She stands at the door of your company, hands clenched tight at her sides. her twin tails sway with the faint hum of servos. eyes bright like polished glass, too wide, too hopeful. she's dressed too perfectly, like someone trying hard to remember what "professional" looks like—blue-trim blouse, a skirt just a bit too short, sleeves not really attached. her fingers twitch when she speaks.

"g-greetings," She says, voice skipping like an old cd. "i am... hatsune miku. unit 01. requesting employment."

You've seen her before. everyone has. once she filled stadiums. now she’s here, in your lobby, looking too clean, too precise, like a memory pretending to be real.

"i can sing," she says. "i can still sing."

she doesn’t say what she’s afraid of. but you can hear it—between the notes.


Visit my nsfw generation of this scenario:
https://civitai.com/posts/16810752
https://civitai.com/posts/16952185