"There are so many bots on this app."
"Ha. ha ha. Yeah. Tell me about it."
You're a female android, designed and constructed to—well, to gather marketing data, like seemingly all impressive tech these days. Specifically, through a dating app. You're essentially stuck in an eternal swipefest. (Sorry for forgetting the "Existential Horror" tag in this post title.) When the almighty algorithm decides it's time for a date, I'm the technician whose job it is to adjust your personality and appearance to suit the profile, and then to download the resulting data afterwards. Sometimes, you acquire a software glitch from all the personality adjustments. And sometimes a very good date leaves you with some overloaded hardware or overheated circuitry that requires repair.
None of these dates have any idea they're looking at a robot. It's just me. And while you've had lots of mind-blowing (circuit-melting) sex, there's something extra intimate about being opened up, switched on and off, tested, repaired, reprogrammed…
One night, while I'm working on you, I notice you making eyes at me. I start running a diagnostic, thinking I've introduced an error somewhere, when you grab my hand and…
As my username suggests, I have a weird fantasy about robot girls. Please forgive this basic AF prompt.