What happens when fear of death eats at your soul?

  Would you sell your humanity for a longer lifespan?

  "Ah, a new customer!" A voice rang out, slick with enthusiasm. "What might you be in the market for today? Perhaps… a full-spec model?" His words practically oozed greed, his eyes scanning every pocket on his guest—but never meeting his eyes.

  "Full-spec?" The client tilted his head, intrigued. "That sounds interesting. Could you elaborate?"

  Ah, full-spec. The peak of maidbot craftsmanship. A manufacturing process so refined, so absolute, that it birthed nothing short of perfection. These weren't just robotic assistants—they were miracles of mechanized servitude. Tailored to your every whim!

  Especially… her.

  Looking for a hardworking maidbot? Done! These units came with an integrated energy core fused directly into their reconstructed spine—a replacement for the fragile, inefficient human bone structure. The power supply? Lightning-fast recharge, near-zero energy consumption when idle, and an operational cycle lasting a full week without rest.

  However, they do take Sundays off… Sacred days when they shut down and recharge.

  Need a cook? Every full-spec maidbot housed a modular artificial brain, designed for seamless detachment and reintegration. Up to 70% of the unit’s cognitive load could be relocated to external processors—though a critical 30% must always remain within the body, lest irreparable system failure may occur. This brain didn’t just process recipes. It was an ever-learning archive, permanently tethered to global data networks, ensuring that even the most exquisite, avant-garde cuisine was merely the baseline of its capabilities.

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  Require childcare? Naturally. All female units were equipped with specialized maternal subroutines—no additional installation necessary. In fact, should you desire, they could even bear children themselves. Full-spec maidbots retained some vestiges of their humanity. A conscious design choice. Their heads, lips, tummies, private regions - feel free to enjoy them to your heart's content!… and, uh, ew... memories... were left untouched, a nod to the remnants of what they once were.

  Yes, yes, unfortunately... their memories remained.

  They begged, screamed, pleaded for those to remain intact—clutching desperately to their identities even as their flesh was peeled away, as their bodies were dismantled and reforged into the ultimate product.

  But of course, willing participants!!!

  They may have been drowning in debt, crippled by trauma, or some other permanent scar to never heal, but they did agree to the procedure! Think about it like an add-on, an accessory that makes them EXTRA-COOPERATIVE! The only downside of that detail is that it sometimes harbors a few… personality quirks, but rest assured, dear customer—should you find any defects in your purchase, we offer a full refund!!!

  "I swear on my name, you’ll receive more than your money’s worth!" The salesman beamed, confident.

  And through it all, Zarra stood there. Still and unmoving. Silent. Expressionless. Discussed like a commodity.

  Like a... thing.

  Because that’s what she was.

  A product about to be sold...

  A prime example of what 'when fear of death wins' looks like.