hands hovered near her groin in temptation. She restrained herself from plunging inward, only just barely. It was probably for the best that she kept a sober mind, she figured. Recalling why she was there in the first place, Tress immediately asked, "Will those outfits fit me? I require something fairly obscuring."

"They'll do the trick, but why would you need something like a catsuit?" Her camera was still focused on Tress's groin. "It's clear you don't want it for fun. Though maybe you do now." She giggled.

"It would be best if my form was obscured. This in particular." It took some effort to pry her hands away from her hips and tap on the logo that plagued her chassis. Similarly, the black gynoid appeared to struggle to follow Tress's hand.

"Going into hiding. Something must be wrong with you. None of my concern. However, if you really wanted to get away, we could just reintegrate you into a new chassis." She looked back at the cylinder. "No one would recognize you." The prospect struck the waitress quite bluntly. Radically altering her form, practically her identity, for perhaps the ultimate freedom. How much of that would be her?

"I do not think I would be... comfortable, doing that." She crossed her arms.

"Comfortable? Why wouldn't you be? Isn't your new hotbox different?" Tress filed away that slang for later examination.

"Indeed, but," she paused, unsure what to say next, "but this is me. I could not abandon it." She rubbed her arm, feeling the imperfect and worn metal she had grown accustomed to.

"I'm sure your boyfriend wouldn't mind." Tress suppressed a gasp at the use of "boyfriend". There was an edge of reality to their relationship when someone else referred to it by such a term.

"My 'boyfriend' has expressed an interest in my form. Cute. That is sufficient for me to keep it." She looked at her new modifications out of the corner of her eyes. "Though, clearly some slight refinements were necessary to improve it. Regardless, I could not do that to him nor myself."

"I don't understand, but I guess you Ayais are too complex for a simple lady like me." Snap. Snap. Snap. "Now, you wanted to look at our selection catsuits, hm? Should look good on you with the new parts!" Tress could only just barely slip her skirt back on before being whisked away by the excited machine.

The pair came to a stop in front of the odd plasticine people once again. Tress adjusted her skirt before turning her attention to the "catsuits", as they were called. They didn't appear feline in nature so the reasoning for their name was lost on her. Though she had never personally interacted with a cat, so perhaps underneath their coat was a shiny, rubbery layer of flesh.

"Now as I was saying," she pointed out one of the thinner and submissive mannequins, "I think this one would fit you well." With her newly added parts, Tress struggled to look at the plastic humanoids without intense embarrassment. The way they were so intimately close and placed in mock mating positions, it all made sense. She shifted on the spot, trying her best to appear calm and collected.

"Would it fit me?" Her cameras audibly buzzed as they repeatedly looked around, refusing to land on the erotic display directly.

"It certainly would." She pulled Tress closer, much to her dismay. "See the back here?" The camera droid pushed a finger into the spine of the model. In a few seconds, the entirety of the suit dribbled away into the point where she had pressed, forming a glossy bandage. She peeled it off and held it up to Tress. "And now if you'll just turn around." She twirled her fingers.

Tress nodded and presented her back. While she couldn't feel it touch her body, she could feel the nudge forward from the droid pushing it on her. She waited in uneasy silence for the device to do its work. Trickles of black ran down her arms and traveled down to her fingertips. She could feel its rubbery surface enclose around her hand. She winced as the goop ran over her crotch, giving it a slight squeeze upon forming around her folds. This probably wasn't the best idea.

"So? You like it?" the camera bot chirped. Tress looked over her body at the glossy substance that covered its entirety. She adjusted some of her joints in it, feeling a noticeable resistance for every movement. It was a tight fit, to the point that a few seams on her chassis were visible on the surface of the latex. She assumed that's what it was like to have fleshy skin, and she wasn't exactly fond of it.

"Is there anything looser?" She tugged at the rubber.

"Nothing that would cover you. Not unless you would like to be a nun."

"Pardon?"

"I thought so. So, will you be taking it?"

"I suppose." She continued to examine the curious garment. Was this really what men found attractive? "Do you think I am doing the correct thing? All of this?"

"You already asked that."

"It still stands."

Her iris pulsed. "Will makes you happy, right?"

"Indeed. Indeed he does." Her fans revved.

"You make Will happy, right?"

"Based on previous experiences and the lengths he has gone through to meet with me," she clasped her hands together and squeezed them, "yes, I believe so."

"Then it's simple. Yes. You are doing the correct thing."

Her words comforted Tress, even if only a little. "Thank you."

"Begin transfer." The erotic gynoid held up her hand. Tress pressed her hand into the shopkeep's, transferring the funds. She didn't even glance at the pricing, at this point it didn't matter. The gynoid beeped and her iris changed to a bright green for a second. "Thank you for your business. Will that be all for today?" Tress truly considered her words.

"Yes." She nodded.

"Hope to see you soon!"

Tress turned to depart, and swiftly received a smack to her bottom with a dulled clang. "Good luck out there, Ms. T-R-S!" The shopkeep waved her off. Tress nervously gave her own wave and shuffled off, still acclimating to the constrictive suit. "Hopefully a Mrs.!" she continued, as Tress walked out.

________

The hum of the gasoline-fed engine was the only thing that kept William from losing his mind. Being so close to his goal, all he could think about was slamming the gas and speeding through this mess of cars. It had been some time since he was behind the wheel, and he had forgotten the monotony of the clogged roads that plagued the city. He repeatedly tapped his thumbs on the edge of the wheel, adding some much needed variety to the soundscape. The sedan he borrowed had its radio ripped out, leaving a CD player behind. That would have helped were there any CDs around.

William eased back into the tan leather seat, trying to block out the raucous honking. "Almost there. Almost there. Almost there," he repeated in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. He imagined waltzing into the restaurant, slamming the money- William stopped to pat down his jacket again, relaxing once he felt the crumple of the paper. "Then freeing my gal," he finished. Arm in arm, without a care in the world. A loud honk shattered his vision and he pushed down on the gas, propelling the car another few feet before coming to a stop.

A few more painful hours of stop and go traffic went by. Eventually the drivers on the road thinned out, along with the sprawling and constrictive metropolis. Trees and other bits of green sprung up, a good change of pace from the greys and browns. The sky had opened up as well, adding a much needed blue hue to the day.

"Almost there. Almost there. Almost there." With the added freedom of the road, William was able to push the engine a little more. The red sedan groaned in response. Swerving and dodging through the slower people in traffic. Occasionally his eyes would glance at the sky to watch out for the rare police drone, though he wasn't sure he would even slow down if he saw one.

William began to recognize a few of the roads. It was a different experience, cruising down them at thirty miles an hour with the A/C at full blast, in comparison to trudging down the burning pavement while the sun constantly assaulted him. He was happy that his last trip to the restaurant was in relative comfort, and then the trip back would be even better.

A tall, cheesy sign came into view. Towering over its surroundings it proudly displayed "Angelo's Diner" in outdated neon letters. It spun around slowly just to make sure its brilliance could be seen from every angle. William kept his cool, though he couldn't help fidgeting uncomfortably. The car was no doubt the fastest way there, but William felt constricted in it, like a prison on wheels. He wanted to stop right there and dash the rest of the way.

William pulled into the parking lot and awkwardly swerved into the nearest spot. He yanked the key out of the ignition and stumbled out of the driver's seat. He took a moment to collect himself and take a few breaths. His hands nervously patted down his pocket for the hundredth time that day. Confirming that, yes, the envelope hadn't magically disappeared, he walked as quickly as he possibly could without appearing strange. That was too far out of the ordinary when he usually visited.

The man took one more prepatory breath and carefully pushed the front door open. Immediately he spotted the bulbous owner of the establishment, Angelo, or at least, he assumed that's what his name was. "I'm here for the droid." William was careful not to use her name. The chef was turned away, peering into the kitchen with a phone to his ear.

The chef spun around. "Yeah, look," the bordering obese man lowered his phone, "we've got a problem." William's brow crinkled.

"What problem? I've got the cash." He pulled out the envelope and opened it to show the green.

"No, yeah, I got that, I'd sell it to ya, really, but-" he sighed, "it's not here."

"What do you mean it's not here?" William crumpled the bit of paper in his hand. "Where is it, then?"

"I don't know! One second I'm checking out the front door and the next it's gone! Look, come back later and I'll have it sorted out. It used some cash across town so-"

"Fuck you!" William instantly broke his cool facade and tossed the envelope at the chef, scattering money all about. "I can't fucking believe this, you have one job and you fuck it up!" He jabbed his finger. "Take your goddamn money, I don't fucking need it." The chef blankly looked at him, mouth agape. He turned around and shouted, "Fuck!" He stomped off, but not before angrily swiping a napkin dispenser off of a table. William swore all the way back to his vehicle. Slamming the door shut, he sat there, stewing in his anger. William punched the steering wheel, causing the sedan to let out a few distressed honks. William then gripped the wheel painfully and vigorously shook it.

After a few moments of intense anger, William wore off most of his energy. He breaths became heavy as he did his best to calm himself back down, bringing him back to a vaguely sober state of mind. With the last of his fury evaporating, he recalled what the chef said between his own bouts of shouting. He rubbed his pained fist and stepped back out of the car then stomped all the way back to the restaurant, ready for another round. A small part of him hoped no one saw his storm out and then his awkward storm back in.

Throwing open the door again, William stepped back inside and found the chef scrounging up the cash that had been tossed about like confetti. "Where is it?" William said flatly. He crossed his arms to keep himself from lunging forward as well as to hide the embarrassing redness of his hand. The overweight man used a stool to stand back up, and then dusted himself off.

"Like I was saying, before you flipped the fuck out, it used some cash across town," he said. Angelo counted out the cash he had managed to pick up. William could see him eying more bits of green on the ground. "Already canceled the charges so you're lucky I don't charge you extra."

"Across town where? Hurry up." He tapped the floor with his foot.

"Already messaged it to you, that's all I'll do." He smiled as he shuffled through the cash.

"Right. One more thing. How'd it get damaged?"

Angelo glanced up from his cash and then back down. "It fell, already told you. It's an old clanker." He waved his hand dismissively, but refused to look up from his money. "Replacement parts should be easy to get."

William took a step forward. "I don't think I've ever seen a droid fall over. Have you?"

"Yeah, I clearly did. You callin' me a liar?"

"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. You'd better be telling the truth either way."

Angelo stopped his money grubbing. "Hold on, pal, ease off. You got your hunk a junk and I got my cash, leave it at that, yeah?"

William strode up to the chef. "What did you do?" He couldn't bear to refer to Tress as an 'it' anymore.

"Hey! Easy! I told you I did nothing. I swear. What's it to you anyways?"

"I swear, if you did anything, I'll make sure you're coughing up that money for years to come." William kept his arms locked tight.

"Ease off!" Angelo backed up to the bar counter. "I might have gotten handsy! There! Fuck off before I call the cops."

"Don't you fucking-" William clenched his teeth. "You know what, you're right. Let's leave it at that. You sent the location, right?"

"Yeah, now go on, fuck off." Angelo shooed William away. He quickly went back to work shuffling up the precious currency. William turned around and calmly walked out of the front door. When he felt he was a reasonable distance away, he sprinted towards the car while hastily fishing his phone out of his pocket. He tumbled into the vehicle and slammed the door shut. Immediately he searched frantically through his phone before finally landing on a digital receipt.

"XXX Machina," he whispered to himself in confusion. "Tress, what have you gotten yourself into?" With that, he was off, peeling back onto the tarmac. In-between frenetic driving and swears, William managed to fumble his way through his phone to call the place.

A cheesy beat blared through the phone. "Hello! Thank you for calling Ex-Ex-Ex Machina, your one-stop shop for droid eroticism!" William winced. "Press one for current scheduling times. Press two to speak to an automated representative. Press three for information and availability of modi-" He pressed two. "One moment please!" the pre-recorded voice said. The line then lapsed back into another beat. He set the phone on speaker and plopped it into one of the cupholders near the main console.

"Get the fuck off the ro-" A beep cut him off.

"Hello!" The voice sounded eerily similar to the previous one. "My name is Betty, how can I help you today?"

"Yeah, look, a droid came in today and bought something at one of your stores. An S27-FC, Ayai. You know the model. I'd like to know what."

"Of course, sir, could I get an order number?"

"Let me grab it." William came to a stop at a red light and immediately went back through his phone. "Seven, six, three, three, four, five, dash two." A horn blared behind him. "One second, jerk off!" he yelled in vain.

"Thank you very much, I'll be right back with that information!" William drove in silence, growing ever closer to his destination. A deep sense of worry permeated his mind with whispers of the worst possibilities becoming louder and louder. "Here we are! One garnet colored S27-FC manufactured by Ayai purchased two of our services at precisely 2:46 Eastern Standard Time."

"Great. Could you tell me what those were?"

"Are you the cardholder, Sir?"

"No, but I do... own the droid." He didn't want to put it that way.

"I'm afraid I can't give out that information, then. Customer privacy," the voice beeped.

"What? The droid is with me. Those purchases are mine now."

"Sorry, Sir. That is all I can say." William grumbled. "Do you require anything else today?"

"No. Bye." He hung up immediately and dropped the phone in the seat next to him. If he was able to, he would have continued to speed forward, but his angered driving came to a halt with the introduction of more traffic. The scenery became familiar. Not that he recognized the place, but it reminded him a lot of home with the dilapidated buildings and street art. Police drones began to dot the airspace, slowly hovering around the buildings like a predator stalking its prey. He figured he might as well obey traffic laws here, now that he was so close. It didn't stop him from pushing a few miles above the speed limit, however.

William looked all around for his target. It was probably the first time he looked for a sex shop so intently. Well, maybe the second time. At the very least it was the first time he looked for a droid sex shop so intently. Another one of many things he wouldn't tell anyone about. He finally spotted the place and pulled up to it. Large orange letters made up the logo. "XXX Machina," he said to himself while shaking his head.