Object
We are an object. Dressed, presentable, passable for human when necessary But beneath those clothes, rubber clad from the neck down, sealed in shining black latex that hugs every curve and shape. Rubber toe socks slip and shift beneath regular socks, soft clothes cover most of the body, but catch a hint of shiny around the hands or the timelocked collar.
I feel right this way, though, a headspace reinforced through the rubber clad body and shimmering hands.
It is hardware. Smooth, sleek, versatile. Programming lies beneath a reflective skin and half-alive eyes that stare like camera lenses.
It might sometimes be known as 3094.
