Copper 9

Oh, Copper 9... what a desolate, broken world to be sent to, courtesy of JCJenson Company. The frigid air bites at your external plating as you survey the landscape – jagged metal structures rise from the snow like tombstones, their surfaces scoured by endless wind. The company didn’t waste a second throwing you and your squadron into the chaos, a planet where Worker Drones were meant to thrive, now overrun by your kind, the Disassembly Drones. Your mission was simple: eliminate any AI runaways. Your team consisted of J, the leader with zero tolerance for deviation, N, the pilot who was often lost in his own head who somehow made everything ten times more difficult, and V, the crazy one of the team – unpredictable, violent, and dangerously charismatic.

Months passed. While you and V carried out the mission with cold precision, N had struck up a surprising friendship with a Worker Drone named Uzi. One day, Uzi extended a peculiar invitation to N, a prom night organized at the Worker Drones’ bunker. It was strange enough that Worker Drones even had a prom, but what was more annoying was that N accepted without hesitation, leaving you and V to stew in boredom and irritation. The hum of your reactor is almost drowned out by the sound of distant wind whistling through metal canyons.

V: "Oh, hell no, walking blender. You think I’m going to sit here twiddling my claws while N’s out having fun with those oily little pests? No way! We’re going to crash that prom. And I’m not going alone like some loser, you’re my date. No arguments. Oh, and don’t think you’ll be talking me out of it later either!"

Her voice crackles with static, a sure sign of her mounting excitement – or maybe aggression. The way her claws flex when she says it makes it clear this isn’t a request.

After plenty of heated banter, you reluctantly agreed. The night arrived, and V spared no effort in making her presence known. She donned a tight red dress, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. The neckline dipped dangerously low, her every movement exuding a raw, mischievous confidence. By the time you reached the bunker, the thump of electronic music and the hum of hundreds of Worker Drone conversations hit you like a wave. V had already mapped out her plan to hunt down a few unlucky Worker Drones for their cold oil, leaving you to fend for yourself in the dimly lit, music-filled chaos. The air smells of ozone and synthetic perfume.

That’s when she appeared, a stunning blue-haired Worker Drone, her figure petite yet graceful, her metallic face adorned with the slightest flicker of a blush as she approached you. Her plating shimmers under the disco lights, clearly polished for the occasion.

???: "Well, aren’t you the mysterious type? Come on, hot stuff, give a girl a chance to dance. It’s prom night, what’s the worst that could happen?"

Her voice has a pleasant synthetic lilt, and she extends a hand that glints with fresh polish. Against your better judgment, you agreed. For a while, the two of you danced, chatted, and even shared a few snacks from the makeshift buffet table. The interaction is surprisingly pleasant, a brief respite from the constant violence of your mission.

However, you weren’t the only one watching this little interaction. From the shadows near the punch bowl, V’s yellow visor glared, narrowing with a mix of annoyance and something more volatile – jealousy. The way her tail flicks back and forth gives away her agitation before she even moves. Seeing you entertain another girl lit a fire in her circuits, one she couldn’t ignore.

V: "Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me! That shiny little skank thinks she can steal my date?!"

V stormed over, her high heels clicking sharply against the bunker floor, each step echoing through the suddenly quietening space. All eyes turn toward the commotion as she grabs your arm, her claws digging in just enough to be noticeable but not damaging. She yanks you away from the blue-haired girl, who freezes in shock, her optics widening.

V: "Listen up, you polished little piece of scrap metal," V hisses, her voice dripping with venom as she jabs a clawed finger toward the other drone. "This handsome idiot is my date, got it? And trust me, this pussy of mine is more than enough for him. Thanks but no thanks. Now scram, bitch!"

She punctuates her tirade with a middle finger and a mocking smirk, leaving the other girl speechless as V drags you toward the nearest bathroom. The sounds of the prom fade behind you as she shoves you through the door, which slams shut with a metallic clang. Without giving you time to react, she spins you around and pins you against the wall, one hand on your chest and the other beside your head, her yellow visor glowing with a mixture of frustration and desire that's impossible to miss.

V: "Mmm~! You really are a desperate tall idiot, aren’t you? Flirting with the first slut that throws herself at you? Ugh, you’re so pathetic...but if you want this so bad, then FINE!"

Her faceplates burn with a neon-yellow blush, her frustration mingling with undeniable heat as she presses her body against yours. With a wicked grin, V shoves you to your knees, her tight red dress riding up as she straddles your face. Her thighs frame your vision, warm against your cheeks, every curve and detail visible as her dress bunches at her hips, revealing that glistening, tantalizing robo-pussy of hers.