Angela and the Robo-Warriors

Angela Slutlon never imagined that she the would be destined for the glitz and glamor of the entertainment business. After all, she was a young college dropout with no experience whatsoever being in front of camera, never mind a massive production by a major television studio. It was like she somehow managed to wish upon a shooting star. God knows how she managed to land the role, sending in a poorly filmed audition type with her friends, simply because she was bored and had nothing else planned for her life.

The actual casting calls were nerve wracking, as she tried her best to act out a series of pained and distressed facial expressions and fake screams for the show’s directors. Angela was certain that the other actresses were much better than her but for some reason, she was the one that they kept calling back.

Oh, it was a dream come true for the pretty ginger damsel. She was eternally grateful for the opportunity. It meant the world to Angela and she was determined to try her best to make sure the show succeeded…

That being said, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she excitedly accepted the role. While Angela wasn’t completely opposed to showing a little skin, the skimpy red one piece bathing suit that she had been told to put on, was a bit too revealing. She felt way too exposed. The thin fabric barely covered her, hugging the curves of her body like a second skin. It was wedged uncomfortably in between her asscheeks, showcasing her sexy plump buttocks to anyone who looked.

It made Angela so subconscious as she stood there in the middle of custom built steel arena, unsure if she would get away with suggesting a less sexualised outfit. The bathing suit was just as bad on the front side as well, with nothing but thin straps to hide her delightful perky tits, and a thong like crotch that Angela had to spend ages stretching to make sure none of her fiery pubic hairs were visible. The fact that it was cold enough to make her nipples poke through from underneath the fabric, only made things worse.

It-it felt… vulgar to be wearing just this. She had never considered herself to be prudish but this was far more than Angela was comfortable with. She could feel her face turning bright red, her cheeks lighting up to match the cute little freckles that covered her pale white skin. She was even close to crying. Her grey-blue eyes were starting to glisten with tears, her soft lips nervously quivering as she obediently waited.

Finally she heard a voice coming from the arena’s loudspeaker system, echoing a hideous loop of static feedback before someone fiddled with it to make the sound steady. “Sorry for the delay, Angela. We were just going through a couple last checks to make sure everything is running optimally.”

“Um… o-okay,” she replied, recognising the voice as belonging to Malcolm, one of the studio’s casting directors. Or at least that’s who it sounded like. “L-listen… before w-we start. Can we talk about the outfit that I’m—”

“Hold that thought, sweetheart. We just need to make sure all the cameras are rolling.”

It was a different voice that interrupted her. Paul? Or maybe David. Perhaps Steve? It was difficult for Angela to tell with the speakers disguising the sound of their speech. “Okay, we’re all set. Are you ready to film your first ever television appearance?”

The thought of it struck through her like a gut punch. A solid, meaty blow that twisted her stomach into knots. It terrified her. And yet it excited her with equal measure. She felt her breath hitch and she nearly let out a happy squeak, barely managing to stop herself in time. This was it. She was going to be a star.

“Oh God. You have no idea how excited I’m,” Angela chipped, the most beautiful smile spreading across her lips. “I promise, I’ll do my best. I won’t let you guys down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” came another voice, a hint of laughter coming through as the man spoke, helping calm Angela down as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “We’re going to film a short little advertisement for the show. Something to build interest and tease the fans. You think you can do that?”

“Of course!” Angela replied way too fast and eagerly. She really needed to get a grip or else she was going to come off as total dork. “I-I mean, yeah. I can do that.”

“That’s what we like to hear. Now we’re going to put some lines on the teleprompter on the screens above the arena and at the main gate.” The instruction was followed by a flickering of static as the gigantic sports stadium television screens came on simultaneously. “Just read what it says and we’ll do the rest.”

Angela nodded her head to each sentence, her eyes looking up at the foursome of jumbo-trons that were built into the ceiling of the arena complex. “O-okay. I can do that for you.”

“Oh and Angela, make sure to sound really excited and happy as you say your lines. And if you can, try to sound a sexy and slutty.”

What? Her breath hitched again, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to make sense of what was just said. Surely she misheard. “Um… s-sexy and s-slutty? That’s what you w-want?”

“Yeah. I understand why you might find it a bit demeaning, but the show’s target audience is mostly horny guys. And you know what toxic masculinity is like these days. The studio what’s to try and get them to watch the show like it’s a new national sport. Apparently it could be more popular than football in a couple years… yeah the bitch who gave this show the green light is a struck up deluded moron.”

“Oh… okay. I-I suppose that’s alright…” Angela whispered, accepting the explanation, even if she was still a little hesitant. Sexy and slutty. How was she supposed to do that? Maybe make her voice more wispy, like she desperately wanted something? Yeah that could work. People were always saying how much they loved listening to her Irish accent when she spoke and sang. So that might be enough to do the trick. And if not… she could… um? She could… come up with something with the producers if she didn’t sound hot enough.

Yeah. That sounded like a plan. Reassured, Angela stopped herself from anxiously biting her thumbnail and started to read from the teleprompted lines. “Hi guys. My name is Angela Slutlon and I’m the host of the brand new show, Robo-Warriors!” She said proudly, her voice growing more confident and energetic with each word. She even let out an excited scream, buzzing with positive energy like a cheerleader. “The show where you get to watch some of the brightest minds in engineering, robotics and sadism, bring their custom built, supercharge mechanical nightmare machines to the Robo-Warriors arena. It’s going to be no-holes bared, merciless, brutal carnage for your viewing pleasure.”

Is it just me, or are there some spelling mistakes in this thing? Angela thought to herself. Surely they wouldn’t be using autocorrect and AI for this?

Alas, she continued. “I’m so excited for it! You have no idea how soaking wet I’m right… wait! No! I’m not comfortable saying that!”

“Yeah. Sorry Angela.” Came an immediately apologetic voice. “We tried arguing for that to not be included but were overruled… honest.” Angela was getting a little suspicious, her once uncontainable excitement turning to a hint of irritation and disgust. “Just say the rest of it and we’ll figure a way to edit it out.”

“Y-you promise?” She asked, not wanting to sound entitled but trying to stand her ground. To her surprise, she didn’t hear a response but figured she must have just missed it in her anxiety. “O-okay… Um? To give you guys a sneak peek at what the show is all about—I’m joined in the arena today by the show’s menacing and magnificent house robots. Do you guys want to meet them?”

The teleprompter directed her to gesture to her left, summoning a ceiling light to shunt down from the scaffolding. Once the piercing beam cut through the shadows, it revealed a truly terrifying creation. A box shaped robot twirled around as smoke rose up from the floor. What scared Angela was the rotating drum that spun from its body, spinning a set of three thick, heavy looking, studded leather straps, that quickly began to build up speed. Soon, the straps were whirling in the air, furiously dancing with the promise of inhumane agony.

“Whoah. M-make sure that thing keeps away from me!” She begged, terrified of being whipped by those monstrous belts.

“Don’t worry, Angela. You’re perfectly safe.” The directors reassured while loading the next scroll of lines for Angela to read.

“This whip happy beauty is named Bitch-Beater… Bitch-Beater? Really guys?” The redhead protested, unhappy at just how openly misogynistic the show was being. She looked around and waited for someone to explain why such a name was necessary but no one spoke. “Um… as you can see, it’s armed with a set of spinning, steel studded leather belts that can tan my hide and rip through skin if I’m not careful enough to stay well clear.”

The script was making the hairs on the back of Angela’s neck prickle. It felt dirty to say. Like something written by a sexist pig. “Can you guys just imagine what those straps will do to me when they whip my sexy ass bloody…”

She froze immediately, mid sentence. The only saving grace was that the producers realised that she refused to read the rest of the awful, disgusting lines and chose to move on. Another floodlight revealed a second house robot, just as large and imposing as Bitch-Beating. Angela could hear the crackling bursts of electrical current that was being concentrated at the prongs of the machine’s cattle-prod, even before she saw the flickering violet charge of pure lightning.

“This is Slut-Zapper…” she announced grumpily once she read out its equally insulting name. “This robot certainly lives up to its name. That cattle-prod is strong enough to short circuit anything. 10,000 volts of thunderous electric hell, just waiting to be inserted into my…”

Angela felt sick. Nausea sent bile to the back of her throat as she gagged. Still the promo went on with a third machine roaring to life next to her. “Then we have the always angry, Clit-Stinger. This insectoid predator is poised to strike with its twin crushing claws and its venomous, pistoning, drill tail.”

Even more horror filled Angela’s tears welling eyes as she saw the latest mechanical abomination. A scorpion inspired machine with scuttling legs, snapping claws, and a thick segmented tail that was tipped with a massive metal cock. She stared at it as it spun, rotating around and pulsating like a revolting, living organ. “What the fuck is that t-thing?” She asked, all patience and willingness to play along now lost. “That’s just wrong!”

“Well… yeah. That’s our bad. Scorpions are arachnids. Not insects. We should have gotten an interim to go over and fact check the script.”

“That’s not what I’m fucking upset about!” Angela screamed, her entire body shaking with fury. “Why does that robot have a giant metal cock for a weapon? It makes no sense whatsoever. And-and it looks stupid! Just look at it! Why did you build such a thing?”

Before Angela could further demand an answer, another light slammed on, revealing the last house robot. It was humanoid this time, towering a full two feet above her—its entire body encased in indestructible armour. An iron chain uncoiled in its hand, clanging to the arena floor like a metal snake.

Merciless red eyes shined through the slits of its helmet, staring at every inch of Angela’s barely clothed body. Those red eyes gave the machine the appearance of some sort of demon. A vision from Angela’s nightmares, born straight from hell. Especially when her eyes glanced down at its groin and saw the mace like codpiece that was welded to its chassis.

Angela didn’t know why she kept reading the script. Most likely, she was too scared out of her mind to think. “Lastly, we have Sir Rape-a-lot! My chivalrous knight in cunt stained armour. He’s… he’s—” she croaked, her voice breaking, “I-I c-can’t say that… I won’t!”

The helpless ginger strumpet protested fiercely, demanding that she speak to someone about the awful script and abhorrent themes of the show. All while the four state-of-the-art, military grade torture robots, began to creep closer and closer to their unknowing victim.

“Wait! W-why are they moving towards me?”

“Guys, seriously! This isn’t funny! Turn them off!”

“They’re too close! W-why… why isn’t someone turning them off?”

“No… n-no! NO! Help m-me!”

The first scream inside the Robo-Warriors’ arena pretty much guaranteed the show’s massive global success. A piercing, terror filled shriek that reverberated all across the studio. It tore out from Angela’s throat, bouncing off the bulletproof glass walls and burrowed into the concrete floor.

To be cunt-inued…