Flawless and professional elite maids.

The biggest testimonial was that customers were willing to leg it up three flights of stairs to the modest old tenement’s top floor, just to get to the Maidco Service Center. Sora was less athletic than two veteran idols, but he managed the climb.

Others in line, who spilled out to the stairwell and down several steps, were gasping for air, but no complaints could be heard. Just an excited buzz of gossip about favorites, advice for what to order. It was a downright cordial and sisterly air, and it occurred to Sora that many of these office-lady stamen probably worked together.

An office party retreat to a robot maid cafe, how about that.

Was it any less absurd than their new life situation? Technically, Sora and Salvatrice were coworkers, even if the resources Sora provided for the company weren’t, uh, what usually came to mind. He couldn’t suppress a massive grin, and a rare guy in line turned around, took him for another fanatic, and went off about the maids.

It was only Sora’s excellent social intelligence and humility that let him bumble through the conversation, but it helped the kitsune gather intelligence before they reached the bustling front desk.

“Customers are expected to behave themselves in this establishment, and the staff don’t take any harassment despite being synthetic,” Sora intoned.

Veronica scoffed. “You’re the only one here who needs that kind of warning.” Sora stared her up and down, and Veronica admitted, “Okay, I’ll keep it in my pants. Leotard thing.” Whether in or out of character, Ya Liao was one to watch, and from a suddenly sharp glare beneath fogged-up glasses, Betty over there knew it too.

“Welcome home, Master! Thank you for choosing to dine with us today. Might I guide you to a seat for you and your beautiful companions?~”

How was the greeter planning to do that? From what Sora could see of her absurd, fertility-goddess bottomheavy pear frame, with hips at least twice the width of her shoulders, this robot girl with long, straight black hair must have been more or less built into the booth she occupied.

There was a latch for maintenance work, but it wasn’t half as large as her two-ton cybernetic dump-truck ass beneath that too-short maid skirt. The style for the Service Center was definitely Modern, and that meant the ruffled skirts of their uniforms could trouble as belts in a pinch. Against her hips, it had as little of a chance as a flimsy stool, or a cute boy.

She clasped her hands together in a formal stance, and her eyes were half-lidded, giving her an air of supreme calm. Her posture was respectful and feminine, and though she had energy, she wasn’t bursting with it like the front door greeter. Hearing from her that this picture of childbearing width had three new customers on her hands, she patiently waited for Sora to stop staring.

“Uh, yeah. Table for three, please. Thanks.”

Amused by his reaction, Veronica couldn’t help but grab Sora’s ass, provoking a girly squeak. If he didn’t want that to happen, he should have reconsidered the booty shorts, or at least not acted quite so cute… or made her into a goddamned succubus.

To answer Sora’s confusion, the robotic greeter projected a red line onto the floor in their heads, after asking and receiving the proper access permissions. In that way, she guided them over to a newly-opened, cleaned-off table-booth combination near the windows.

Sora darted forward, and claimed the booth for himself, manspreading out wide.

Rolling her eyes, Betty pulled two chairs; first for her wife, than herself.

Nearly every table was full, and there was a lively chatter within the restaurant itself, as maids darted about with trays laden down with every variety of fast food. It possessed the frantic energy of a lively establishment, and Sora figured it would take a while to get to the new arrivals.

He’d underestimated their server, who showed up promptly.

“Greetings, Master and Mistresses. You may call me Number Five, and I have been assigned to your table. Are you prepared to order?”

Considering the severe look on the robot girl’s face, she was unfailingly polite, but locked in a smile that never reached keen blue eyes. Her words were practiced and honed down to a weapon. Her body didn’t match that serious attitude, because she was soft everywhere. An optimal hourglass of huge chest and wide hips, which up top seemed somewhat decent from the maid outfit, but that short skirt down below emphasized it.

Her brown hair was done up in a functional, severe bun, and she had a light-brown complexion that looked about like the human average in one figure. She had enough features of various places that anyone could read into her and see their own kind, which was a clever bit of design. She was familiar and exotic all at once, calculated by engineers to entice with more than just her obscene chest, tapered waist, and absurd hips.

Though even in that uniform, her bust was exceptionally large, overwhelming the tiny notebook she must have carried explicitly just to emphasize her breasts. Her completely bare thighs needed no such tool-assisted emphasis, as her tiny skirt simply ended very nearly where that immense expanse began. If she stood at any angle other than perfectly straight, such a skirt would be functionally useless.

“As a matter of fact, we are,” Sora said, having reviewed the menu posted on the site, which didn’t differ at all from the newly-updated PDFs the server shot over. He wasn’t expecting this place to just be a burger joint with higher production values, but maybe that was fitting.

It was odd that all the listings were referenced solely in hexadecimal values, but hey.

For Sora, he would take a burger and a small fry, concerned above all about his beautiful, feminine figure, and the obscene prices on display. That, plus something that he thought was a carbonated drink, like what they once called soda when it used to include actual water. All in all, that meant his order was “C2, 03, 0F”, in the only format that the perfectly absurd maid would accept as an order.

How efficient. They didn’t exactly leave much room for custom options that way.

Veronica wasn’t afraid of a few carbs, despite being in fact a world-famous celebrity, for she had the ultimate power in the universe; being a married woman. She demanded the largest quadruple-decker burger, consisting primarily of meat and not patty, and the largest curly fries, ensuring they were even more processed and seasoned than the regular. The fact that the largest burger on the menu just so happened to be “A1” couldn’t have been mere coincidence, even if no two-digit code went unused.

Betty fretted over her two-hundred and fifty five choices while the other three- particularly the serving maid herself- drilled holes into her with their gaze. She finally settled on, of all things, a selection from their breakfast menu. A biscuit and egg sandwich with hash browns and a bulkhead-melting black coffee. Well, they offered it at all hours, so who was going to stop her?

The prices were at least five times those of actual fast food joints, but those places didn’t have enormous, perfect maids willing to ensure a good experience at any cost, excluding any monetary expense whatsoever to the corporation.

“I’ve transmitted your order to the kitchen, it will be at least twenty minutes wait...”

“Twenty minutes for a burger?!” Sora was astounded, but far more astounded when two tons of robot girl ass landed directly upon his lap.

“... Therefore, I shall stay with you honored customers, and ensure you are all properly entertained until it’s ready.”