In what we eventually decided to call The Case of the Hollow Client, we didn't realize she was hollow at first when we took the case. Granted, I think that innate sexism that I've tried so hard to banish from my own thoughts reared its ugly purple head when she walked into the room and said, "I don't care if she seems funny or off-kilter or a little bit not-there, take a look at that body! Especially that bit. Those, too. And did you see the--oh, crap, she's looking at us." And so I was too busy trying to cover my own reaction, since one never wants to be quite the sexist pig that one's ex-wife told one one is, and I never noticed that she didn’t have the reaction to my reaction that a normal reactionary person would have. If you follow my drift. So I have only myself to blame for some of the weirdness and the sadness that we ended up in later. Of course, I also only have myself to blame for the parts of the thing that were incomparably grand and worth every penny that she'd promised to pay me and didn't.


Inspiration: Sherlock, "The Sign of the Three" - so don't use that case name!
Story potential: High.
Notes: I rather like the idea of an extremely self-aware protagonist who is, in fact, very sexist in his first impulses and very good at not actually acting that way. Most of the time. Could do the same gig with something else, I guess, but it might be a bit much to make him sexist AND racist AND etc.

The n-dent was a fashionable 'bot bar, so that's where she wound up after her shift. Time to get her oil changed out for something a little more interesting, maybe run a few grams that would mess with her perceptions just a little. It was reputable, so she knew she wouldn't walk out with spies or zombies infesting her. The 'bots were more accepting of the in-betweeners than humans were. She could have gone to a nice human bar and gotten things a little cheaper that had a little stronger effect on her, but she would also have to wait an incredibly long time to get served. There was the chance that the server would spit in her drink. Somebody would probably say something offensive.

Inspiration: Partial carryover typing of "The Independent" as "ndent"
Story Potential: High.
Notes: I just really like this character. Maybe so far it's been all human-to-robot, and now there's a robot-to-human?

The sweat beaded along the ridges of her spine, rolling in the clefts beneath the armor plates and making the soft-born skin there itch maddeningly. The first thing most newborn tried to do was itch between their scales when they first went on-mission. The older ones knew that no matter what, they couldn't quite get the angle right, though an abrading shower after the mission would sluice away the sweat before it could dry out to an irritating salt residue. The younglings, though, still itched despite getting lectured again and again. She turned her eyes to the newest. Sure enough, the one at the far corner was surreptitiously rolling back and forth in the dirt, as if she wouldn't notice. As if it would do any good. She hissed.

Inspiration: I was thinking about summer and heat and sweat, I suppose.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Retrofitting the body. Could be aliens or just bod-mod