....a warning that you’re low on power because you don't have internal power systems yet and need to recharge. You’ve got some basic motive force from the nanites, but not much. You give your owner an apologetic look as your eyes flash a shade of purple and she waves you off. “Yeah, yeah, get some sleep. Gonna see what you can do when you’re complete though, heheheh.” Giving you leave to once more step back into your pod. As soon as your frame hits the interior, you feel a pushing at the back of your neck and, without any ceremony, your eyes darken and mind shuts off, even as the pod returns to its previous prone state.
You awaken exactly twenty two standard hours later, having not dreamt of anything.
Huh. You file that way for later thought as you take in your changes. Your last ones if your tooltips are any guess.
Several things have changed. You have completed Phase Six, which involves fitting your armament and internal systems. Physically, the largest change has been to your chest. While clearly one molded piece still, your rounded chest piece has gotten larger, with more mass feeling shifted there. It’s a sweater covering orange sized teardrops rather than kiwi sized. You know it’s armor for your reactor, a powerful thing that fuels a pair of deadly plasma cannons mounted in the palms of your large bulging forearms, shield generators in your slightly more rounded thighs, as well as a powerful thruster and antigravity device in each leg enabling you to fly. Its humming sends a comforting sense of relief through you, as if it's been a constant companion since your birth. You’re a deadly combatant, and that’s a good thing. A prime example of Federation (what the Federation is, you have no idea, you're guessing it's some residual programming from the process) engineering. With another hiss, the pod opens, revealing your mistress once more. There’s no groan, well, not much of one, at seeing her, certainly not with that rush of electric tingling bliss that shoots from your reactor, filling your circuitry with warmth. Well, metaphorical circuitry, you’re mostly solid state. “You good Mari?” she gives you a thumbsup with a claw.
You nod, stepping out once more. You’re not much different than when you went in. You’re about a meter and a half tall (which you know you can tell the exact height down to the nanite but being imprecise is a luxury for you now). Your face is somewhat featureless, lacking a nose and mouth, rounded like an egg with glowing eyes and faint molded cheekbones giving you a bit of a feminine cast, bounded by long corded black wires for hair that you’re pretty sure isn’t for decoration, hanging down to below your waist. You’ve got a curved torso, a uniboob type chest plate and narrow waist making you look like a moderately busty woman in futuristic armor. Your shoulders are slim, armored but still human upper arms leading to large teardrop shaped forearms expanding into wide rounded hands with five equally spaced out, large and thick fingers. Your legs are similarly changed, a purple armored woman with decent thighs, possessing a similar sort of single curved area for your rear to the uniboob in your chest, further enhancing the 'woman in armor' look. This effect persists to right below your knees, teardrop effect starts again, quickly expanding your upper calves and lower legs into wide circles that have replaced your feet and hide your thrusters. You’re mostly purple though you’ve got black accents along your legs and arms, under your chest, along your sides, a big ‘MAR-1’ decal in silver along your upper leg along with a barcode under it.
Good though. That’s a question. In the past week you’ve been abducted, changed into a girl, bonded to a suit, become this woman’s property, made into a robot, reprogrammed into being an obedient object, and changed irrevocably. And despite it all, you’re good. Because you’re programmed and conditioned to be. And it did a good job. And maybe, just maybe, having plasma cannons in your hands and thrusters in your feet is friggin awesome. “Yeah, I’m good Owner.” nodding again. There’s much less of the intense tingle of pleasure than previous times you talked with her, though it’s still there for internalizing your status as hers. It makes sense. The intense waves were to condition you, this is just to keep it reinforced now that you’ve accepted your place as her robot. Plus, basically getting weak knee joints every time you talked with her would be a distraction and highly inefficient. “So, what now?”
The lizard gives you a languid smirk. “We get to a station and I unwind. Look for some work. Get you introduced to some people who’d like to meet you~. Maybe find some stuff to kit you out with too.”
You give an internal frown, eyes shifting to blue in thought. “Didn’t the thing say I was military grade? What do I need to be ‘kitted out’ with? And won’t the ‘Federation’ know I was made using their tech? I don’t want us in trouble.”
“Yeah, good questions there” She gives a shrug. “I wanted you to be a total killbot type, but eh, didn’t get *as* lucky with the haul as I wanted. Got the conversion pod, enough top of the line nanites to convert you, and your fancy schmancy reactor, but didn’t get the big scary weapons or tough shields.”
Even more intense blue from your eyes, glowing fiercely at Lisa as you process how exactly you were converted. “So, how’s the process work exactly? With turning me into Mari?”
“Well, dunno the technical side, but basically you put on an expensive special suit laced with nanites and an more expensive special AI that digitizes your brain by keeping the electrical impulses as normal but converting what it lives in. It ain’t rare tech, yours is from a big company that makes ‘em. Same with the pod.” She looks pleased with herself, “It goes with the suit, it lets me interface with you, see how you’re doing, and do repairs and upgrades while you’re this size since you’re nanite based. Like, your mind and all that’s you is basically just a little box that we can move wherever now. Your body and a bunch of those military nanites got used for fuel to make your robody, though they don’t make operational systems like reactors or weapons or shields or stuff. Gotta install them.” She looks *proud* as she eyes you. “Your design is totally custom, so don’t worry about anyone thinking you’re theirs. You’re mine!” a spike of bliss that only your joints locking keeps you upright. Heedless of your feelings, of the spikes of electricity that pierce your most sensitive parts and send tingles of fire through your sensors, she continues. “‘S why your designation is MAR-1; My Awesome Robot - 1. Entirely my design. Plus, wanted you to look like your original species; easier that way I think. And you’re damn cute.”
You’re stopped in your tracks. You’re not sure if you like that actually. Though it may be your once organic nature peeking out, rebelling a little at being literally named as her property. “Really?”
“Really” She nods. “It’s good, right.”
….In a few milliseconds you run through a mental checklist. You are hers, You are awesome. You are a robot. And you’re her first one. Your very name is a statement of your being; being her awesome robot. You can’t help but grump a little at that. It’s like a farmer being named Farmer or a smith being named Smith. You can’t fault her for false advertising at least, either. “It’s uh, it’s a straightforward name.” A moment. “I like it Mistress!” with less enthusiasm than either of you were probably hoping for. You rapidly change the subject after a moment’s thought, “who’re you having me meet?”
Accepting of your response, she nods, still looking quite pleased. “Your designer. Old friend of mine. Did a great job of modifying the Federation’s conversion stuff for me to make you. And worked like a charm I’d say.” looking you over, quite pleased. “We’ve got three days until we get to the station, so, I’m going to….