brusch
Main Event Caliber
Roleplaying thread for Hittora v. "Superb" Dick Fury
1000-word roleplay limit
No stacking allowed whatsoever
Roleplay deadline is Sunday, April 19 at 11:59pm Red Line time
SLAMTRACK 9: Hittora v. Dick Fury
- Thread starter brusch
- Start date
1000-word roleplay limit
No stacking allowed whatsoever
Roleplay deadline is Sunday, April 19 at 11:59pm Red Line time
PositivelyKen
League Member
GoPro: On
Location: The laboratory at Hittora HQ
Record: 1-0
Dr. Rika steps back from the examination chair, sets a heating tool down on an instrument tray, and claps her hands together with a satisfied smile. “Good news, Hit-chan. Your synthetic skin held up pretty well in your first match,” she says in Japanese. We get English subtitles. “Only a few stress tears, and I was able to repair them without leaving marks.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ishida,” Hittora replies, sitting up.
Red Line Wrestling’s first robotic competitor appears to be unclothed, but the camera’s view is impeded by Dr. Rika Ishida: a somewhat short and chubby woman in her late 20s, violet-highlighted black hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, red-framed glasses that look a bit too big for her round face. She’s wearing a migraine-inducing outfit consisting of a pink Bad Batz Maru top, tartan skirt over black leggings, and neon yellow sneakers. The only concession to her status as one of the top roboticists in Japan is the white lab coat worn on top of everything else.
“Just Rika,” she says, exasperated.
“My apologies, Dr. Rika,” Hittora says with a small bow of the head. She stands up and pads barefoot across the tiled floor to the side of the lab, where a clothes rack stands near a wall-mounted mirror, and inspects herself. “You did an excellent job. The repairs are flawless.”
“When you have a perfect body like yours, you have to keep it well maintained,” Rika says. She puts her hands on her hips, lab coat spreading open. In case you’re wondering, we still can’t see Hittora naked. Perv. “A girl like you shouldn’t have scars.”
Hittora pauses, turns her head to smile at Rika. “Thank you for your compliment. My statistical analysis indicates that my body type and physical dimensions are within a range that is considered to be attractive for a woman. I am also aware that blemishes on skin are undesirable. However, I confess that I do not truly understand why this is so.”
Rika scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re so damn coy, Hit-chan.”
“I apologize, I did not realize I was being coy,” Hittora says and bows her head.
“God. Go figure, someone who looks like you doesn’t understand what beauty is.” Rika throws her hands in the air. “Obviously you’re hot! That’s how you were designed. A pretty girl has a much easier time in social interactions than an ugly one. People are more friendly and cooperative, especially men. And clothes look so good on you, too.”
“Do you think so?” Hittora asks guilelessly. She turns to her wardrobe and touches one of the hangers.
“I’ll show you!” Rika exclaims. She whirls on one foot, points directly at the camera, and in accented English she cries, “Let’s montage!”
[Cue Iggy Azalea!]
[Cut: Hittora in her usual navy blue jacket and skirt, white blouse, and black pumps, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[Cut: Hittora in a nearly identical grey jacket and skirt, a different white blouse, and black pumps, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[Cut: Hittora in her silver wrestling singlet and black boots, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[/Iggy]
Rika rubs her face thoughtfully. “I, uh, guess that’s it for your wardrobe, huh? We really need to take you shopping. Wait, I have one more…”
[Iggy!]
[Cut: Hittora in Rika’s mismatched outfit, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[/Iggy]
“Is this ensemble ‘hot’ on me?” Hittora asks, looking down at herself.
“Everything is hot on you,” Rika grumbles. Her lab coat is buttoned modestly around her. “Unfortunately there’s no help for me. Let’s swap it back.”
After another cut, Hittora is dressed in her navy blue skirt suit, and Rika is back in her own clothes, looking faintly disappointed. “Yep,” she says, “you definitely wore it better.”
“Thank you, Dr. Rika, you are most kind,” Hittora says with a bow, oblivious to the roboticist’s loud sigh. “Forgive me, but I still do not understand. What is it about this physical appearance that humans think is beautiful?”
“A lot of it comes from societal norms,” Rika says. She leans against a cluttered counter and folds her arms. “How the media portrays body image. What people collectively believe. But deep down, I think it’s an evolutionary instinct. A young woman with a healthy body and clear skin looks like a good reproductive partner. She’ll have good, healthy kids.” Rika blows a wayward strand of pink hair out of her face. “Assuming you like kids.”
“Reproduction,” Hittora says. “So you are saying standards for women’s beauty are defined by male sexuality?”
“It sounds primitive, but there you go,” Rika replies with a bitter chuckle. “And I’d better warn you now, your next opponent at Slamtrack 9 is about as Neanderthal a male as you’re likely to find in the 21[SUP]st[/SUP] century.”
“You are referring to ‘Superb’ Dick Fury,” Hittora says. “I have not met him yet. Is he friendly?”
“He’s a pervert. He’s probably getting aroused just thinking about you,” Rika says.
Hittora turns to examine her image in the mirror. After a moment she says, “But my appearance is only an artificial simulacrum of a woman’s body. I am not a naturally born human being.”
“Doesn’t matter to scum like him,” Rika says, shaking her head. “All that matters to guys is appearance.”
“I see,” Hittora replies. She looks at Rika. “Forgive me, but could you please explain this term, ‘getting aroused’?”
Rika looks up at her, mouth hanging slightly open. She turns to the camera with a bewildered expression. “Am I really about to have this conversation?”
GoPro: Off
Location: The laboratory at Hittora HQ
Record: 1-0
Dr. Rika steps back from the examination chair, sets a heating tool down on an instrument tray, and claps her hands together with a satisfied smile. “Good news, Hit-chan. Your synthetic skin held up pretty well in your first match,” she says in Japanese. We get English subtitles. “Only a few stress tears, and I was able to repair them without leaving marks.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ishida,” Hittora replies, sitting up.
Red Line Wrestling’s first robotic competitor appears to be unclothed, but the camera’s view is impeded by Dr. Rika Ishida: a somewhat short and chubby woman in her late 20s, violet-highlighted black hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, red-framed glasses that look a bit too big for her round face. She’s wearing a migraine-inducing outfit consisting of a pink Bad Batz Maru top, tartan skirt over black leggings, and neon yellow sneakers. The only concession to her status as one of the top roboticists in Japan is the white lab coat worn on top of everything else.
“Just Rika,” she says, exasperated.
“My apologies, Dr. Rika,” Hittora says with a small bow of the head. She stands up and pads barefoot across the tiled floor to the side of the lab, where a clothes rack stands near a wall-mounted mirror, and inspects herself. “You did an excellent job. The repairs are flawless.”
“When you have a perfect body like yours, you have to keep it well maintained,” Rika says. She puts her hands on her hips, lab coat spreading open. In case you’re wondering, we still can’t see Hittora naked. Perv. “A girl like you shouldn’t have scars.”
Hittora pauses, turns her head to smile at Rika. “Thank you for your compliment. My statistical analysis indicates that my body type and physical dimensions are within a range that is considered to be attractive for a woman. I am also aware that blemishes on skin are undesirable. However, I confess that I do not truly understand why this is so.”
Rika scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re so damn coy, Hit-chan.”
“I apologize, I did not realize I was being coy,” Hittora says and bows her head.
“God. Go figure, someone who looks like you doesn’t understand what beauty is.” Rika throws her hands in the air. “Obviously you’re hot! That’s how you were designed. A pretty girl has a much easier time in social interactions than an ugly one. People are more friendly and cooperative, especially men. And clothes look so good on you, too.”
“Do you think so?” Hittora asks guilelessly. She turns to her wardrobe and touches one of the hangers.
“I’ll show you!” Rika exclaims. She whirls on one foot, points directly at the camera, and in accented English she cries, “Let’s montage!”
[Cue Iggy Azalea!]
♫I'm so fancy♫
[Cut: Hittora in her usual navy blue jacket and skirt, white blouse, and black pumps, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
♫You already know♫
[Cut: Hittora in a nearly identical grey jacket and skirt, a different white blouse, and black pumps, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
♫I'm in the fast lane♫
[Cut: Hittora in her silver wrestling singlet and black boots, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[/Iggy]
Rika rubs her face thoughtfully. “I, uh, guess that’s it for your wardrobe, huh? We really need to take you shopping. Wait, I have one more…”
[Iggy!]
♫From L.A. to Tokyo♫
[Cut: Hittora in Rika’s mismatched outfit, hands clasped politely in front of her.]
[/Iggy]
“Is this ensemble ‘hot’ on me?” Hittora asks, looking down at herself.
“Everything is hot on you,” Rika grumbles. Her lab coat is buttoned modestly around her. “Unfortunately there’s no help for me. Let’s swap it back.”
♫I'm so fancy♫
After another cut, Hittora is dressed in her navy blue skirt suit, and Rika is back in her own clothes, looking faintly disappointed. “Yep,” she says, “you definitely wore it better.”
“Thank you, Dr. Rika, you are most kind,” Hittora says with a bow, oblivious to the roboticist’s loud sigh. “Forgive me, but I still do not understand. What is it about this physical appearance that humans think is beautiful?”
“A lot of it comes from societal norms,” Rika says. She leans against a cluttered counter and folds her arms. “How the media portrays body image. What people collectively believe. But deep down, I think it’s an evolutionary instinct. A young woman with a healthy body and clear skin looks like a good reproductive partner. She’ll have good, healthy kids.” Rika blows a wayward strand of pink hair out of her face. “Assuming you like kids.”
“Reproduction,” Hittora says. “So you are saying standards for women’s beauty are defined by male sexuality?”
“It sounds primitive, but there you go,” Rika replies with a bitter chuckle. “And I’d better warn you now, your next opponent at Slamtrack 9 is about as Neanderthal a male as you’re likely to find in the 21[SUP]st[/SUP] century.”
“You are referring to ‘Superb’ Dick Fury,” Hittora says. “I have not met him yet. Is he friendly?”
“He’s a pervert. He’s probably getting aroused just thinking about you,” Rika says.
Hittora turns to examine her image in the mirror. After a moment she says, “But my appearance is only an artificial simulacrum of a woman’s body. I am not a naturally born human being.”
“Doesn’t matter to scum like him,” Rika says, shaking her head. “All that matters to guys is appearance.”
“I see,” Hittora replies. She looks at Rika. “Forgive me, but could you please explain this term, ‘getting aroused’?”
Rika looks up at her, mouth hanging slightly open. She turns to the camera with a bewildered expression. “Am I really about to have this conversation?”
GoPro: Off
Last edited:
BenHalkum
Reverend Asshole
GoPro On.
You see a door. There's nothing fancy about it at all. Just false wood and a knob. Obviously the space around it is limited as it is the bathroom of the cheapest, filthiest motel room you can imagine.
Probably a Super 8.
But that is beside the point, it doesn't matter where it is. It only matters that you know who is now wearing a GoPro because you tuned into the YouTube channel SuperbDick69. Dick Fury, with a GoPro. What could go wrong.
His hand reaches out and fumbles with the doorknob before opening it. As Fury walks through to the main part of the motel room, your fears are proven to be right. The state of the room is terrible and if you could smell it, you probably would be hit with the stench of cheap booze and tears of women with daddy issues.
Fury walks forward, turning to his right. Now we can see him in the mirror. The GoPro is attached to a band around his head, pointing forward. As your eyes move down his wondrous, manly pouch of chest fur, you can't stop yourself. You continue to scan down, hoping to see his little Fury but only being introduced to a towel snuggly wrapped around his waist.
Dick Fury has just gotten out of the shower, washing God knows what off. He smirks before running his pointer finger and thumb across his mustache, neatly ensuring that no one hair is out of place. Fury then continues to move his hand down to his chest, massaging his pectoral muscles as well as admiring himself.
"Damn, Dick looks good."
Fury turns and the camera shakes as he is started by the presence of a dirty looking hobo walking around the corner divider that separates the area outside of the bathroom and the main portion of the room. The hobo apologizes in a raspy voice.
"Oh, sorry Dick."
Fury just shakes his head, your vision a little messed up from the quick moving of the GoPro.
"Ken, what are you still doing here? The bitches are gone."
The hobo, who we now know is named ken, snorts.
"Can I take some towels?"
Dick sighs.
"Look. Dick likes paying bitches to fuck disgusting fucks like you for fun. Take the towels and get out."
Ken looks at the towel around Dick's waist.
"No. Positively not this one Ken."
Ken shrugs.
"Whatever. I'll take one of those over there."
The GoPro shot moves over to see a pile of towels covered in what you can only imagine is bodily fluids.
"You're sick Ken."
Dick walks over and picks up a pair of pants from the floor. The GoPro moves around as he is obviously putting them on.
"So Dick, you ready for your next Red line match against that robot woman or whatever she is?"
Dick just chuckles.
"Look... Real woman, robot woman, it's all the same to Dick. Does he really need to prepare?"
He looks around the room.
"Yea, but Dick, she won her first match."
"So? Dick did too. Only thing she needs to know is that when Dick is done with her, he's gonna re-wire her to act right."
"Act right how?"
"When Dick is done she's gonna be a house cleaning, sammich making, never talking back perfect woman. Dick's just gonna have to put her in her place first."
"Boy, I tell ya Dick, you're kind of weird."
Dick looks over at Ken.
"And you're kind of still here. Get the fuck out Ken. Dick has a match to prepare for."
Ken just shrugs.
"Well, good luck anyways."
"Luck? Dick don't need luck. Just like Clittoria just needs a good fuck. You think she is anatomically correct?"
Ken just gazes at Dick.
"That's weird Dick. She's some sort of fem bot and you want to fuck her instead of just facing her in a match?"
"Look. Dick loves the ladies. Squirt a lil WD40 down there and Dick can go to work.. all.. night.. long."
The GoPro shifts as we imagine Dick is shaking his hips. Ken looks up at Dick's head.
"What is that thingy you're wearing on your head anyway?"
"This thing? GoPro. Somebody told Dick this is what all the kids are into these days."
"Well it looks stupid."
Dick stands in silence for a moment.
"You know.. Dick does think this is kind of stupid."
The GoPro starts to move as he pulls it off of his head. He turns it around and we see just his face.
"Hittoria.. tell whoever programmed you, they are fucking stupid. Cause now, you will step in the ring with Dick. When bitches step in the ring with Dick, they don't walk right for a week."
He smiles.
"As Dick said, robot, no robot, fucking hand puppet... whatever the fuck you are... at Slamtrack Dick is gonna slam you down then track his balls across your fucking face. Cause, no, he isn't a nice guy. And, no, it isn't going to be a pleasure to face him at all."
Dick gets a serious look across his face.
"Dick don't respect you and he will make sure that is known in the ring. He's gonna break you. He's gonna rip that pretty little robot head off of your shoulders and use it to shove up one of his bitches cooches."
Dick's face turns to a smirk.
"Do the right thing, and don't show up. Cause when Dick is done with you, the only thing you'll be good at is being a kitchen appliance. When it's all said and done.. the smoke has cleared and your parts have been removed from the ring..."
Dick takes a breath.
"You will then be able to compute what it is like to have..."
Dick pauses before finishing.
"...to have felt the Fury."
He pulls the GoPro up and kisses it before dropping it on the floor and walking away. We fade to black.
You see a door. There's nothing fancy about it at all. Just false wood and a knob. Obviously the space around it is limited as it is the bathroom of the cheapest, filthiest motel room you can imagine.
Probably a Super 8.
But that is beside the point, it doesn't matter where it is. It only matters that you know who is now wearing a GoPro because you tuned into the YouTube channel SuperbDick69. Dick Fury, with a GoPro. What could go wrong.
His hand reaches out and fumbles with the doorknob before opening it. As Fury walks through to the main part of the motel room, your fears are proven to be right. The state of the room is terrible and if you could smell it, you probably would be hit with the stench of cheap booze and tears of women with daddy issues.
Fury walks forward, turning to his right. Now we can see him in the mirror. The GoPro is attached to a band around his head, pointing forward. As your eyes move down his wondrous, manly pouch of chest fur, you can't stop yourself. You continue to scan down, hoping to see his little Fury but only being introduced to a towel snuggly wrapped around his waist.
Dick Fury has just gotten out of the shower, washing God knows what off. He smirks before running his pointer finger and thumb across his mustache, neatly ensuring that no one hair is out of place. Fury then continues to move his hand down to his chest, massaging his pectoral muscles as well as admiring himself.
"Damn, Dick looks good."
Fury turns and the camera shakes as he is started by the presence of a dirty looking hobo walking around the corner divider that separates the area outside of the bathroom and the main portion of the room. The hobo apologizes in a raspy voice.
"Oh, sorry Dick."
Fury just shakes his head, your vision a little messed up from the quick moving of the GoPro.
"Ken, what are you still doing here? The bitches are gone."
The hobo, who we now know is named ken, snorts.
"Can I take some towels?"
Dick sighs.
"Look. Dick likes paying bitches to fuck disgusting fucks like you for fun. Take the towels and get out."
Ken looks at the towel around Dick's waist.
"No. Positively not this one Ken."
Ken shrugs.
"Whatever. I'll take one of those over there."
The GoPro shot moves over to see a pile of towels covered in what you can only imagine is bodily fluids.
"You're sick Ken."
Dick walks over and picks up a pair of pants from the floor. The GoPro moves around as he is obviously putting them on.
"So Dick, you ready for your next Red line match against that robot woman or whatever she is?"
Dick just chuckles.
"Look... Real woman, robot woman, it's all the same to Dick. Does he really need to prepare?"
He looks around the room.
"Yea, but Dick, she won her first match."
"So? Dick did too. Only thing she needs to know is that when Dick is done with her, he's gonna re-wire her to act right."
"Act right how?"
"When Dick is done she's gonna be a house cleaning, sammich making, never talking back perfect woman. Dick's just gonna have to put her in her place first."
"Boy, I tell ya Dick, you're kind of weird."
Dick looks over at Ken.
"And you're kind of still here. Get the fuck out Ken. Dick has a match to prepare for."
Ken just shrugs.
"Well, good luck anyways."
"Luck? Dick don't need luck. Just like Clittoria just needs a good fuck. You think she is anatomically correct?"
Ken just gazes at Dick.
"That's weird Dick. She's some sort of fem bot and you want to fuck her instead of just facing her in a match?"
"Look. Dick loves the ladies. Squirt a lil WD40 down there and Dick can go to work.. all.. night.. long."
The GoPro shifts as we imagine Dick is shaking his hips. Ken looks up at Dick's head.
"What is that thingy you're wearing on your head anyway?"
"This thing? GoPro. Somebody told Dick this is what all the kids are into these days."
"Well it looks stupid."
Dick stands in silence for a moment.
"You know.. Dick does think this is kind of stupid."
The GoPro starts to move as he pulls it off of his head. He turns it around and we see just his face.
"Hittoria.. tell whoever programmed you, they are fucking stupid. Cause now, you will step in the ring with Dick. When bitches step in the ring with Dick, they don't walk right for a week."
He smiles.
"As Dick said, robot, no robot, fucking hand puppet... whatever the fuck you are... at Slamtrack Dick is gonna slam you down then track his balls across your fucking face. Cause, no, he isn't a nice guy. And, no, it isn't going to be a pleasure to face him at all."
Dick gets a serious look across his face.
"Dick don't respect you and he will make sure that is known in the ring. He's gonna break you. He's gonna rip that pretty little robot head off of your shoulders and use it to shove up one of his bitches cooches."
Dick's face turns to a smirk.
"Do the right thing, and don't show up. Cause when Dick is done with you, the only thing you'll be good at is being a kitchen appliance. When it's all said and done.. the smoke has cleared and your parts have been removed from the ring..."
Dick takes a breath.
"You will then be able to compute what it is like to have..."
Dick pauses before finishing.
"...to have felt the Fury."
He pulls the GoPro up and kisses it before dropping it on the floor and walking away. We fade to black.
PositivelyKen
League Member
As we open, Hittora is seated neatly on a stool in front of a black backdrop with the Red Line Wrestling logo emblazoned across it. She is clad in her usual navy blue skirt suit and polished black pumps, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in her lap. Her jet black hair shines under the studio lights, and her pink lips curl up in that precise, pleasant smile of hers.
“Hello, friends of Red Line Wrestling,” she says, and bobs her head in greeting. Her voice is calm, feminine, with a lightly staccato flow. “Thank you for watching. I am happy to speak to you again. I would also like to thank Emevlas Stastias for her spirited efforts when we competed at Slamtrack 8. Although her tactics involving the table led me to wonder if she would end the match prematurely by disqualification, I was satisfied to be able to finish the match decisively. The outcome matched my predictions. Nonetheless, I wish Miss Stastias well.”
She bows her head to the camera in a show of respect.
“After my first appearance, I received quite a positive response from RLW fans,” Hittora continues. “My email account has been flooded with very nice messages and copious amounts of viruses and phishing schemes. I did not expect my brief public exposure to attract so much attention. Please allow me to dictate one of the emails I received from a fan.”
Hittora’s smile fades to a neutral expression, and if such a thing is possible, she looks more mannequin-like than usual.
“To: Hittora
From: Ben
Subject: Join my fed
Message: Hi there, I saw your match and it was pretty impressive. I’m the owner, promoter and head web designer of the top independent professional wrestling company in the United States, with the very best wrestlers who ever stepped in the ring. With some work you might have a place with us. Could you send me an email with a completed application form and swimsuit photo as soon as possible. Also, I’d appreciate if you headed over to my Patreon and contributed to our continuing online development since, as you know, it gets expensive running a fed!
Thanks, Ben”
She pauses pensively and blinks. “Now that I consider the content of this message, it must be spam. I will add this sender to my block list.”
Hittora’s enigmatic smile returns. “I will now turn to my next match at Slamtrack 9 and my opponent, ‘Superb’ Dick Fury. Hello, Mr. Fury.” She gives a polite wave to the camera. “Thank you for your recent video. Please forgive me, but I must admit I found it confusing and difficult to understand. I am sure it is due to my imperfect grasp of human behavior.” She bows her head apologetically.
“Dr. Ishida explained to me that you and the other gentleman were having a discussion of a sexual nature. As you know, I am a robotic entity created in the image of an adult female. However much my appearance has been crafted to mimic a real woman, it is only a superficial duplication. Artificial skin over a mechanical endoskeleton. I do not have the sexual organs or bodily orifices a natural woman would have. It is therefore impossible for you to perform the acts you proposed. Dr. Ishida’s opinion was this, which I will translate into English: ‘If he tried to penetrate you, he’d break his penis in half.’”
Hittora again bows her head. “I am very sorry to disappoint you on this matter, Mr. Fury. I am sure you will continue to have better luck with human prostitutes.”
As she looks up again, she is back to wearing her Hittora smile. “On another matter, Mr. Fury, I wish to congratulate you. I did not realize you had expertise in robotics or information technology. This is most exceptional. However, I must respectfully disagree that you will be successful in dismantling my body or reprogramming my matrix during our match. Firstly, I do not believe these are sanctioned activities during a wrestling contest. Secondly, only my support team are authorized Synthetic Interaction Neuro-Gestalt System engineers. I am unsure of your credentials but I believe you do not have authorization. Thirdly, to reiterate an earlier point: while I have the appearance of a woman, I am not a woman. Therefore any attempt to make me a ‘perfect woman’ is, by definition, impossible.”
Her smile wilts past the neutral position to a sober shape. She stares into the camera with her glassy black eyes.
“Finally, as a sentient being, I am able to learn from experience and to make my own choices. Although I try to accommodate the reasonable requests of others, I am afraid that many of the actions you have suggested do not seem reasonable to me. Therefore I must respectfully refuse. Also, I must inform you that the Third Law of Robotics compels me to protect my own well-being. Therefore, if you proceed to attempt to perform any actions toward me against my will, I will take the appropriate countermeasures to stop you.”
Hittora’s smile is back now, as mannered and pleasant as always. “With that said, Mr. Fury, I look forward to a competitive match with you. My simulations have taken into account your win-loss record, your proclivity for distracting behavior in the ring, and the statistical probability that you currently suffer from one or more sexually transmitted diseases. Dr. Ishida told me it can be construed as arrogant if I issue a prediction before the match occurs, so I will withhold the results of my analysis for now. Instead I will simply wish you luck. Also, I have compiled a list of general practitioners in the local area if you would like to be tested.”
She stands up from her stool and bows to the camera. “Thank you for watching and have a wonderful day.”
“Hello, friends of Red Line Wrestling,” she says, and bobs her head in greeting. Her voice is calm, feminine, with a lightly staccato flow. “Thank you for watching. I am happy to speak to you again. I would also like to thank Emevlas Stastias for her spirited efforts when we competed at Slamtrack 8. Although her tactics involving the table led me to wonder if she would end the match prematurely by disqualification, I was satisfied to be able to finish the match decisively. The outcome matched my predictions. Nonetheless, I wish Miss Stastias well.”
She bows her head to the camera in a show of respect.
“After my first appearance, I received quite a positive response from RLW fans,” Hittora continues. “My email account has been flooded with very nice messages and copious amounts of viruses and phishing schemes. I did not expect my brief public exposure to attract so much attention. Please allow me to dictate one of the emails I received from a fan.”
Hittora’s smile fades to a neutral expression, and if such a thing is possible, she looks more mannequin-like than usual.
“To: Hittora
From: Ben
Subject: Join my fed
Message: Hi there, I saw your match and it was pretty impressive. I’m the owner, promoter and head web designer of the top independent professional wrestling company in the United States, with the very best wrestlers who ever stepped in the ring. With some work you might have a place with us. Could you send me an email with a completed application form and swimsuit photo as soon as possible. Also, I’d appreciate if you headed over to my Patreon and contributed to our continuing online development since, as you know, it gets expensive running a fed!
Thanks, Ben”
She pauses pensively and blinks. “Now that I consider the content of this message, it must be spam. I will add this sender to my block list.”
Hittora’s enigmatic smile returns. “I will now turn to my next match at Slamtrack 9 and my opponent, ‘Superb’ Dick Fury. Hello, Mr. Fury.” She gives a polite wave to the camera. “Thank you for your recent video. Please forgive me, but I must admit I found it confusing and difficult to understand. I am sure it is due to my imperfect grasp of human behavior.” She bows her head apologetically.
“Dr. Ishida explained to me that you and the other gentleman were having a discussion of a sexual nature. As you know, I am a robotic entity created in the image of an adult female. However much my appearance has been crafted to mimic a real woman, it is only a superficial duplication. Artificial skin over a mechanical endoskeleton. I do not have the sexual organs or bodily orifices a natural woman would have. It is therefore impossible for you to perform the acts you proposed. Dr. Ishida’s opinion was this, which I will translate into English: ‘If he tried to penetrate you, he’d break his penis in half.’”
Hittora again bows her head. “I am very sorry to disappoint you on this matter, Mr. Fury. I am sure you will continue to have better luck with human prostitutes.”
As she looks up again, she is back to wearing her Hittora smile. “On another matter, Mr. Fury, I wish to congratulate you. I did not realize you had expertise in robotics or information technology. This is most exceptional. However, I must respectfully disagree that you will be successful in dismantling my body or reprogramming my matrix during our match. Firstly, I do not believe these are sanctioned activities during a wrestling contest. Secondly, only my support team are authorized Synthetic Interaction Neuro-Gestalt System engineers. I am unsure of your credentials but I believe you do not have authorization. Thirdly, to reiterate an earlier point: while I have the appearance of a woman, I am not a woman. Therefore any attempt to make me a ‘perfect woman’ is, by definition, impossible.”
Her smile wilts past the neutral position to a sober shape. She stares into the camera with her glassy black eyes.
“Finally, as a sentient being, I am able to learn from experience and to make my own choices. Although I try to accommodate the reasonable requests of others, I am afraid that many of the actions you have suggested do not seem reasonable to me. Therefore I must respectfully refuse. Also, I must inform you that the Third Law of Robotics compels me to protect my own well-being. Therefore, if you proceed to attempt to perform any actions toward me against my will, I will take the appropriate countermeasures to stop you.”
Hittora’s smile is back now, as mannered and pleasant as always. “With that said, Mr. Fury, I look forward to a competitive match with you. My simulations have taken into account your win-loss record, your proclivity for distracting behavior in the ring, and the statistical probability that you currently suffer from one or more sexually transmitted diseases. Dr. Ishida told me it can be construed as arrogant if I issue a prediction before the match occurs, so I will withhold the results of my analysis for now. Instead I will simply wish you luck. Also, I have compiled a list of general practitioners in the local area if you would like to be tested.”
She stands up from her stool and bows to the camera. “Thank you for watching and have a wonderful day.”
BenHalkum
Reverend Asshole
We open the scene, Dick Fury is seated, obviously intoxicated, on the edge of a stool which is in front of a ratty and torn blanket that has a crudly painted Red Line Wrestling logo across it. He is sitting in a cheap suit, his shirt ripped open, and his head down in his hands showing all the signs of having a long night. Dick looks up at the camera.
"Ugh.. what do you fucking want?"
Off camera a voice can be heard.
"You have a match coming up with Hittoria soon Dick. What are your thoughts?"
Dick grunts.
"Thoughts? Dick's only thought right now is that he needs some asprin. Can this.."
He motions his hand out as if saying the entire situation.
".. be done some other time?"
The voice replies.
"Mr. Fury, we need to get this produced in time to hit the web."
Dick sighs before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumbled piece of paper. While he does, he commentates.
"Dick wanted to start out with an email he received on superbdick.com a few days ago."
Dick finally straightens the paper and pulls it close to try and read it, quoting it from the top.
“To: Dick"
He sighs.
"From: Lori"
Dick rolls his eyes.
"Subject: How dare you"
Dick looks up and shakes his head before focusing on the paper again.
"Message: Dick, I am a woman..."
He crumbles the paper back up and tosses it behind him.
"Dick doesn't have time to hear the stupidity of some dumb broad ramble on like what she has to say will change anything. Just like Dick doesn't have time to take Hittoria seriously."
He gives a half hearted laugh.
"What are Dick's thoughts on the match? His thoughts are that, like this, it is stupid. Any woman, real or not, who wants to lace up boots and get into the ring with a man is fucking stupid. For something that is supposed to be intelligent, Hittoria is showing that she is just as dumb as Lori back in that letter."
Dick re-adjust himself on the stool.
"Dick's thoughts are simple. As he has said time and time again, a woman's place is not in the ring. But don't get Dick wrong. He's no Chris Hopper. He isn't appalled by the idea of facing a woman. No, Dick welcomes it."
He begins to pull off his jacket.
"Yes, Dick welcomes any opportunity to shut the mouth of any female who gets out place. You see, Dick looks back at the past and wishes he was around back then. Back when women didn't talk back. Didn't make as much as men. Back when women couldn't even vote. Why the fuck should we trust them to pick the president? Dick thinks it is sickening."
He tosses the jacket aside and begins to unbutton what is left of his shirt, his chest hair poking through.
"First they are allowed to vote, putting the worst possible people in the White House then they want to compete in wrestling rings with men? Get the fuck out of here with that nonsense."
He begins to pull the sleeves of the shirt off as he continues.
"Hittoria... Dick says that your creation was a mistake. An ungodly testament to ridicules ideologies that plague our great nation."
He tosses the shirt aside.
"And like some asshole created you, this asshole right here will destroy you. You are a joke to Dick. Nothing more than a walking talking toaster. Well guess what bitch? Dick is hungry and he kinda wants some toast."
He begins to fumble with his belt.
"So, do yourself a favor, go be the good little toaster you are and go fetch Dick some toast. Because Dick can assure you that you do not want to step in the ring with him."
He pulls th belt out in one quick motion before heading to his button and zipper.
"Dick is not only going rip your legs off and beat you with them, he is going to piss on you and make sure that as you sit in the landfill you rust away like an unwanted and unused gadget that's only purpose is to take up space."
Dick hops off the stool, standing up. His pants fall to the floor revealing a bright pink speedo. He kicks the pants away before using his hands to motion for the viewer to look at his body, focusing his hands down on his package.
"This baby, this is real. This is 100% pure American fucking beef. And Dick's Little Fury here?"
He continues to point at his crotch.
"This is more exciting than you ever will be. Just ask every bitch that has the pleasure of meeting him."
He smirks before placing his hands on his hips.
"You? Just as your chances of winning, you are not real. You will learn soon what the feeling of hopelessness is if you show up."
Dick runs his right hand through his kinked up hair.
"Dick's going to dismantle you Hittoria. As you drop to your knees, your programming having just been fucked... Dick is going to come at you hard and fast, and hit you right in the face with a money shot."
He smirks.
"Unfortunately, there isn't going to be any enjoyment for you out of it. No. All the kiddies in the audience will cry as their mothers and sisters scream, watching you take it right to the face in front of them before Dick pins you down and gets the one.. two... three. Can you compute that...."
He steps forward.
"...bitch?
Fury begins to walk off.
"This stupid shit is done."
We fade to black.
"Ugh.. what do you fucking want?"
Off camera a voice can be heard.
"You have a match coming up with Hittoria soon Dick. What are your thoughts?"
Dick grunts.
"Thoughts? Dick's only thought right now is that he needs some asprin. Can this.."
He motions his hand out as if saying the entire situation.
".. be done some other time?"
The voice replies.
"Mr. Fury, we need to get this produced in time to hit the web."
Dick sighs before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumbled piece of paper. While he does, he commentates.
"Dick wanted to start out with an email he received on superbdick.com a few days ago."
Dick finally straightens the paper and pulls it close to try and read it, quoting it from the top.
“To: Dick"
He sighs.
"From: Lori"
Dick rolls his eyes.
"Subject: How dare you"
Dick looks up and shakes his head before focusing on the paper again.
"Message: Dick, I am a woman..."
He crumbles the paper back up and tosses it behind him.
"Dick doesn't have time to hear the stupidity of some dumb broad ramble on like what she has to say will change anything. Just like Dick doesn't have time to take Hittoria seriously."
He gives a half hearted laugh.
"What are Dick's thoughts on the match? His thoughts are that, like this, it is stupid. Any woman, real or not, who wants to lace up boots and get into the ring with a man is fucking stupid. For something that is supposed to be intelligent, Hittoria is showing that she is just as dumb as Lori back in that letter."
Dick re-adjust himself on the stool.
"Dick's thoughts are simple. As he has said time and time again, a woman's place is not in the ring. But don't get Dick wrong. He's no Chris Hopper. He isn't appalled by the idea of facing a woman. No, Dick welcomes it."
He begins to pull off his jacket.
"Yes, Dick welcomes any opportunity to shut the mouth of any female who gets out place. You see, Dick looks back at the past and wishes he was around back then. Back when women didn't talk back. Didn't make as much as men. Back when women couldn't even vote. Why the fuck should we trust them to pick the president? Dick thinks it is sickening."
He tosses the jacket aside and begins to unbutton what is left of his shirt, his chest hair poking through.
"First they are allowed to vote, putting the worst possible people in the White House then they want to compete in wrestling rings with men? Get the fuck out of here with that nonsense."
He begins to pull the sleeves of the shirt off as he continues.
"Hittoria... Dick says that your creation was a mistake. An ungodly testament to ridicules ideologies that plague our great nation."
He tosses the shirt aside.
"And like some asshole created you, this asshole right here will destroy you. You are a joke to Dick. Nothing more than a walking talking toaster. Well guess what bitch? Dick is hungry and he kinda wants some toast."
He begins to fumble with his belt.
"So, do yourself a favor, go be the good little toaster you are and go fetch Dick some toast. Because Dick can assure you that you do not want to step in the ring with him."
He pulls th belt out in one quick motion before heading to his button and zipper.
"Dick is not only going rip your legs off and beat you with them, he is going to piss on you and make sure that as you sit in the landfill you rust away like an unwanted and unused gadget that's only purpose is to take up space."
Dick hops off the stool, standing up. His pants fall to the floor revealing a bright pink speedo. He kicks the pants away before using his hands to motion for the viewer to look at his body, focusing his hands down on his package.
"This baby, this is real. This is 100% pure American fucking beef. And Dick's Little Fury here?"
He continues to point at his crotch.
"This is more exciting than you ever will be. Just ask every bitch that has the pleasure of meeting him."
He smirks before placing his hands on his hips.
"You? Just as your chances of winning, you are not real. You will learn soon what the feeling of hopelessness is if you show up."
Dick runs his right hand through his kinked up hair.
"Dick's going to dismantle you Hittoria. As you drop to your knees, your programming having just been fucked... Dick is going to come at you hard and fast, and hit you right in the face with a money shot."
He smirks.
"Unfortunately, there isn't going to be any enjoyment for you out of it. No. All the kiddies in the audience will cry as their mothers and sisters scream, watching you take it right to the face in front of them before Dick pins you down and gets the one.. two... three. Can you compute that...."
He steps forward.
"...bitch?
Fury begins to walk off.
"This stupid shit is done."
We fade to black.