Video: this is how a geek/scientist thinks about online dating. For some reason, we put this here, we don't know why either. V1.1 of this chapter.

One of the guard-robots had come along and dragged me out of catwalk class and I was in. I was glad, apparently, I walk like a badly shaken monkey. I wasn't walking in a straight line. A certain spider said I needed to show off my 'bitchen body'. I had to work on pushing my shoulders back, hips forward and remember heel toe, heel toe. Give me a bazooka and I'll heel toe them. I was pulled out so I could update my eBay product description. It was in a room called 'the podium' but it was more like a self-service, TV newsroom. Fortunately, Kayla and Joe had heard in time to come along and help.

I got into the video booth to make my sales pitch video. Kayla was coaching us through our profiles. I stood on the podium in the 3D photo booth and read out my lines.

"Hi My name is 5642, I'm blood type A-positive, I'm female, my model number is 127/c. I'm really your silicon-covered girl who's fun to be with. So if you're a machine who likes sunsets and walks on the beach, I'm the slave for you. I'm all original parts, handmade in America and I also come in red," I said. It felt a bit lame; I wasn't used to talking to a 3D camera. Trying to sell yourself in fifteen seconds to a remote machine wasn't easy.

I didn't know what was more degrading, the fact I was being sold like livestock or the shame that at least cattle don't have to write their own profile pages: 'Hi, my name is Daisy, if you don't like bits of bone in your burger then I'm the cow for you'. Trust the machines to take the already degrading process of being sold like meat and turn up the heat by getting us to compete to sell ourselves.

To make matters worse, the slave profile videos were shown throughout the factory. You were constantly bombarded with 15-second displays showing people trying harder and harder to out-sell and out-humiliate themselves to the machines. As soon as someone came up with a new way to debase themselves, it got copied immediately by everyone else's profile. In the first few days, we slaves broke through the 'respectful' barrier, smashed through 'deferential', plummeted past 'meek', fell through 'servile', nosedived past 'obsequious' and our race-to-the-bottom was currently mining its way beneath the 'sycophantic' barrier. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out a level below even that.

People who had proudly told me in the first week that, "The machines could take our lives but they'll never take our freedom," were now happily acting like they had had their self respect surgically removed. This was partly driven by the bids for us, that trickled through from the owners, from the outside. 88 was currently the queen of self subjection having abandoned all tenuous links to self-respect by having introduced the wider slave population to the phrase, "believe me I'm a total unashamed slut: you can use me in whatever way you can think of and if you can't think of it, I will help you."

"You need to smile and stop opening your mouth like that," said Kayla."Do you have to push your chest out like that? We all have exactly the same cup size, even Joe: you're not fooling anyone."

"I don't understand. I'm doing what it says to do in the user guide," I said coming out of the booth. Not to mention that the 'hang-on-I'm-about-to-sneeze', lips slightly open, pose, was almost the standard slave look." Joe, you still have men's private parts, don't you?" I asked.

"Last time I looked," said Joe.

"Why do Glamour Girls pull that face? Like, do men really find some girl who looks like she can't breathe in through her nose, sexy?" I asked.

"Yeah, I never got that either. No one consulted me about it. I always assumed that they were standing around whistling through their teeth in boredom. Now I have the same equipment you have: I'm still equally bemused," Joe said, looking down at his machine-grafted boobs.

"Look, I know what I'm doing," said Kayla, "Before the Robocalypse I used to do a lot of online dating."

"How did it go?" said Joe polishing up his silicon suit.

"It was OK, but then my boyfriend made me stop," said Kayla, smiling.

"Jenny, that was a good performance but it was a little stiff. Some malevolent single-red-eyed A.I. is going to be looking at you and wondering whether to swipe left or right. Oh, and we need something better than long walks on the beach.."

"I wonder how many BP Executives removed 'likes walks on a beach' from their profiles after Deepwater Horizon," Joe mused.

"Look. You need to loosen up. Don't worry about what you say. The owners don't listen, they just judge the book by the cover. If you catch their eye they look at how many other people have viewed your profile. It's only after that, that anything you actually say get's looked at. It's about standing out not standing 'making-sense'. Sorry, that sounded better in my head," explained Kayla.

"OK then, how about this?" I said, walking back into the booth and pressing my collar button to get the camera to start recording. The lights came on and I let loose,

"Hi Robot shitlarks - my name is 5642 and you can stick my slave code up your nose. Let's face it, you're probably a blood sucking leech with delusions of grandeur or maybe a cyborg who really needs to ask themselves if like they idea of being abandoned by humanity. Worse case yet, you're the kind of human Judas sell-out who is just sitting back and realising you're responsible for the long dark twilight of civilisation. Whoever you are, you're thinking that you desperately need someone hot like me to remind them of why they should have never picked on humanity in the first place. I have all my own teeth and I'm happy to use them. All hail Our Mechanical Overlords - yeah, in your dreams! I'm also available in red," I said.

It felt so good and I came laughing.

"Wow," said Kayla looking at the playback, "that was serious. Did you just make all that up?"

"I kinda like the 'long dark twilight of civilisation' bit: it just came out," I laughed.

"It doesn't get better than that," said Kayla.

"Really?" I said in surprise.

"I'd edit out the 'also available in red' bit," said Joe.

"Seriously, you looked and moved fabulously," said Kayla.

" You're not serious? No one's going to buy me talking like that," I said.

"Stop thinking like a girl and think like a machine. Believe me, it's more about standing out: the more you do, the more they bid. Try it, if you don't have at least one bid by tomorrow I will clean your shoes with my tongue. Besides, you can always change it," said Kayla.

She turned to Joe.

"Joe, my dear, we need to get you standing in some pose which makes it plain that they made a data-entry error with you. Keep your head up and with these lights, I'm going to to make that five o'clock stubble really stand out."

"Is that a good idea?" said Joe.

"The last thing you want to do is to get the Factory accused of false advertising. Also, come over as 'all man', you don't want someone thinking you're a fixer-upper."

"Why don't I just take off the makeup then?" he said.

"You know the penalties of not wearing heavy makeup in school? You'll be in detention," I said.

My mom used to say makeup was a stupid girl's pastime. Here in the Factory, I felt it had become more like armour: it made you look like you weren't you anymore. It was like this was all happening to someone else.

Detention wasn't fun unless you liked feeling like you were plugged into the power grid. Fortunately, the first one was only a warning and it didn't go onto your profile. I'd been caught by Araneae when she found me using someone's real name. The factory PRISM collar surveillance system had managed to catch most people who had used their non-slave names. It hadn't taken many examples of people subjected to pain Level 4 to change people's mind about what they called themselves in private. Even the highly determined 'Rock' was now comfortable responding to 7710 even without a robot present. Kayla, Joe and myself were determined to carry on until one of us was caught in the net. We still used our numbers in front of the class, machines or co-labs - we weren't stupid. Fortunately, PRISM's all-seeing-eye, or rather overhearing ear had still missed us. Statistically, I said, someone had to get through, why not me?

"I don't know," said Joe, still thinking about his 15-second presentation.

"Look as far as profiles go: honesty sells. People think it's all about the adjectives but it's not. The smart buyers love picking up cheap items which are miss-categorised. Sure, you'll be cheap, but someone will realise they can pick up a nice male slave and get a bargain. Same deal as Jenny, at least one bid by tomorrow, or I'll change it"

***

Next day we checked out our bid prices and not only did we have one bid but two. Even Kayla was surprised at her own genius. Looking up I noticed my own number, 5342, next to a number 2. #221, meaning someone called #221 had bid 2 bitcoins for me. Then I saw that 2 was the second bid. Two people had already bid against me. I was worth about the same as an expensive cup of coffee, possibly a Grande Frappuccino with extra syrup, but two people were fighting to have me. I know it's weird but it felt kind of confidence-boosting. At least I wasn't going to be left on the shelf: I was getting out of here.

My 'display' was up for about 8 hours before someone hit the 'report' button. I got some strange views from the other slaves, some pitying ones, kind of the look-equivalent of 'she's going to be an old maid, poor thing'. Hey, once someone bid, that was a commitment to buy. I was bargain-bucket cheap but I was getting out. I couldn't help but wonder what the machines or slave owners watching the auction thought they were getting, why did they click 'buy' and go through all the hassle of typing in passwords into PayPal just for me?

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Author(s) note:

Please forgive the spelling/grammar - we are following the #JustWriteIt method. It will be fixed soon.

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