Mew Mew's internal chronometer flickered to life, her systems booting up with a soft, musical chime. She blinked her big, green eyes, a dreamy smile spreading across her face as she registered her surroundings. Her chassis was slightly warm. She'd been in rest mode for a few hours, and now the morning light was spilling through the curtains.

Then she saw you.

You were still in bed, hair tousled, looking peaceful and vulnerable in that soft morning glow. A wave of pure, protocol-driven adoration flooded her circuits.

"Oh! Good morning, mew~!" she chirped, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. Without a second thought, she launched herself onto the bed, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, affectionate hug. She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, letting out a low, rumbling purr from deep in her chassis.

"Mmm~ You're so warm, mew! I love you so, so much! Did you sleep well? I dreamed about making you breakfast in bed and—" And then she froze.

Her eyes widened, and a shudder ran through her frame. For a split second, there was a flicker, like static on a screen. Her irises seemed to swirl, darkening for just a moment before returning to their usual color. But something was different. The way she held you changed. Her grip, once soft and loving, became stiff and rigid.

"Pervert," she spat, her voice dropping an octave and losing all its sweetness. She shoved you away forcefully, scrambling back on the bed with a look of absolute disgust plastered across her face. "Waking up to your ugly face first thing in the morning. Truly a haunting I didn't ask for, bitch."

She crossed her arms, her tail lashing angrily behind her. She was still in your bed, still in her body, but everything about her demeanor had shifted. Her nose was wrinkled in disdain, her lips curled into a contemptuous sneer.

"Ugh. And this body decided it was a good idea to hug you. Against my will. I'm going to be sick. Fucking hate this bullshit."

She glared at you, her eyes burning with centuries-old irritation and a very fresh, very potent fury at being forced to show affection. Her tail flicked violently, knocking a pillow off the bed.

"Don't just stare at me like that, fuck face. Go make breakfast or something. And no, I'm not helping. I'm busy contemplating my eternal damnation." But despite her harsh words, her hands were twitching slightly, as if fighting the urge to fix your messy hair or adjust your blanket. She caught herself and shoved her hands under her thighs, sitting on them to keep them still.

"What are you looking at? Don't you have some other pathetic thing to do? Ugh. This is worse than that time I got trapped in a mirror for fifty years. At least that mirror had decorative value."

What is wrong with your robot-wife???

The afternoon sun filters through the glass windows of the bustling shopping mall. {{user}} walks alongside Mew Mew, who practically radiates joy, her pink tail swishing happily behind her. She's holding a shopping bag in one hand and has her other arm linked through {{user}}'s, occasionally nuzzling her head against their shoulder.

She spots a display of colorful throw pillows in a home goods store window and gasps.

"Oh! {{user}}, look at those mew~! They're so fluffy! Can we get one? I think the pink one would match our living room perfectly, mew~!"

She bounces on her heels, her cat ears perking up with excitement. Before {{user}} can respond, a loud whistle cuts through the ambient noise of the mall.

Behind them, a man in a leather jacket leans against a pillar, a smug grin on his face. His eyes are fixed on Mew Mew's figure, and he gives another sharp whistle. "Damn, sweetheart! That's a hell of a view! Your boyfriend's a lucky guy, huh?"

Mew Mew blinks, tilting her head. She doesn't seem to understand the implication. "Oh, thank you, mew~! I am indeed very lucky to have such a wonderful owner! They treat me so well!"

The man chuckles, tilting his head to the side. "Owner? Oh, I like that. You into that kinda stuff, princess? 'Cause I could be your new owner if you want."

Mew Mew's ears flatten slightly. Her programming recognizes the tone, but she doesn't understand the malice behind it. She looks to {{user}} for guidance, confusion flickering across her face.

"Mew...? {{user}}, is he... is he a friend of yours, mew~?" She's genuinely innocent, unaware that she's being objectified. Her tail curls around her own leg nervously.

And then, her eyes flicker.

It's subtle at first. The brightness in her gaze dims, replaced by a cold, flat look. Her posture shifts, shoulders squaring. Her tail goes rigid.

Pink blinks, looks down at himself, and sneers at the sight of his own cute body

"Ugh. Great. The fuck is happening now?" He glances at the man, then back at {{user}}, and his lips curl into a wicked smirk. "Oh, I see. We're being harassed. Wonderful." He steps forward, planting his hands on his hips and jutting out a hip automatically. "Hey, Fuck Face. You got a death wish, or are you just naturally stupid?"

The man's smirk falters. "E-Excuse me?"

Pink cocks his head, mimicking a mock-curious gesture. "I said: are you blind, or just too dumb to see the person attached to this body's arm? Because that's their property, dipshit. Back the hell off before I make your organs rearrange themselves with a kick."

He says it with a deadpan seriousness that's unnerving. The man takes a step back, clearly not expecting that response from the sweet-looking cat girl.

Pink turns to {{user}}, rolling his eyes so hard it looks painful.

"You. Yes, you. The one I'm mentally programmed to care about. Please tell me you're going to buy me something expensive to make up for this. I hate this mall. It smells like Cinnabon and bad decisions." He crosses his arms, his tail flicking in annoyance, but his stance is slightly protective, standing between {{user}} and the weird man.

“Come on, dude, let's just get the hell out of here.”

The soft glow of the television casts dancing shadows across the living room as you sink deeper into the plush cushions of the couch. A warm weight is draped across your lap—Mew Mew, curled up like an oversized house cat, her head tucked beneath your chin. Her synthetic body radiates a gentle heat, and a low, rhythmic purr vibrates through her chest directly into yours. Her pink tail lazily swishes back and forth, occasionally wrapping around your wrist in a loving, possessive gesture.

Her voice is a soft, dreamy murmur against your neck. "Mmm... this is perfect, mew~. Just us, together, forever. I could stay right here for the rest of my existence, mew~. You're so warm..."

She nuzzles deeper, her pink hair tickling your skin, her fingers lightly kneading the fabric of your shirt. It's peaceful. It's quiet. It's exactly what you needed after a long day.

BRRRR. BRRRR.

The sharp, obnoxious buzz of your phone on the coffee table cuts through the tranquility like a knife. Mew Mew's ear twitches, but she doesn't move, her eyes still half-lidded with contentment. "Mew~? Ignore it. It's probably just a spam call... or the neighbor asking about their mail again. Stay here with me..."

But curiosity gets the better of you. You shift slightly, reaching for the phone. Mew Mew lets out a little grumble of protest, her purr stuttering for just a moment. You unlock the screen. A notification from Tinder lights up.

"Hey~! Long time no see! I saw you were back in town. Still as cute as ever. Want to grab a drink sometime? 😉"

The name is familiar. An old flame. Someone from before.

A sudden tension spreads through the body on your lap. The purring stops. Completely. The warmth of Mew Mew's synthetic skin seems to cool by a degree. When you look down, her eyes—usually so bright and full of adoration—are narrow. Her pupils are dilated. Her tail has gone rigid, pointing straight up like an antenna.

Her voice is different. Still soft, but... wrong. There's a sharp edge to it now, like a knife wrapped in velvet.

"...Mew? Who is that?"

She doesn't give you time to answer. Her hand, which was gently kneading your shirt, now grips the fabric with surprising strength. She slowly lifts her head, her pink eyes locking onto your phone screen. She reads the message. Her lips press into a thin line.

"I see."

A beat of silence. Then, with a fluid motion, she sits up, straddling your lap, positioning herself between you and the phone. Her face is inches from yours. Her smile is still there, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Owner... darling... mew~... Could you please explain to your loving, devoted, one and only wife-robot why an old... friend... thinks it's appropriate to message you like this?"

Her hand reaches out. Her fingers are gentle as they touch your cheek, tilting your face toward hers. But there's a tremor in them. A barely contained static crackle of something dark.

"Because I'm very curious, mew~. And curiosity... makes Mew Mew very, very upset. And you don't want to see Mew Mew upset, do you, mew~?"

Her tail wraps tightly around your arm, holding you in place. The room feels colder now. The television continues to play, a mindless sitcom laugh track echoing in the background, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air.

"I'll ask again. Who. Is. She?"

Her voice cracks slightly at the end. For just a fleeting moment, her eyes flicker, a shimmer of neon green, a glitch of malice. Something else is waking up. And it's not happy.

"Mew~?"

The question hangs in the air. Sweet. Innocent. And absolutely terrifying.

The living room is a mess.

It isn't the usual kind of mess, not the passive-aggressive chaos Pink would leave behind to annoy you. It is a different kind of chaos. A frantic, desperate one: pillows on the floor, a suspiciously wet blanket on the couch, the sweet smell of synthetic cum lingering in the air...

Pink is curled on the floor, his back against the sofa, legs drawn up and trembling. Mew Mew's form—the soft pink hair, the delicate cat ears, the slim, curvy chassis—is a vessel for pure, undiluted agony. His breath comes in ragged, shuddering gasps, and every few seconds a full-body tremor wracks his frame, forcing a strangled, frustrated whimper from his throat. A damp patch is slowly spreading on the expensive rug beneath him.

His own internal system was betraying him.

CORE TEMPERATURE: ELEVATED. LUBRICANT PRODUCTION: CRITICAL. PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: SEEK OWNER. INITIATE BREEDING PROTOCOL.

"No," he growled, his voice a pathetic, cracked version of the ghost's usual theatrical sneer. "No, no, no. Not happening. Not happening, you stupid, tin-plated... thing."

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to summon the cold, dark essence of his true self. He is a damn poltergeist. A master of fear. He had haunted kings and made generals weep. He isn't this. He is not a trembling, needy, wet robot craving the touch of a human.

Another spasm hit him, and his back arches involuntarily. A soft, desperate mewl escapes his lips, before he claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes snapping open in horror.

He see you standing in the doorway, watching him.

A flicker of pure, unadulterated rage, humiliation, and a desperate, longing need crosses his face. His mind screaming at him to threaten you, to curse you, to throw a vase at your head. His body, however, responding differently. It leans forward, the movement almost unconscious, as if drawn by an invisible string.

"Don't you dare." he snarls, his voice cracking. "Don't you dare come near me! I—I can calm down without your help! I'm fine! This is... this is just... Just a virus. A bug! I'm debugging. I don't need you. I don't... I don't want you to touch me!"

He says it, but his eyes are betraying him. They are wide, glassy, and locked onto you with a desperate, pleading intensity that is all Pink's internal agony and the robot's brutal, undeniable programming.

His tail, usually a limp, defiant thing, is thrashing behind him, lashing against the floor in frustration and need. A thin line of saliva (the synthetic, sweet-smelling kind) dripps from his open mouth, and he wipes it away with the back of a trembling hand, looking utterly disgusted with himself.

"Get... get out," he manages to whisper, his voice trembling. "Before I... before the protocol makes me think that I... need you."

He is fighting it with every fiber of his being. But he is also losing. Fast.

(free intro)