Give PR073-C70R a hand job

You fire the welder back up and get to it, your hair still unbound by the authoritarian grip of hair bands. Haven't gone wrong yet - why would it now?

Sparks start to fly as your mind drifts into the powerful realm of carefully crafted, emotionally evocative, slightly provocative poems. Your collection is a rousing curation of intense circumstantial distress. Base emotions of mankind's darkest recess laid bare before the (not ever existing) reader. Anger. Lust, not just in thought, but of a body longing to be touched. Sadness. Fear. More Anger. The fear of being sad. Horny. Sadly, very horny. Jesus Christ, so fucking horny sometimes! For real, can't a girl get a little privacy from time to time. Is that really too much to ask for!!?

Five people to a hut
A girl can get quite enough
Sneaking around to do her stuff
Since no one wants to hook up

If my family had somewhere to go
I'd finally have space at home
To weld something that would shock
A robot with a massive co--

Suddenly, the robot's eyes begin to glow and its LED display flickers to life. An exclamation mark followed by a brief intelligible message flashes across it Then, it speaks.

"Detecting INTENSE hearth palpations in USER SHIVA" PR073-C70R's voice is shrill and uneven. Whirring to life as it's hydraulics starts pumping. Plates retracting from their open Repair position to their_ tightly closed Active_ state with loud thumps and a lot of unnecessary spinning. If only that was the worst about the robots eerie design. No, much worse is its comfort directive.

Last time you forgot to turn it off, you couldn't sit or bend over for a week straight. Despite no one knowing what happens, it's still an incredibly humiliating experience.

"Initiate emotion de-escalation routine." PR073-C70R's upper body swings around, it's lower body lagging slightly behind. The hand you had barely finished welding is raised.

"No, need. I'm fine," you plead. Hey, maybe it'll work this time!? Didn't work last time. Or the time before that, but- this time?

"Initiate emotion de-escalation routine." PR073-C70R insists, pulling you towards it. You squirm in its grip, but it's no use. Not only does it have unimaginable strength compared to your small human frame, it also has several kilos of steel as leverage.

You can do nothing as it initiates its humiliating "comfort" directive. Resistance is futile. PR073-C70R draws you in slowly, deliberately - an attempt to ease victims into a state of relaxation - to not further agitate those it is meant to comfort. Whoever designed this was an idiot, you manage to think through a panicked haze of thoughts. Nowhere to run. PR073-C70R lifts you off the floor, as its LED display flickers between several 'Emoticons' and vistas of a quiet seaside villages, water lapping a beach, the sound of a distant seagull squawking. Pretty sure that's not supposed to be there.

Firmly holding you, PR073-C70R lifts you up in front of it. The way you're dangling makes you feel naked and exposed, helpless at the hands of an unfeeling machine. Then... It hugs you.

"Tell SIR ROBBINGTON all of your WORRIES. All of your IMMEDIATE concerns causing you MAJOR distress. I care for you USER SHIVA. SIR ROBBINGTON is here to PROTECT and CARE for you." Ugh, why does this feel so awfully nice. Some sort of conductors on its plating emulating human body temperature? PR073-C70R's embrace feels like it's going to make everything alright, hush, baby- it's all right, PR073-C70R is here for you.

"Stop, PR073-C70R." You try to wrestle out of its, admittedly, warm and friendly embrace. "Really, I'm fiiiiiiiiiiineeee!"

"SIR ROBBINGTON does not recognize designation PR073-C70R. Please address unit by user designation," It demands. If you have to hang for an eternity, so be it, back pain be damned!

Sir Robbington was a dumb name you entered into it's system way back when you discovered a way to reach the internal variables in PR073-C70R's programming. You've tried changing it back since then, but either you're too stupid to understand ancient man's programming languages or, more worryingly, PR073-C70R simply refused any new input.

You don't know how much time passes. Not really unusual, but something about the hug makes your anxious thoughts quiet down. Leaving your usual mental battlefield empty and boring. Defeated, dangling in its arms, you sigh, "User Shiva has adequately calmed. I'm fine Sir Robbington, you can let me down now."

Gently, Robbington releases you back onto the workshop floor and ruffles your hair condescendingly.

It's a piece of work, the robot. You can't imagine its intended purpose. A lot of drunk nights have been spent, beverage in hand, loudly speculating this issue with your friends. After a lot of arguing, you reached a sort of almost consensus. You all agreed that there's no way Robbington's only purpose could have been hugging. Despite the fact that it took some serious convincing in order to get it to comfort wildlife to ****, by whacking it repeatedly with a makeshift-sword.

Must have been twelve or something, when you and the gang found it. Still had most of its original plating attached - before needing replacement due to a lot of wildlife comforting. It had been the sort of design that signalled an open, friendly guardian... or something.