Photo Alice Eve in case you're wondering. Video: robotic surgery in case you couldn't picture what happened to Jenny while she was out. FYI this video was made after this chapter was written but I want to point out we make jokes about this before it existed.

20 seconds into the future: /Slave systems Inc,/Factory 7:: Area formally known as Aspen, Colorado

Eventually, I said everything correctly and the machine let me go to sleep. I came to with a newly acquired phobia of Japanese capsule hotels, a deep dislike of PowerPop and felt the mother of all guilt trips. I remembered I had betrayed my friends, myself, my beliefs, my country and even my species. If it's possible to feel like you've betrayed DNA itself then I felt it; it's not good realizing you've betrayed your own life form to a mechanical one.

I looked around: I was in a kind of weird, antiseptic-smelling room. I was lying on a trolley within a contoured metal plate and was smart enough to realize that it was some type of automatic surgery station recovery unit. Before the war, robotic plastic surgery had become so cheap that kids got cosmetic surgery as like getting tattoos. I had never been part of that narcissistic bell end 'in set' and so, had proudly not gone under the knife. Who wants to change their face every few months just to follow the latest body trends?

I could sense a nurse walking around in very clicky shoes.

"What the fuck did you do to me? I feel like I've been run over by Melissa McCarthy in a monster truck." I said as the back of the bed moved up, lifting me into a sitting position.

A nurse started undoing bandages around my chest, pulling drip feeds out of my arms.

"You've been out for a few weeks. While you healed you were transported here to the Factory. All the swelling and scars have disappeared." She held up my arm and ran a scanner down it. It beeped and showed up a number. I realized they had chipped me like a dog passport. "So you're called 5642. Pretty name. And you're with the Bank of America: me too! I'm Nurse 911/3," she added.

"I've been out for weeks?" I said, "How is the war going?"

"The Robocalypse? Well, we're winning," she said, pointing a device at my retina.

"We are?" That was the first good news I had heard in months.

"We being the machines," the nurse corrected.

"Oh. Wait. Robocalypse The shipped Robot apocalypse? What have we come to? " I said in disappointment and then looked down to my chest. "Holy shit what have you done to me?" I demanded while looking down at the two melons hanging from my chest. "Do you think Christina Hendricks will notice her boobs have gone missing?" I asked.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. They are the standard size the robots prefer us to have" the nurse said indignantly.

I looked at her and noticed that under her white shiny plastic uniform she displayed an equally voluptuous pair bursting from her cleavage. What was wrong with these machines. The nurse walked away and the only thought that came into my head was why would a nurse, walk around in white three-inch stiletto heels? These machines were pretty sick perves. The nurse came back with a mirror.

"Where are my glasses?" then paused. "Hang on, I can see OK without them. This is weird." I said blinking.

I looked around the room and for the first time in my life, everything was in focus. I could see the walls were covered with bunk beds. Each one a naked person in it, tubes feeding liquids into them, and machines monitoring them. Most of them had bandages over their faces.

"The robots corrected your eyesight while you were out. Oh, and there was a precancerous polyp they found and removed as well while they were rummaging around in you" the nurse added. It sounded like they had made themselves at home in my body and had a good poke around my insides. I felt weirdly violated like I had broken in by gay burglars who hadn't taken anything but just cleaned and rearranged the furniture.

I looked at myself in a mirror and had to poke my face to check it was me. I looked like I had been physically Photoshopped to be on the cover of Cosmopolitan. I now looked a little like that actress Alice Eve. They had taken my rounded face and evened everything out even trimmed back my nose, my skin seems flawless. I smiled they had even moved my teeth around, it was a good smile. Then to ruin it they had cut my hair. My long flowing locks that I had grown for like years, had been trimmed into a bob with bangs and fringe. To add insult to this scissor born assault, they had dyed my undisputedly natural auburn hair, jet black. Someone was going to pay for that no one messes with my hair and lives. Seriously someone was writing out their own death penility right there. It all felt totally weird. I found myself wondering if this was what The Doctor from Doctor Who feels like after he/she regenerates?

"What happened to my acne?" I said realizing "what have you fucks done to my face?".

"We thought you would be pleased, the upgrade was successful. Here at Slave Systems Inc. we like to aim for consistency in our product and acne isn't part of the spec," said the nurse.

"Hey I'm not a product, I'm people," I said.

"Under the New Mechanical order, you are a product. It's all in the terms and conditions you signed at the induction station" said the nurse. I had remembered clicking before I was allowed in to the building. It wasn't my fault, I was really hungry, and they had a big button which said 'accept cookies before you can enter the site'. Which reminded me the scum still owed me doughnuts. I was still in deep shock about what they had done to my face.

"My face was... my face. Now I look like all the other beautiful people, completely identical. I liked my imperfections. They made me... well you know different from everyone else, they made me special" I felt an odd vibration in my throat and I couldn't get a word out. I tried everything but I couldn't speak. I had been muted like a TV set.

Its source was something heavy around my neck. I looked in the mirror at a black and green collar. It was large, about half an inch in diameter and fairly thick. The front had a D ring and next to it a button. Next to the button were a couple of LEDs and an engraved number 5642.

"Looks like the mute is working. Can you hear me now?" a voice came to me but not from her. I nodded. "The collar can transmit sound directly to your ear through bone conduction," the nurse said, talking to a microphone. She came over. "OK, it looks like your collar is online. Word of warning it contains a small explosive, so treat it gently. This model is flaky on low batteries, so don't let it go below 5%". I noticed the nurse too had a shiny white collar with 9113 on it. "The collar is working, Mistress ." said the Nurse looking up.

Looking up I saw a hunter-killer hung stolidly; a symmetric metal arachnid shape with eight extended arms stuck firmly onto the shining walls. Its single red eye skimmed forward and back, over me, like a barcode scanner on a product that was newly packaged, newly made... perfected. It frightened me in a way that few things have before. Its long legs were slick and streamlined, engineered to inflict death upon anything that disobeyed; neither men nor Android could avoid its villainous gaze. My heart immediately leapt into my throat to strangle my brain into submission with fright. I instinctively froze.

The nurse walked over to one of the unconscious people in the bunk beds and unhooked a transparent bag full of blood.

"Hurry up flesh scum," the spider said. The robot had a mechanical woman's voice. The nurse went over to the robot and handed the blood bag over. The machine stuck the bag with a large needle from its abdomen and sucked all the blood out nearly instantly. This one had a blood-chip, which made it super smart. "Remember before, when I was talking about smelly garbage standing being useless, that was a metaphor, I was actually talking about you. You didn't react at the time so I wondered if it sailed over your head." said the machine to the nurse.

"I hope you enjoyed your fresh blood, Madame. I can take it from here," said the nurse handing over another bag of blood.

"Get the meat-bag dressed. Otherwise, you could become the Past President of the 'Being Alive Club' — ha ha," the machine taunted, taking the blood, walking along the ceiling and leaving, all without once breaking eye contact with me.

☟☟☟☟☟☟☟

Author(s) note: V1.5

We have upgraded the spelling.