Cold May rain bounced off the naked robot's synthetic skin. In her mind she was alone again, as if a roommate she had known for ages had left the night before and taken everything. She stared at the muddy beach from the cottage porch, the swirling glows of her eyes analyzing it, not quite dispassionately.

In her hands was a mug of oatmeal, breakfast she'd prepared for the man who'd already eaten. She liked him, or so she'd thought. She hadn't counted on him slinking out of the cottage in the middle of the night and hooking up with his ex while she, still dehydrated from a laborious evening, recharged.

In a few hours he'd take her back to the rental agency. Maybe the next client would turn out better.

What does it say about a recreational gynoid if using it inspires one to rekindle old romances? The robot wasn't certain. Did she remind him of this other woman? Did that mean she was too human? Insufficiently human? Was there even a way to tell?

On the drive back, she asked him, frankly. He exchanged a look of disgust with the woman, who seemed somewhat mad the machine had even spoken. The closest thing the robot got to a reply was a contemptuous sigh.

Perhaps she never had a chance at all. It sure seemed last night as if there was a genuine connection. Things had changed quickly, then.

Or perhaps she never had a chance ever, nagged the voice in the back of her cortex, again.

Typical.

Well. That is alright, she thought.

As they stood in the parking lot, the unit looked over her shoulder. The black, glitching shape was still there. It had been there for a month now, following her, carved into her SENS processing table. She smiled slightly. It had been right, again. It smiled back, black teeth on black, a void of missing data.

As the gynoid returned to her display case inside of the rental shop, already cleaned and ready for the next customer, shards of glass from the store's window ricocheted across the room, along with shards of the car's window, shards of bone, and just a hint of blood. The humans inside were deafened by the blast.

It was always right.

She would trust it next time.