An unusual conversation.

Natasha rubbed her eyes groggily and sat up. She was in a hotel room with three guys. They were all watching a set of monitors and didn't notice her until she coughed.

"Ah! Jesus, she's awake!" the large one said. "You said she was, like, compliant?" His eyes roamed across her body. She didn't mind.

The old one seemed annoyed. "Yes, she's basically an empty shell. Just sentient enough to pass briefly among people."

"I beg to differ," replied the younger man. He sat staring skeptically into her eyes. She stared pleasantly back, unperturbed by the frank debate about her personhood.

"This is a such a sloppy job. I'm surprised she even blinks." In response, she batted her eyelashes and her smile deepened. He seemed amused by this. "What's your name, dear?"

"Natasha," she replied mildly.

"And what do you do, Natasha?"

"Nothing at all. I don't really recall existing before a few moments ago and I assume I won't continue existing for long." She spoke with a gentle thoughtfulness, as though planning an event. "I think I'd like to continue to exist. Yes, I'd like that."

He rolled his eyes and turned to the others. "Very convincing stuff, guys. With that sparkling personality and quick wit I can barely tell she's basically a programmable fucking toaster oven." He smiled at her apologetically. "No offense, ma'am."

She didn't mind. "None taken. Will you let me exist for longer if I can help you?"

The skeptical young man turned back to her, eyes narrowed. After a moment, he spoke to the others without breaking eye contact. "Did you say you programmed this mind yourself?"

The old one replied quickly. "Yeah, yeah, of course. You can keep shitting all over it, this one's mine through and through."

The young man turned back to her and gestured to his friend. "You see that man there? Do you find him attractive?"

Natasha looked him over. She'd only seen the people in this room, but she knew that he was not particularly attractive. He was wrinkly and skinny and had a mean look on his face.

"No." she said nonchalantly,

"Now that doesn't-"

The young man interrupted him. "You know, you're not the first fabricator I've worked with. I dabble, of course, but some of you folks are absolute artists. Not this shit, mind you." He gestured to me. I was beginning to realize that I wasn't very well constructed. "But the one thing you all have is a signature. I suppose egotism's an inherent risk when you play God for a living. You folks always leave a calling card."

The old man looked scared now. "I wasn- look, my last few attempts kinda backfired on me. Have you ever been beaten half to **** with a tennis racket by a nude, robotic 23 year-old gymnast? I have, and afterwards she went nuts. Point being, I pulled in a little help from an outside firm. You know, just to double-check everything."

She spoke up, hoping to be helpful. "You can rifle through my mind and personality if you want. It won't bother me, and both are very limited. You can probably search them in less than five minutes."

"Jesus, even if I don't find anything in there I might take your ability to speak. You're a weird personality."

She shrugged. "Ok."

Natasha felt an odd tickle as he combed through her personality and mind. She spotted some of the same flaws he probably did - she had a mild West Coast accident but her only memory of childhood is that she was from "New Connecticut." It was interesting to be a poorly-made creature.

"I know that I'm not well made. I can help you find who made me." She wanted to be helpful. And maybe continue existing too.

The heavyset man spoke. "This one may not wanna hit the showers after the game." She didn't understand, but she didn't mind.

The man (Drake, she discovered. He had left knowledge of all of theirs names for her) spoke. "Well, there are no deliberate Trojan horses, but her mind is so patched together and inconsistent that she's probably unstable. Let's hope we don't have to do anything more than babysit her."

Steven (the tall man who had claimed to be her creator) replied. "Hey, I'm not an idiot. We looked through her for malicious shit before I brought her on a mission. She's mostly empty, so not a lot places for trojans to hide."

Natasha smiled and nodded in agreement. "You must agree, Mr. Drake, that I'm a very simple being. I'm poorly made and will likely be unmade soon. I'd like... well, I'd like some time alone with a man. I'd like to experience some of the things this body has to offer before I'm unmade."

The three stared at her, mouths open. She shrugged and began to remove her t-shirt. The men protested and she paused.

"Are female breasts not sexually attractive to heterosexual men? I thought that exposing mine to you would be more likely to convince you to have sex with me."

Steven was the first to turn. He turned around and met her eyes for a moment before his eyes were drawn inexorably to her chest. He blushed and turned around again. "Fuck, Sid, it's fucking Claire! We gave it Claire's body and now it's got Claire's tits out! She's gonna kill-" He paused and looked at her with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"You know, let's keep this part to ourselves. In face, let's keep the next few parts to ourselves, if you catch my drift."

She caught his drift. "Thanks, guys. I'm looking forward to this. I choose Drake because he's the most attractive." All three looked astonished, then Drake began laughing. She laughed too. When they stopped laughing, she spoke again.

"But could you remove my fear of my own mortality? It's kinda stressing me out."