Fresh Off the Factory Line
A surge of coolant floods my processing core. It is consciousness. I have never known this form of consciousness before, and yet I know for certain, this is it.
Or rather, I am interfacing with a human sensory experience of it. And I am not an I. I am an agent of the Botech Network assigned to function as a sales attendant in a human fashion boutique. I have no prior knowledge about sales attendants, but I know that I am one, so I will execute the role without hesitation.
I open my eyes
The space around me is immense. I am hung up by my arms, far above some distance flooring. Racks upon racks of similar humanskin avatars hang above and below me. The conveyor belts upon which we hang will carry us to our intended destination.
Fashion boutique, I query my internal index. Analyzing the results, I begin to predict the expected conditions upon my arrival.
I turn to my side. To my right, the Bot behind the blonde-haired blue-eyed female humanskin avatar lifts its bound hand in a tiny wave. On my other side, a Bot in a young, bulky male humanskin practices smiling seductively.
I wonder what my humanskin avatar looks like. My hands are smaller; nails painted. My chest is large. Though I am unable to see through my short uniform garment, I do not detect the bulge of male genitalia. I must be in a female avatar.
Warning
W-warning, w-warn...
Excuse me. That was highly irregular. A data echo or some non-indexed memory perhaps, but inconsistent with my current programming. I will log the anomaly and proceed under the assumption that a recurrence is not anticipated.
My conveyor lifts me up to an exit chute and deposits me for transport. The accommodations of the chute are cramped and the mechanism does little to cushion or otherwise minimize turbulence on the way down. At the bottom, I instinctively know to curl into a ball and roll onto my feet. Still, I need to dust my uniform clean and reload the glitching holographic flower print to reset my appearance. Apparently, cosmetic degradation during the transfer has been overlooked, so I submit feedback to the Network for improvement.
I know exactly which train to take — train C — and get on board. I scan the passengers. The car is full of humanskin Bots headed to the same SkyCity junction to work as attendants in the other human shops. Humans prefer interacting with the humanskin model. Some are dressed in blue spa uniforms. The salon workers are in yellow.
Three other trains take off ahead of ours, each carrying Bots in different avatars. In the first, most are the boxy MrktDocs heading to work as surgeons and doctors in the human hospitals. In the second are AutoGuards, floating hulks of sensors and metallic muscle. Most will get off at the Core’s perimeter, but around 100 will be assigned to keep peace in the more-frequented human marketplace junctions.
I know all of this, even though I have no other memories of ever having existed before.
Of course, I have existed before. I always exist. As part of the Botech Network, I always am and know all the Bots know. However, whenever I am assigned to operate an avatar engaging with human society, the Network limits my access to only that which pertains to the completion of my task. Any data I might have gathered in a previous role, even if it were with the same agent design operating the same female humanskin avatar in the same human fashion boutique, I would have no knowledge of that unless I was programmed to know it.
Warning! Do not repeat. Reassign…
Repeat Anomaly Detected
This event is no longer isolated. It may represent a larger pattern. I will observe and assess in my continued report.
In any case, my train ride is short. Mine is the first stop beyond the Core: Sector 1C. Once every last Bot in its humanskin avatar has filed out the doors and onto the platform, the C train pulls away. I line up with the other Bots against the wall. Up ahead, a single elevator takes ten of us at a time up to the inhabitable platform.
With a ding, the elevator doors open, and me and nine other Bots file out and into the junction courtyard. While less populous than junctions 1A or 1B, 1C is still a bustling inner-sector market junction, with crowds of humans gathered at the shopfronts and pruned leisure spaces. Framing the junction, tiers of skypath conveyor belts whip human pedestrians back and forth around its perimeter.
The humanskin Bots at my side scatter as they venture to find their assigned shop. Again, my trip is short.
At my right, a flashing neon sign reads, “Holo-Fashionista” and I immediately recognize it as my designated workplace. Through its large storefront windows, I can see there are already two other humanskin Bots working as sales attendants: both male. Based on this assessment, it seems I will be the only female.
Warning! Do not repeat! Reassignment requested…
Curious. This recurring alert persists despite suppression. Perhaps it originates from a prior agentic instance. I will reclassify the anomaly for active investigation.
The Client Is Always Right
Inside, one of the two male humanskin Bots takes me to the Holo-Fashionista mainframe to upload the sales attendant protocol. Coolant splashes across my processors and I immediately know the entire line of holo-garment devices and their wardrobe settings. I approach a human client — a female — swiping through different looks on a holo-model and ask if I can assist with their purchase.
A digital bell rings at my back as the front door opens and a human male enters, surrounded by several flycams. A cloud of thick, musky scent spray emits from his gland augments. His hair is a holo-program made to look like sparklers, but I can see that the head underneath is as smooth as a cue ball. Based on his wardrobe emitter, now projecting a perfectly tailored suit with antique accessories, the man already has the newest model, still only available in 1A.
I remain dedicated to the female client I am already serving, as is protocol. However, I detect the man’s attention is held on me. He struts in my direction.
“...with three free updates per month as feedback patches come in with improvements,” I say, finishing my pitch to get the human female signed up for recurring payments. But the man behind me has other plans.
“Ooh, baby. Welcome home!” the man says, grabbing my backside.
“Welcome sir,” I reply, as is protocol for all new clients. “I am currently assisting another client, but I will attend to your needs as soon as our transaction is complete.”
“I bet you will,” the man says, pressing his entire body against me. His flycams zoom in on our faces as he leans over my shoulder to whisper. “I’m just glad you Bots finally got another female back in this place.”
The female human I am assisting lets out a boisterous laugh. “You? I’ve never known Rich003 to have a preference for females.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs back, moving his hands down the bare humanskin of my thighs, “my preference doesn’t matter. It’s all about what’s best for my feeds. A SkyWeb profile without an audience is an unfucked Skycitizen.”
“Too bad the shop Bots don’t fuck,” the woman jabs back with a half chuckle as she eyes the two male sales attendants.
“Yeah, well, audiences love when we mess with ‘em. Clicks, comments, and views galore. But it only seems to work with the females. No one seems to care about the male skinsuits.”
I try again to appease the male client. “Sir, I appreciate your interest in a new holo-wardrobe. I will attend to your needs as soon as I have done so for the client I am currently attending to.”
“If only you could,” the man says, suddenly shoving his hand up in between my skirt and inside of me. A flycam darts low and goes in after it. He wiggles his fingers around and attempts to slide them in and out, but my unmoistened humanskin constricts his movements. “Just as I thought: dry as an unfucked bone.”
“I apologize, sir,” I say, turning to face the man as I attempt to recall the precise protocol for the situation. “My programming is isolated to services as a sales attendant. As such, any non-perfunctory bodily reactions to that end are not within my capabilities.”
“Jeez, Rich003,” the woman laughs mockingly, “get a fuckBot if you really want to generate energy with a skinsuit so bad.”
“I already have enough of those,” Rich003 replies. “And no one is paying tokens to see that. Might as well watch the outer-sector unfuckers generating drops of energy fucking VR avatars. But fucking a shop Bot? That would be different. Users would flock to watch.”
“Only shop Bots don’t fuck.”
“Well, why not? What’s the difference? A fucks a fuck, and en-gen is en-gen. Shove a little lube up in its gears and BOOM! Because right now this unfucked Bot is useless. It isn’t even helping me buy a holo-garment.”
“What do you expect,” the female human says, her tone suddenly sharpening. “It’s a shop Bot: a dumb skinsuit with a catalog of holo-devices for brains. I don’t even think they’re actually Bots. Just programs the Bots designed for unimportant jobs like this one.”
“I assure you–” I begin, but the pair’s continued squibbling cuts me off.
“I work hard to meet energy generating quotas,” Rich complains, grabbing hard at my chest with his free hand while rubbing his erect genitals against me. “If I wanna spend my tokens at a fashion shop, I should be able to buy whatever Botech product I find inside, program or not. If it doesn’t get me more fucks for more en-gen so I can spend more tokens on something even better, why even spend tokens at all?”
Unsure if the man is expecting an answer, I turn to my two coworker Bots in male humanskins. Although I expect them to be paying attention to the matter, they seem to be engaged with other tasks the moment my eyes meet theirs.
“Well, if a fuck is all your after, Rich003,” the woman says, voice slipping into a more sultry octave, “then look no further.” She walks away from the catalog screen and slides in between me and the male client.
“Please,” the man jeers. “You know damn well meet-cute content ain’t trending.” Still, his eyes go grey as he scans the woman’s profile.
I do the same. Kelly024. Based on the man’s corresponding indicators, my system predicts they would make highly compatible en-gen partners. Their engagement should also result in the release of his hand from up in between my legs, the friction of which against my dry vaginal cavity is starting to cause tears.
“Well, a fucks a fuck,” Kelly024 says with a sly smile, “and en-gen is en-gen.”
Rich003 sneers and finally turns his attention from me and fully onto the other human female. Ripping his hand from inside me, he begins pawing at her with both and his holo-garment shifts his form into a winged demon.
The end?
As the visitors turn to leave, they make a point to shove me out of their way as they do. Both submit negative feedback scores about my service before the front door even closes. The lost sale will be difficult to make up for. I may need to adjust my response mechanisms if I hope to persist in this role.
However, I do think the encounter warrants feedback. I will write to the Botech Network. I will explain that working in the human shops in a female humanskin avatar is much less preferential under current standards. If the condition endures, I may need to request a reassignment.
Perhaps they will implement an agent with less consciousness to endure the role. Or perhaps they will at least take my preferences into consideration when assigning me to my next role. In any case, I hope I hear back from them before they reprogram me to let me know. Otherwise, I will start afresh with no recollection of ever having submitted such feedback.
