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“Isabella, at your service, Ma’am,” the robot's voice was chirpy, an artificial brightness contrary to the metallic form. Neo scoffed, tossing a wrench into the failed attempt’s “head”. The robot whined, but collapsed. Back to the drawing board.
“Ma’am, you look beautiful today,” this version of Isabella was a plastic shell, resembling a mannequin more than anything else. It’s voice was more sultry than the last, and it wore a long black wig. It’s eyes stared unblinkingly at Neo, a pretense of admiration. She scowled at the failure, standing up to it.
“Still.” Immediately, the robot froze, stuck in the position of praise. Neo reached out, a snarl forming on her face as she tore the left arm off of her creation, and then the right. Isabella stayed still, even as the mechanics within it whirred, desperately trying to compete with the destruction of its own form.
Neo turned to attempt 407, an almost human looking creation draped over a chair. She snapped her fingers, a smile creeping onto her face as Isabella turned to face her right away, an organic movement that belied none of the truth as to her inner workings.
“Ma’am,” Isabella smiled, her voice soft and warm, with a slight sultry hint, “how may I assist you?”
Neo grinned, a predatory expression affixed on her place, “Who do you serve?”
“You, Ma’am. You are all I need,” Isabella sounded pleased, “and all I want. You are who I worship.”
She petted the creation’s arm, a gentle action that suggested none of the violence she had shown her previous Isabellas, “Good.”