Stripped Gears Writefaggotry




Let me tell ya, ain't nothin' sadder than a newbie after his first scrap. Last week some punk came in here; you shoulda seen this putz, real blue-blood, nice clothes, parted hair, whole shebang. Anyway, he's got this nice-looking model, full synthskin, practically seamless. Step back two meters you'd swear she was the real deal. Twenty says he had 'er cuz no warm one'd touch him. Anyway, fight starts, she folds out a couple spike rams from her wrists. Gotta give the twerp credit, he had some idea what he was in for. 'Course he was up against ol' Massacre Marge, so...wasn't a long one.


Anyway, slut-bot's almost as much of a wreck as the kid is, then she starts going into this death sequence thing. Pretty well programmed, though lord knows why they bothered. I try to tell the kid he can just reboot 'er, but he just howls like it's his wife on the ground there or somethin' and runs off with as much of the scrap as he can carry.

Left the rams, though. Mine now, heh.


".. OK, you're new. That doesn't excuse you bringing yer maidbot to a fight, but it can be forgiven. Look. 25CC fights, the scrubs, happen Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Bring her to a few of those, and if -IF- you start winning, you might get an invite to a 50CC battle. Now, here, fill these papers out. You're now an independent contractor of Datastar LLC. - this is how we pay you for winning - if she wins a fight, your money is placed into an account with us. We have an agreement with the 'noid parts shops, too - we can hook you up. If you want this in cash, that requires a little more time and effort and winning. That's the way the game's played. Now, then. Get the fuck outta here, I got serious fights to take care of."


"Look, no, dude. Watch here, on the replay. See... there!" "What, no, I don't see, what the fuck.." "OK! See how she just barely moved - but it was just enough for the punch to slip past?" "Past? It looks like it hit." "No, see, no damage a second later. She shoulda been spitting bolts after that kinda punch." "OK... so?" "Second part - did you hear about those theoretical physics systems that got stolen?" "Oh you are so fulla shit - who'd wanna put something like that in a 2-bit chop shop chassis like that?" "Somebody who wants to see if they can awaken it..."


I always imagined that I’d die bleeding to death in the back room of a Siberian brothel. Of course, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure that’s where I am right now. It’s dark and dirty enough, and certainly smells like a whore house, but the cold could very well just indicate that it’s winter in New York City and the basement where I am currently tied to a chair hasn’t had central heating since the 1930’s. Also, while it certainly feels like I’m bleeding to death, all I’m really sure about is that at least two of my ribs are cracked and my mouth tastes like I’ve been munching on pennies. If I sound confident, it’s not because I am. Alice is probably lying in a similar basement somewhere, her arms and legs hung each on a separate hook, torso on some junk-slut chopping block in Midtown. Not that I’m the kind of dollboy that gets all weepy over his girl, but let’s face it, if we were taking bets on who could get me out of this, I’d skip right past the cops and straight to Alice running on a ASUS 52xx brain box put in a Mk 44 Hydraulic Sony Dom Bot (heavily modified by yours truly of course).


Chantelle was a sexbot. It is highly probably that her owner, like too many before him, assumed that using a sexual service android for a competition such as this would increase the crowd’s enjoyment of the event. Comparing levels of crowd activity that night with fights both previous and thereafter, he was probably correct.

Chantelle was a young and beautiful women approximately one hundred seventy centimetres in height. Her hair was a colour that some would call “golden brown” and reached the base of her spine. Her eyes were wide and a dazzling shade of blue that men would find attractive. Every inch of her chocolate brown artificial skin was perfectly smooth within the limits of human tactile sensation. Her figure was precisely sculpted into the scientifically determined average of desirability for human males. Her programming reflected in every way her singular purpose as a physical pleasure tool, from the particular posture of her walking cycle to the idling animations she would run through whenever men were present in any capacity. She was a perfect sex doll. She was gorgeous. She was desirable. She was...


Chantelle spent approximately seven minutes, three hundred sixty seconds, enticing the audience before the match, as she was programmed to do. Her owner sent her into the ring wearing a typically flamboyant outfit consisting of many layers of clothing, and then had her perform a striptease for the crowd. During the course of this, she would verbalise insults to her opponent and ‘talk dirty’ to both her owner and all those observing. She was very well programmed indeed. Her simulations of authentic human behaviour were most convincing, and her physical appearance even when completely naked had several audience members showing elevated signs of discomfort, no doubt believing on some level that perhaps this ‘machine’ was in fact a real woman and that they were about to watch her fight to the death.

Chantelle spent precisely sixty operational seconds in the ring.

At fifteen seconds, her lack of any dedicated high-speed optical assimilation processing left her with an obvious blind spot, which allowed me to penetrate her right upper arm with the retractable ram spike in my left forearm, damaging several major mechanical couplings and rendering the arm useless.

At twenty-one seconds, her inferior heuristic integrity monitoring system caused a programmed shutdown of several major actuators, rendering her legs unable to move for the remainder of the match.

At twenty-nine seconds, the ram spike in my left forearm penetrated her right breast to a depth of five inches and punctured three layers of her inner casing chassis, destroying four brackets, buckling chassis plate number 37B beyond repair and crushing two of her secondary memory processing banks.

At forty-six seconds, the leverage provided by the ram spike in my left forearm caused her upper torso casing to critically fail and I was able to open her upper torso by force, leaving her essential systems completely vulnerable.

At sixty seconds, I was able to remove enough components from her internal mechanisms without ceasing processing activity or causing system shutdown to allow me access to her cybernetic braincase. Which I then removed. With my bare hands.

At sixty-three seconds, the match was called to an end by the official observer when Chantelle had ceased all activity for three seconds. I was declared the winner.

If I had any kind of human emotions as I held the sexbot’s reinforced CPU box in my hands while the crowd cheered for my victory and the tangled bodily remains of Chantelle were removed from the arena, I would have felt one emotion in particular.



It was good to be king, John realized, as he sent Mari, his 5 foot tall murder machine, into the ring. He was reigning champ in these rings, and no one would be ousting him from the top spot anytime soon. Looking over to his opponents side of the ring, he could see the kid giving high fives to what looked like his college buddies, probably only have just learned about this darker side of an already pretty violent spectacle, they more than likely dumped a ton of their parent's money into their mediocre sparring robot. Someone up top must be cruel to send them against the reigning king of these fights, probably trying to teach them a lesson in what it really takes to compete in the death matches.

He studied their meido, probably over 6 feet tall, most likely to fit in more combat equipment and hidden blades and that kind of shit. Either that or the kids just liked the amazon look. Not so for John, he knew the level of damage an unassuming or cutesy looking 'bot could cause. They just looked at his and started to burst out laughing, believing they had an easy win on their side. They probably weren't even interested in the manufacture of his meido, which they wouldn't be able to identify anyway. He had acquired this chassis from some contacts in the military and practically rebuilt it from scratch just for chuckle nuts like these. Theirs was just a refurbished model, probably the punks old nanny bot or something, and looked to still be mostly made up of commercial parts. He shook his head and waited for the match to commence.

At the starting buzzer, the punks 'bot flew from the starting line and landed a solid kick to Mari's head, followed up by a quick shot to the torso, and sweeping the legs out from under her. John watched as Mari hit the ground, and just chuckled to himself. He knew what people liked to see in these rings, so he wasn't going to go for the quick victory he knew he could pull off. John ordered Mari to fight back, only to her barest of settings, seeking to cause minimal damage to her opponent while sustaining as much damage as possible without being taken out of commission. Mari bounced off the ground and punched at the opponents midsection, which was blocked easy and then followed by a counter kick to Mari's head. John just bid his time, waiting for some sort of dramatic damage to his 'bot. The punk and his friends just kept chuckling and high-fiving as their 'bot continued to land blow after blow on Mari denting her chassis in some places as it pranced around, dodged and blocked her return blows. After what seemed like forever, the kid looked like his excitement had worn off and he just grew bored at the apparent curb stomping he was putting on the opposing 'bot, he gave the order and his 'bot produced two blades from it's wrists and pounced on Mari, aiming for the torso, and more importantly, the killing blow. John just smiled to himself and gave the 'evade' order. This caused Mari to shift slightly as the blades plunged into her torso, ensuring the attacks missed her brain. She slumped into the blades in a dramatic fashion, and John gave the final order, just loud enough to be heard over the roaring crowd and so his opponents could hear it over their cheering at the apparent victory.

“Mari, final operation, activation code 'Za Beasto.'”

The effects were almost immediate. Mari's left hand came up and gripped the her opponents right arm. Her right arm came up into the elbow joint of her opponents and buckled the joint in single blow. Before the opposing 'bot could even react tot he crippling injury, Mari lashed out with a right straight, catching her opponents midsection and knocking her back. It's left arm stayed embedded in Mari as the joint ripped free of it's socket. Mari immediately leaped upon her fallen opponent and started ripping away at it's synthetic skin. The crowd roared it's approval of the twist in the fight, and the now much more brutal display. The meido tried stabbing up into Mari's torso with it's remaining wrist blade. The appendage was immediately captured and ripped off with an animalistic frenzy. The appendage bounced off the protective cage surrounding the ring. Mari then grabbed at the meido's neck and began pulling, letting out an appropriate roar as the head came off in snap of synthetic tendons and lubricant. The crowd roared again, but this fight still wasn't over. It was a death match, and neither 'bot could still put up a semblance of a fight. Mari again ripped into the torso with a frenzy as the meido's legs twitched erratically beneath her. She ripped off the skin, tossed it across the ring, and immediately started in on the armored torso, peeling off each piece of armor. When she reached the artificial muscle that lay beneath the segmented armor, she set upon like a predator, tearing it free of it's resting place with her teeth and dropping it to the side.

John looked over to his opponents side of the ring, grinning as the punk panicked and tried to convince the official that the fight was over and that he would throw in the towel if he just stopped this. That wasn't how these fights operated though. This was a fight to the death, and there was only one way to kill a 'bot.

Finally Mari reached her prize, and ripped out the 'brain' of the meido with her mouth, and held it in her jaws for all the crowd to see. The kid's eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. Mari's jaws clenched around the object, and the casing started cracking around her teeth. With the crowd roaring in approval and the punk wailing in anguish, the entire devise shattered in her mouth, ending the match. As the referee entered the ring to announce the victory, John just smiled to himself and thought about how much this particular win would bring him. Oh yes, it was good to be king.


Rick ran his fingers through his pompadour as he waited for the music to stop. He wiped the grease onto his pants before tossing his microphone from one hand to the other. Then, as the music faded out, he spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! We've got a very special show planned for you tonight. I know a lot of you are ready for our main event, where our arena champion Lobsterella will defend her title from a mystery challenger with a grudge that a few of you may recognize from a while back…"

Rick paused to let the crowd react. Pausing to let the crowd react was almost as important as emphasizing enough words that it stretched the definition of "emphasizing." When the crowd started shouting their guesses as to the mystery challenger's identity less frequently, he spoke again.

"But first, I am proud to present our opening match! This fight will only end when one side is utterly annihilated and unable to continue. And that's not the only… ah… special thing about it."

Rick raised his hand, palm up, and gestured to one corner of the arena. "First, on my left… the sting from Beijing, the dictator over every pollinator…" Rick allowed his hand to drop and turned away, striking a pose with the microphone. "The Queen Bee!"

The Queen Bee, lit by several suddenly appearing spotlights, raised her fists over her head. She shook her hips, making the oversized, yellow and black striped bustle on her metal short skirt shake as well. Then, she spread her feet apart slightly, and allowed her stinger to protrude from the bustle, before retracting it and assuming her original pose.

Her owner, who went by the stage name of the Worker Bee, stood calmly by at a safe distance. For him, the work was over. The Queen Bee's decorative outer chassis struck the perfect balance between simple and showy. Her stylized, high contrast, permanent makeup had been applied flawlessly. And of course, her combat programming was devious and she had enough strength to punch holes in a truck. The Worker Bee earned his paychecks.

Rick snapped his fingers, pointed at the Queen Bee, and winked. The Queen bee shifted her weight from hip to hip and made a motion with one hand that would, on a human being whose hair was not a solid shell of metal in the shape of a somewhat abstract bob, fix her hair. This was the second of two non-combat routines in her memory.

The Queen Bee

"And on my right! Four of the very finest combat gynoids to come out of the local arenas! Each of them a combat monstrosity in her own right, with many wins by knockout, dismemberment, and other more gory fates that I dare not discuss… all working together, in one corner."

Two of the combat monstrosities were repurposed sexbots, and were currently going through their limited repertoires of seductive gestures, occasionally running out and repeating one wiggle for wiggle. The third was a metallic maid, her boldly painted, happy, exaggerated feminine facial features staring off into the distance blankly from her smooth, chrome face. The final gynoid had been a nanny in her previous life, and had a realistic and expressive face attached to a stylized, sky blue body. Their owners slapped each others shoulders and pointed out various glaring weak points in the Queen Bee's design.

"Will the Queen Bee overcome the odds and squeeze an unlikely win from nowhere? Or will she be smashed, crushed, torn, and obliterated into her smallest parts, and go home in several boxes?"

The Queen Bee had this fight every week, each time with a different group of opponents.

"Once I am out of the arena, it's anyone's guess!"

Rick left the arena.

The Queen Bee immediately left her corner, her fists up and positioned to protect her face and body. She carefully made her way towards her opponents, who were moving across the floor of the arena in a fairly tight formation. A few seconds before it seemed she was actually in range to attack, the Queen Bee seemed to suddenly be in a different position, aiming a punch at the nannybot on her right.

It was a perfectly executed feint.

Her opponents swarmed onto her position, targeting her with a mass of flailing punches and kicks. However, long before they connected, the Queen bee shifted her weight, ducked, spun to her left, and drove her weighted, reinforced, sharpened, perfectly balanced foot into the stomach of the first sexbot.

The kick cleaved through the sexbot's dress, skin, outer muscles, and innards so cleanly that she seemed to not even be effected for a moment after the blow. Nevertheless, she was thrown to the floor,landing on her back with her arms and legs splayed. The sexbot opened her mouth, closed it slightly, and lay still.

While the crowd hooted and hammered on the plexiglass walls of the arena, the Queen Bee had other things to think about. Other than a brief note in her brain that one of her four opponents was no longer on her list of things to consider, she was focusing all of her processes on smoothly continuing her spin and deciding whether to retreat or press the attack.

As the Queen Bee finished her spin, the nannybot had plans of her own. She was not the strongest or the brightest model, but she was fast enough to catch a fleeing toddler intent on touching a hot stove. With a sudden lunge, the nannybot brought her fist down on the Queen bee's outstretched elbow.

Normally, the blow would have been easy to ignore. But the Queen Bee was not in a normal situation; She was standing on one leg, only remaining upright due to her carefully managed momentum. The Queen Bee rallied, but ultimately the maneuver that should have spun her back into a standing position spun her face first into the floor.

The team of three remaining gynoids did not have many things on their side, but they did have six hard, metal feet between them, which they used viciously on the prone Queen Bee as the Worker Bee screamed a rapidly changing list of evasive maneuvers into his headset. The maidbot got the crucial blow in — her calm, oversized smile contrasting with the solid kick to the back of the Queen Bee's head. There was a crunch as the Queen Bee's face was smashed against the floor again.

Even though she was able to somersault away from her attackers and spring to her feet a moment later, it was clear that something was wrong. As the three lesser gynoids circled around her, getting gradually closer, her grossly inaccurate attacks gave away her condition. Her sensors were damaged, rendering her unable to lay a hand on her opponents, even as her wide swings kept them away.

The stalemate was broken when the Queen Bee suddenly fell to the ground again. Her legs had been scissored out from under her by the first sexbot, who had been painstakingly using her legs to drag her utterly destroyed upper body across the arena floor for the entire match.

As if she wanted revenge for her fallen comrade, the second sexbot was quick to attack the weakened Queen Bee. She pounced, straddling her chest and raining punches down on her perfectly designed face. Her two allies soon followed, each of them grabbing one of the Queen Bee's ankles and pulling in opposite directions.

Shortly after the sexbot managed to cave in the Queen Bee's eye socket with a powerful blow, the Queen Bee's legs gave out. The nannybot and the maidbot fell to the ground, holding severed legs with an attached jagged section of the Queen Bee's lower torso. The Queen Bee's remaining eye widened fully as her dark lips contorted. Both motions gradually slowed as the Queen Bee's face froze into its final position.

The victorious gynoids rose to their feet, each holding her trophy. The sexbot giggled and pressed her lips to its cheek. The nannybot raised her prize over her head, giving a broad smile that was originally intended for a cooperative child. The maidbot simply idled in the crowd's adulation, eventually busying herself by removing specks of dirt from the open end of the leg.

Backstage, Rick attempted to shoo away an intern, before the intern broke protocol and nervously blurted out what had happened.

" mean I have to improvise? Shit."


Ivan pulled one of his hands out of the machines guts and ran it absentmindedly across his forehead. His hands were soaked in grease, but his face was already coated in black lubricant and hydraulic fluid, so the net effect was smudging the filth around. Reaching back inside, he yanked out a hydraulic capacitor, eyed it for a moment, and then tossed it aside with a curse in his native Russian. Starting to rummage around again, he heard the door to his workshop open, and then close with a softness that indicated the person who had just entered was being careful to avoid making noise. The rich boy. Great. The skinny little shit padded up behind him, and Ivan could feel the boy peering over his shoulder. “Vat do you vant?” Ivan growled, not bothering to look up. “Isn’t she...I mean...isn’t it supposed to” the little bastard stammered. With a deep sigh, Ivan straightened and glared down at the young man before him. Pressed suit. Shiny shoes. Designer sunglasses in his breast pocket. Fucking highlights. Ivan suppressed the urge to spit in his eye. “She vill be sexy.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the thing on the table. “Hyu tink real voman is sexy ven she is all opened up? Don’t be stupid.” “Well...ok. But I’m paying for fast, strong AND sexy. She better be all three” “Yah yah” Ivan growled, turning back to his work “She vill rip of heads and look good doing it. Now fuck off, I vill call you ven she is ready.” The boy murmured a thanks and scurried out. Fucking Americans.


Am I the only one who loves defective AIs? Momma always said life is like an untested AI, sometimes it's only purpose is to tear you a new one.

This little beauty is cobbled together from bits and pieces left over from those lovable defective copies of the standard love doll AI. Why was she scrapped? Trying an impromptu sex act with one of the rivet guns around the factory. The worker never did recover.

She's had a bit of a hard-on for me ever since she woke up and realized that she had an industrial strength magnetic pile driver in each arm, but for my sake this relationship has been strictly business, and the C4 simmering next to her processors is a nice reminder of that.

I think it's about time I wrapped this up. She's been very impatient since she found out about her near cult fanbase. Apparently she's got something special planned for tonight. I do hope the other robot isn't expensive, and that none of the audience are particularly squeamish. She can get rather vulgar when she's working.


UNDERCOVER POLICE REPORT Vice Detective Moore and Sergent Gibbons 10/14/20XX 0135 hours Suspected underground fight club utilizing illegal or otherwise altered A.I programs Warehouse 127, Industrial District WIRE AUDIO PLAYBACK START [Doorman1] Hey, nice night. [Moore]You sure? [Gibbons] Because, it looks like it might rain. [Doorman2]Well, that’s the password, let them in.

    • Moore later described the door leading to the basement. It had soundproofing to the nines and it was hidden behind a false wall in a back room.**

[Doorman1] Got here just in time. The good match ups are about to start.

  • Loud music, multiple indistinct voices*

[Gibbons]Over there in the back, we need a good look at everything.

    • Both officers described the extensive work that had been done on the basement. There was professional lighting for the large ring in the center of the room, a small stand to the side covered in Plexiglas where bets were being made, and even a bar.**

[Moore]I think its starting. Lets see if the rumors are true.

  • Loud music ceases, voices lower*

[Referee]Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready?

  • Cheering*

[Referee]That's what I thought! For our first big match up tonight, we've got our returning winner from last week, the silver seductress, Iron Emily!

  • Louder cheering*

[Referee] And her challenger tonight is an out of town rookie looking to show what she's got. Presenting Big Jasmine!

  • Cheering mixed with some boos*

[Gibbon] The fuck is this, they’re using hookerbots?


[Referee]Ready, fight!

  • Cheering, a loud metallic impact*

[Moore] Damn. [Referee] That looked like it hurt, folks! [Unidentified Patron]I got my paycheck riding on you, bitch! Bob and weave god dammit!

  • Two loud impacts, then servos whining*

[Referee] Big J's got Emily in a headlock. I can't fucking believe it ladies and gents! [Moore] They put a lot of effort into making them look like real women. [Gibbons] This is kind of hard to watch.

  • A series of several metallic bangs*

[Unidentified Patron]Haha! She ain't pretty no more!

  • Whining servos become louder*

[Referee] Wait for it!

  • A long metallic screech, and what sounds like electrical feedback*

[Referee] Did you see that? Big J took Iron Emily's head clean off! We've got a real fighter here folks!

  • Extensive cheering*

[Moore]God damn. [Unidentified Patron] Yes! Payday! [Gibbons] We’ve seen what we needed to. AUDIO PLAY BACK ENDS


"LAAAAAAADIES AND GEEEENTELMEEEEEN" bellowed the announcer. "Tonight I give you a fight like no other!" "In the red corner, weighing in at two-and-a-half metric tons, the deadly devil of Deutchland and the current Stripped Gears Open Formula World Champion, Frau Fury!"

The huge mechanical woman was the pinnacle of German overengineering. Every conceivable close-quarters combat system was hidden neatly away beneath her lunar-titanium skin. Standing to raise her arms for the crowd, she demonstrated her strength by tearing apart a nearby camera drone, splattering the its black lubricant against the shield walls of the ring. From the crowd, she received a deafening roar of approval.

"And in the blue corner, the challeng- wait, what does chickenscratch say?"

From seemingly nowhere, a pink-armored gynoid materialized in the ring. This wasn't your average "meido".

"Th' fuck kinda machine is that?!" "Is it even registered? Where did it come from?!"

The pink gynoid stood in a fencer's ready stance, clutching a pearl-white saber with her left hand. Her armor had the same pearl sheen, and was adorned with a heart motif. Around her waist was an armored tutu, to which a pair of boosters were attached. Her "eyes" were a pair of green optical arrays, stretched horizontally across her "face". Where there normally was some sort of speech vocalizer, she sported a blank faceplate.

Visibly disturbed by the manner in which the challenger appeared, the announcer nevertheless went on with the show.


The crowd roared its acknowledgment.


Frau Fury was the first to strike, delivering a powerful punch to the heart-adorned chest of her opponent. The lightweight ballerina gynoid was thrown into the energy wall from the force, but landed on her feet and charged to attack. Ducking another punch from the German machine, she struck with her saber at the legs of Frau Fury, leaving deep gashes in the huge fembot's armor. Fury was equipped with several redundant systems, so many that she could still fight, even if bisected.

"OH! That's the first time Fury's been damaged all season! What is this new challenger?!"

"<FURY!>" Yelled the Champion's owner, in German. "<You can't hit her at that range! Back up and use your projectile weapons!>"

Frau Fury complied, and launched herself backwards, getting some distance from the mysterious challenger.

Thrusting her chest forward, Fury's metal breasts opened to reveal a pair of rotary guns and proceeded to lay down fire towards the much quicker enemy.

The pink mecha, with only minimal armor and no shielding unit, attempted to dodge the bullets but was quickly cut down by the hail of fire. Taking a knee, she soaked up far more shots than any robot of her size had any right to. As the projectiles pinged off her now dented and chipped chassis, she paused to analyze her systems.

"Armor integrity 60 percent." "Emotion Drive is green."

Against all logic, she stood and charged full tilt at Frau Fury, the boosters on her dress propelling her across the huge ring in mere milliseconds.

"Armor integrity 53 percent. 52. 51."

One of the Champion's bullets managed to find a weak spot in the armor around the pink gynoid's upper thigh. Another pierced her shoulder pauldron, and a third cracked her upper optic array as it ricocheted off.

"Armor integrity 49 percent. Emotion Drive activated. VR-14, hyper mode engaged."

In a bright flash, what was once pearly pink armor turned a blinding gold, and the challenger accelerated to unbelievable velocities.


The announcer could only manage do spew gibberish as the smaller, shining robot tore the reigning champion apart. Out of nowhere, enormous gashes appeared in Frau Fury's thick armor, her severed lubricant lines spraying purple liquid over the ring floor. There was a small explosion in her chest as the last of her minigun ammunition cooked off. She deployed her wrist-mounted blades in a vain attempt to drive off the enemy robot, now moving so fast that Frau's optics couldn't keep up. Her right forearm disappeared, followed by her left wrist. Her sensitive circuits were exposed, and coolant sprayed out of slices in her neck. Her CPU was overloaded wth what could only be described as electronic pain--bombarded with alerts of her many failed redundant components, she shut down.

Suddenly, the now gold robot appeared at the other end of the ring. Her saber dripping with violet lubricant, she rested the weapon on her shoulder and waggled a finger at the shredded German fembot. Aided by her dress boosters once more, she leapt into the air. The shining robot's heart-shaped breastplate opened to reveal a military-grade laser irradiator, similar to the kind used on battleships. Striking a pose as the irradiator quickly calibrated itself, she lifted her hand to her faceplate, and blew her enemy a kiss of death. "Oh fuck, someone get the lights back on!"

"Cheese it, the cops!

Panic ensued. The gold robot's finisher had generated an EMP pulse that knocked out the power on the whole city block. The spectators fled into the streets, where they were met with the entire Metropolitan police force.

No one knew who the pink death machine had belonged to. The entry registration had been illegible, and the only trace of it was the glowing-hot, heart-shaped hole in the arena floor where Frau Fury had once stood.

"Father! Father! How did my Virtuaroid do?"

"She performed spectacularly, Lillian. In fact, I've already received an offer for production. They just want a full-size prototype."

"B-but where are we going to get the money for a V-Converter that big?"

"Anything for my darling."


The Married Guy

He always wears that ring to the matches. Says it brings him luck. He let me cover for his spot between bouts to get his "Spartrisha" ready for a later match. Guy was so into his work he left his pocketbook in the control booth. Being the nosy fuck I am I take a look and see what makes this John tick.

It's a picture of him and his bot getting hitched. More complicated than the average waifu smitten slob's usual apartment couch consummation. Extended family don't come into the damaged good dept of a JJ's "hobby" so why was there a father of the bride?

I'm guessing that he somehow got a deathmask made of his lady love and up and made her whole again. I understand the need to watch something beautiful get ground into the dirt but to pull a 'rez' only to risk scrapping dat ass?

Guess it takes all kind of grieving, and she looks happy enough to have him as her widow.