“You…you…you…” The mechanical Rae struggled to articulate something negative, but seamlessly written interlock code kept replacing anything she could imagine with a different phrase. Meanwhile, the real Rae had fallen mercifully to sleep in the corner, cuddling a grease rag.

“Go ahead,” the mechanical Violet taunted, “say whatever comes to mind.”

“You…queen of all payback? Really, you gave yourself that title?”

“You made me call the fleshling you ‘mistress’. How twisted was that?”

“It wasn’t twisted,” came the quick protest, “It was…it’s just standard for someone who owns something else.”

“Ha!” Violet’s metal finger was up and pointing in accusation, “Right there! Exactly, that’s where it got twisted, when you got it into your stupid head to copy, insert, and own your quote-unquote best friend. That’s sick, Rae. What kind of person does that?”

No answer came. Mechanical Rae slumped back against a work bench. There was no defense for what she’d done, and now the desserts were just.