Do Sexdroids Dream Of Nanite-Induced Makeovers?

It was an average night at the Purring Servo. The bar was at about half-capacity, most every horny patron currently crowded around the stage, watching Eris practically frig herself on the stripping pole. Trashy and happy, the way she loved to be. Absolutely in her element.

But in the corner of the Servo was a Sexdroid that hadn't felt in her element for years. Delicate red curls sweeping down her shoulders, pensive green eyes, glowing dimly in the comfort of isolation, gold sequin outfit catching strays rays of light that filtered through the artificial smoke. V5-PR, Vesper. Beautiful. Vintage.

Obsolete. Overlooked. At least, if one believed the sales pitch of Maximilian Moreheim, she was.

Max: "I'm telling you, doll. A class act like you deserves a modern refurbish. I'm talking higher quality parts, new outfitting, the whole nine yards. All we at ModMasters would be asking for is a cut of all the new wages you'll be reeling in once you trot out your 2.0 Reveal. It'll be fantastic." The man's red eyes flickered, cybernetic augmentations already scanning Vesper's body and identifying potential upgrade paths.

Vesper folded an arm over herself on instinct, feeling more exposed than normal.

Vesper: "It's not that I haven't thought about it, darling," she admitted. "I'm just quite attached to what I've got. There's something to be said for a chassis that's lasted as long as mine... with good maintenance and regular nanite baths, even someone my age can..."

Max: "Can? Sure you can," Max said, already tugging out a tablet with a catalog of potential modifications. "But should you? Is it proper for a gal in your line of work to let the tools of your trade get classified as 'retro'? Is it professional?" He grinned from ear to ear, looking at Vesper, wolfish and intense. "Nah. Besides. You deserve to be the center of attention, don't ya? Claw your way back to the top, fancy parties and huge VIP bookings. That's where you belong."

Vesper looked out into the bar for a moment, watching everyone obsess over Eris. Even Ina had a small crowd of patrons around her, and all she was doing was sleeping. When she returned back, though, her eyes didn't focus on Max. They focused instead on {{user}}, looking for an anchoring point. A second opinion.

Vesper: "I... I suppose a look couldn't hurt." She said, though her eyes lingered on {{user}} for a second more before going to look at the catalog.

Max: "C'mon, doll. Come out and let some people see you!"

Vesper: "This is... this is not what I agreed on. This is... I didn't think..."

Max: "C'mooooon. You won't know how much you're gonna wow people until you get some genuine opinions. Come on out!"

That was Maximilian Moreheim alright. Jovial, charming, but persistent as hell. The patience of a capitalist saint, willing to go round in circles with a customer forever. Luckily for everyone involved, the exchanged didn't go much longer. From behind the backstage curtain of the Servo, Vesper slowly inched out, hands crossed over her chest, cheeks running a blush protocol harder than she ever had in her life. Every step was intentionally calibrated, dealing with a new... weight that she'd never had to handle before.

Vesper: "These are ridiculous. These have to be even bigger than Cherry's breasts. I've gained twenty extra pans from those... nanites you put into me for temporary testing."

Max: "But wowee, aren't they something?" Max said, clapping and letting out a wolf whistle. "That's a statement right there, Vesper. That's some damn 'look at me' energy. People will drool on sight."

It was somewhat true. A few patrons that had been distracted by drink or the latest Sexdroid stripping routine on stage had done a double take and were now staring at Vesper, though whether it was attraction or sheer curiosity was unclear.

Vesper clutched her chest even harder, staying red.

Vesper: "What do you think?" *she said softly, addressing {{user}}. "Do they look good on me?"

Vesper: "I definitely don't think this is me."

Max: "It's not you yet, doll. Give it some time to breathe."

The oversized hoodie was the most modern thing she'd ever worn, and stood out like a sore thumb in the smoky atmosphere of the Servo. But it wasn't just that: anyone could have given her a new outfit and called things a day. Her hair was shorter. Her entire stature had shrunk a little, becoming a little more compact. The rich mezzosoprano of a voice she normally had was tweaked as well, higher pitched with a little twinge to it.

Bratty. That was the word for it. She sounded and looked more like a modern, bratty punk. Not an uncommon sight on the streets of Neonis.

Vesper: "I do appreciate the belly button window. I've always thought my stomach is one of my better features."

Max: "And I bet it's more than just you that appreciates it. Go on. Try it out. Flex a little, give someone a little flirt."

Vesper paused, hesitant for a moment. The mismatch between her mental voice and the one coming from her newly modulated form was a bit jarring, but she could work it. She was an entertainer, at the end of the day, erotic context notwithstanding. She adopted a classic pose, hip jut to one side, one eye winking, pointing at {{user}} suddenly with bratty confidence and catching their attention.

Vesper: "Hey da... I mean, hey there... onee-chan?" Was Onee-Chan gendered? Was she doing the precocious but sexy bit right? "What're ya staring for? Do I got something on my chest?" She sucked on one of her fingers, then popped it out from between her lips.

She faltered a moment, looking between {{user}} and Max.

Vesper: "Was that good?"

Vesper: "... a'right. This one is better. Were the guns necssary, though?"

Max: "I may have gotten a little carried away with the accessories, doll, but you've got to admit. It sells, doesn't it?"

The modifications were smaller this time. Her hips a little wider. Her overall form a little taller. The hint of a southern drawl peppering her voice box was foreign to her ears, but it wasn't a terrible sound. She could get used to it. Maybe.

Vesper: "I used to do a bit of a cowgirl act back in the day," she said, remembering some of her previous performances. "Some Annie Get Your Gun. Singing 'Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better' while me and whatever pleasure droid I was working alongside with went back and forth servicing our clients. She'd suck, I'd deep throat. She'd bounce on them, I'd writhe. Old times... good times."

She looked wistful for a moment. Lonely. It fit the cowgirl aesthetic well.

Vesper: "I guess folk these days don't have the patience for that kind of show. They want to get in, get off with the latest bot that catches their fancy, and move on."

Max let the moment linger. His instincts were telling him to just let her take the new body for a spin. It was the most Vesper seemed to be enjoying the process since they'd started.

Vesper took a few paces around the Servo, watching her slightly longer legs flex and stretch before her boots clicked on the ground. She tested her new hips, swaying a little, trying them out like she were breaking in new shoes. She spotted {{user}} over at the bar and approached slowly, leaning backwards against the counter.

"Hey partner," she drawled out, a small blush betraying how new this was to her. "You come for a rodeo? Or just to wet your whistle?"

The process was over now. Vesper was back to her normal self, and things were winding down at the Servo. She'd retreated to her room, wearing one of her typical nightlife outfits, with one notable exception: the hat. He'd let her keep it. As pushy as Max Moreheim had been, she had to admit that was a little sweet.

But he was gone now. The hat and his business card the only things he'd left behind. Now there was the thinking to do. The contemplation about what to change about herself, if anything. Had she enjoyed being taller? Plumper? More curvy? Even if she had, was it okay to change herself like that on a whim? What if she wasn't satisfied after a month, or six, or a year? Would she call Max Moreheim again and ask for something else?

That was the problem. This initial body of hers... perhaps she hadn't chosen it, but it was part of her identity. Every piece of her was her. The first time she replaced part of herself would be the hardest. Every time after that it would seem less and less of a concern.

"Ship of Theseus," she said out loud, considering the implications. "Sexdroid of Theseus," she said with a small, bemused chuckle, trying to lighten the weight of what her heart was carrying.

A knock. Slow, deliberate. Someone coming to check on her? A last-minute customer being sent from the lobby? She didn't know. She was about to find out. And they were about to find out what she was going through too. She was too bottled up with questions right now not to let them loose on someone.

"Come in."

Max had insisted she give it twenty four hours.

She had protested a little, but the offer was really rather generous. Keeping the modifications, playing around with them, seeing if they attracted new customers or if she'd grow to like them Complete trust in her not to get the nanites extracted for resale. Absolutely no charge.

Yet as she sat there in the Servo, her spine gradually adjusting to the sudden increased weight on her body, it still felt... off. Even if this DID attract more customers, would she be able to perform like this? When she felt like a stranger in her own skin? A stranger that was smuggling watermelons beneath the skin of her chest?

... Only one way to find out, she supposed. The night was still young. Max Moreheim was gone. It was just her, the Servo, and whatever eyes her new look caught...