With the level of automation in the factory, your instructions were not to cross the taped line marked on the floor. With a snort, you look down knowing what you'll see. The diagonally striped yellow and black bands marked the extend of your patrol. Beyond that, at this point where,... it was a passageway, and technically you could cross. The sentiment was complimented.
'Automation: No humans beyond this point'.
The words painted in luminous yellow for those who were incapable of understanding warning tape... Or perhaps, the tape for those who couldn't read English?
Your frustration builds, as you shine your torch down the passage. 'Outranked by a piece of fucking tape', you mutter to yourself. At the far end, you spot the other end of the prohibited zone. Your diffuse torch light able to reach it, even if the inverted lettering is too blurry to make out.
A shadow looms at your shoulder, and another blank gynoid towers over you. Stepping aside at the silent request... command of the mobile platform, you wonder why you're even here. You admire her body, the subtle, but full and firm with just the right amount of bounce, as the platform springs back into life.
That tiny, toned waist, those broad, womanly hips, and that sumptuous courtesans' ass, that on a real woman would suggest easy childbirth, and fertility. You keep your gaze away from her feline face, with it's high cheekbones, full lips, and permanent pout. Those blank glassy eyes just creeped you out.
Overhead, you heard the crack of thunder, and in moments rain was pouring down onto the clear roof. The sky already dark making the whole factory gloomier. You look to the exit door, the next part of your patrol.
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