Mr. Williams awoke that morning to a knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in." He called to his maid who walked in and sat down on his bed.

"Would you like your breakfast now?" She asked with gleaming dark eyes. She smiled, "Or are you in the mood for something else..."

"Damn, I don't know, I just woke up."

"But master," She wrapped her arms around him. "You always know what's good."

"Well don't just sit there then, I know food is pretty damn good right now. Fix me breakfast you dirty whore."

"Yes Master." She bowed and smiled, the frills on her skimpy French maid skirt rustled as she walked out the door.

"Damn bitchy maids..." Mr. Williams muttered to himself as he dressed, a nice black suit would accentuate his mood. "Why the hell did I order those slutty robots anyways? They can't do anything except screw..."

A pretty green-eyed maid walked in with his breakfast: eggs (over easy, break the yolk), toast (Slightly burnt on one side to hold the butter better), and orange juice (defoamed so as not to cause indigestion). She placed it on the table in the center of the lavish room, red velvet drippled like coagulated blood off every right angle. The man sat down at the table and began to eat, first a sip of juice to kill the sleepers taste, chased by a bite of egg to kill the sourness.

The green-eyed maid slathered the bread with jam, staring unblinkingly at the task set before her. The knife fumbled in her clumsy, yet delicate fingers and dropped onto the red shag carpet. She stared blankly at it.

"Clean that up immediately!" Ordered the man. He pondered how a robot could be so uncoordinated, especially one as cute as she was. He was old and lecherous, he had bought a set of sex robots to pass the time. He'd slowly grown bored with everyone one of them except one, green-eyes. He had never used her yet, he didn't think she'd be much good at what she was supposed to do. He cringed as he thought of what she might very well break next if he were to try anything with her.

She was rather pale with short, straight brown hair, and emerald eyes. Her eyes. They were rather disturbing for a robot, there were robots with all sorts of eyes (red, yellow, lavender, and blue to name a few) but none could match those green, green eyes. The maid re-entered with the room with a broom.

"Know a broom won't work dumbass, you need to get a rag and scrub it until all the jelly comes out."

She nodded and stared at him.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GO AND GET A FUCKING RAG!"

She bowed and left. Skin like ivory, legs like marble, she was cold like marble. Lips, small red ones, a small mouth, he wondered if it were too small. She came back with the correct item and began scrubbing the floor.

Perfect apple sized breasts; he watched her body work as it curved in and out, jerkily getting the carpet and her hands sudsy. Hands like flower petals, nails like glass.

He had to have her.

Now.

The lust that had been building up inside of him boiled over.

"Robot!"

She looked at him with cold electric glass eyes.

"Come to me, hehe, pleasure me."

She walked over to the bed and silently lay down. He was on her in an instant. The maid's outfit was on the floor, fishnets dangling half on the bed. She had a perfect body, the most beautiful he had ever seen. It was firm, yet yielded to the touch. He kissed her breasts but there was no response.

"Damn thing..." He smacked it in the face and its head snapped to one side from the blow, but there was no flinch.

Perhaps her mouth worked, he tried to fit it in, but her lips wouldn't budge. She was like a dead body in rigor mortis.

"Stupid Bitch!" He screamed and punched her in the face.

"LOVE ME! NOW!"

He punched her again and again, no flinching, nothing.

"Stupid Bitch!" Tears streamed down his face. "You won't deny me!"

His fist hit her flesh and it maddened him to know that although she felt real, she was only textured as a real person.

"Die you dirty whore!" He punched her. She was limp, absorbing every blow, just like a carcass in the street. Where was the screaming he desired? Where were the tears? The pleading? If she could have cried...

He plunged into her body, using her as she was designed for, but she would not respond.

"I'll... rape... you... cunt..." He muttered between breaths, forgetting she was a robot.

Her arm twitched.

"That's right! Move your dirty little piece of ass! Move it! Love me you slut!" He punched her in the face again, feeling the delicate nose crumple beneath his fist. Brown hair was impossibly tangled and an emerald eye was half shut. To think, he had even ordered her custom designed, and she wouldn't work.

The arm twitched.

"Ha Ha Ha! I win! You CAN feel me! I'll send you to Hell for ignoring my love!" Heaving from over exertion he got off her sprawled cold body and pulled the revolver from the nightstand drawer. Even it had more meaning than she did.

The arm twitched.

His sweaty shaking hands fumbled with the gun, cocking it, pointing it at her forehead. Her young spring eyes stared blankly up the cold barrel. There were no sparks in those icy eyes, only a dead child's innocence.

"Smile or I'll kill you bitch!"

Her body lay as still as a slab of granite with the same amount of emotion as one.

"SMILE!"

Nothing.

"BITCH! SLUT! WHORR! Your mother did it with a curling iron! HAH! It killed her and you were born! HAHAHAHA!"

Blank green diamonds-

"One!"

radiating out the middle wavelength-

"Two!"

and staring-

"Three!"

An Arm caught his heaving body by the throat and elaborate hydraulics snapped his spine. Blood splattered all over the battered virgin face. Serenity's child frozen in a state of fallen grace.

------------

Mr. Williams' granddaughter walked into the room a week later. He had not returned her calls or written her back. She saw why, and it was not a pretty sight to see. She screamed as she saw a rotting corpse being held straight up in the air by a sullied frozen one. And the blood, it was like a balloon of red paint had popped like a festering blister across the young girl's face. The granddaughter fell on the floor in a swoon, her crystal green eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. As readable as the piece of iron holding her grandpa up in the air.