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Authorís Notes: Written by text message at 3AM on Christmas morning. Fun!
Hatred. Lust. More hatred, this time directed at yourself for lusting. That machine sees, you're certain, that you still have vestiges of angry want for its imitation of a human body. It always could read you too well.
That's another form of vengeance and degradation that you inflict: you allow your male officers to frak it - you can't rape a machine - but the women aren't allowed to, least of all you.
Not now or ever again.
You're sure it would make you sick. Knowing that deep within you even still want to frak this machine? That makes bile rise in your throat. Never, never again will you deign to touch this sickening fake life with your bare hands. Not even to beat it: you'll watch others do that instead.
And when it comes to deliver death to your door again, you will face it, and you still will not yield.