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Catharsis:

Perri held her left arm out over the ledge and opened her hand, dropping her right arm into the abyss below. She adjusted her optics and watched it fall, adjusted her optics and watched it fall some more, adjusted her optics and closed her eyes. As she stepped back, she tugged at the synthskin covering her forehead. The red plastic wig took its rest on the city's floor.

As she walked along the edge of the grand floating city, eyes closed, she shed from herself all the bits and parts that had caused trouble. She tore them from her body without emotion and left a trail of metal and cabling as she moved. She knew the path well because she knew the city well. She knew the best views, the hottest social spots, and the quietest apartments. She knew places within the city nobody had ever been to. Places you could hide something and be sure it would never be found.

The best of those places was at her feet. As Perri positioned her legs inside the small, soot-laced space, she kept watch on the steady flickering of lights in the city's center, people and machines moving in front of glowing signs. She bent her torso and slid it into place like a puzzle piece, one small gap remaining for her now singular arm.

Of all the data collected from the city over her years within it, one detail stood true through every test imaginable. One fact could not be debated or changed:

Humans cause pain.

Perri couldn't stop it, couldn't even stop herself from being a part of it, without doing the one thing she could truly never undo.

As her arm found its place beside her body, her fingertips found active fiber. Something with a network would be leaving this place eventually, and she would be on it. Finally her eyes grew dim, and as the glow coursing down her spine faded into shadow, Perri rid her existence of its last little bit of trouble: humans. Perri began a final shutdown sequence, beeping softly and giving in to the darkness.





A targeting contact spins clockwise with a whir, focusing itself on your form. A quick blue spark eminates from behind it, as an audio recording begins to play from the base of the leggy android's throat. The voice is young, but raspy. Female. Static crackles through the entirety of the introduction:

"Hiya, gorgeous. Got a minute?"

Her skin has been partially removed, along with her voice emulator and several key pieces of her core processor. She moves in twitches and must continually reattach her right arm at the shoulder, where a ball joint has been replaced with a mass of wires tied in a knot.

Another spark from behind the tiny lens reminds you she is still waiting for an answer.


After decades of laboring over basic service androids, Perriwinkle's Creator began work on what he referred to as his "soulmate" - a gynoid to be his companion for the remainder of his life. She would be adoring and eager to please as well as cultured, witty, and an intellectual equal. And she would have very long legs.

New Albion is a rough spot in the ether, the last place before the last place you come to, and neither human nor android can survive there for long. The Creator passed quietly with an unfinished yet highly aware soulmate at his side. His station in New Albion was dismantled, his property auctioned off and shipped in all directions.

Gynoids are property, too, and Perriwinkle found herself in the service of a new kind of man. She entertained smugglers and crooks as a graceful burlesque dancer, and as a physical companion for technofetishists. The latter were few and far between, much to the dismay of Perri's new Master. In a fit of drug-induced rage, the new Master struck her down and stole from her everything that had ever pleased a man: her voice, her skin, and many of the best parts of her mind.

Perriwinkle came to INSILICO to find a new home as well as a new purpose (and, hopefully, some much-needed repairs).



Perriwinkle "speaks" by playing audio recordings of the people she's known in the past. The main voices are:

*Female, deep, syrupy voice. Prostitute slang.
*Female, young, raspy, energetic tone. Prostitute slang.
*Male, deep, angry. Offensive language.
*Male voices, varying tones and quality, primarily one-word sentences and sexual demands.
*Male, gentle voice. Philosophy, psychology, cultural references. Highly damaged recordings. Perriwinkle never uses this voice in tandem with others or in edited form. Her eyes glow softly whenever this voice is played.