When you see it, you’ll venture across the entire city (a
whole three steps) to get up next to it.
The building of your dreams will be there, a sterile pillar reaching
towards the heavens. You’ll reach your
hand up and gently stroke it.
“Hey baby,” you’ll murmur at the building which, being a
building, will not respond in any way and will instead simply sit there,
silently. You’ll interpret this continued state of building-ness as consent and
initiate mating protocols.
“Alriiiight,” you’ll say to no one in particular before
mounting the building and beginning to grind your crotch against the
building. A groaning sound will erupt
from the structure under your weight, and the people around the building, who
will already be trying to flee wildly, will begin to be struck by various bits
of debris as the building topples under your amorous movements.
Scraps of steel will strike the earth, crushing the panicked
mass of humanity who will desperately look to the sky, as if their collective gaze
will shield them from a steel rain.
Hundreds will die, which is par for the course for you (as a giant robot
you murder people simply by walking around) but what will really depress you is
that the building, which you thought was so beautiful and perfect, won’t return
your romantic gestures at all. It’ll be enough
to make the fusion reactor you have in place of a heart ache a little with
radioactive pulses.
Congratulations Giant Robot in Love!
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