Constant exposure to the internet has done terrible things to their sanity.
Trel peeked through the narrow observation window. Inside was a bedlam consisting of pale human males attempting to argue with themselves.
“WOMAN!” shrieked one.
Crap.
They’d seen her!
She retreated to the safety of her guide, a robot that was neither apparently male nor female.
The humans inside the enclosure alternately cajoled her for sex and demanded she prove her worth by answering confrontational trivia questions.
Some just cut to the chase and accused her of being a prostitute.
The robot just pressed a button to flood their rooms with anaesthetic gas. “It’s better that you remain unobserved in the future. They are… rather confrontational.”
Which was an understatement tantamount to calling a black hole “a little on the heavy side”.
“Is there anything you can do?”
“Attempts are being made,” allowed the robot. “So far, we have yet to create a working female surrogate that will pass their tests and be allowed into their group.”
Trel decided to pay attention to the signs plastered all over the walls.
Nice Guy Ward, they said. Keep All Femininity Concealed.
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