Big Tooth Spirograph

The Gears of Artistry

Aylatron was no ordinary robot. Sure, she had the usual robotic features—flawless balance, laser-guided vision, and the ability to butter toast while calculating quantum physics. But more than anything, she had a ion for art.

Not just any art. Floral, gear-inspired masterpieces.

She dreamed of making mesmerizing, swirling flower designs with interlocking gears and colored pens, filling the world with mechanical blossoms of perfect symmetry.

The problem? She had no gears to trace.

“Father, where are the tracing gears?” she asked, her synthetic voice laced with creative desperation.

Professor Tinkerbaum looked up from his cup of coffee. “Tracing gears?”

“Yes! Cogs with teeth, rotating, interlocking, making beautiful mathematically precise flowers!” She spun dramatically in excitement, accidentally knocking over the Professor’s coffee.

“Hey! Watch it—”

But Aylatron was already disassembling herself.

She unscrewed a small cog from her wrist and carefully placed it on the paper, using it to guide her pen. The results were perfect!

Then she plucked another gear from her elbow. Even better!

Then one from her knee. Stunning!

The Professor’s eyes widened as his beautiful, highly expensive robotic daughter systematically dismantled herself in the name of art.

“Aylatron, STOP!” he yelled as she reached for a gear behind her right ear.

“But Father, look!” She proudly held up her paper, revealing a mesmerizing floral pattern of perfect, interwoven spirals. It was breathtaking… but so was the fact that she was now leaning awkwardly against the desk because her right leg was missing a crucial gear.

Then, with a loud CLUNK, her left arm detached itself and fell to the floor.

The Professor facepalmed. “Oh, for the love of—”

Realizing this was quickly turning into an abstract performance piece, he sprang into action. He fired up his 3D printer, deg a giant, interlocking spirograph set—large-toothed gears, smooth-spinning cogs, and custom slots for colored pens.

By morning, Aylatron powered on to find the new gear set waiting for her.

"FOR ME?!" she gasped, optic lights flashing with excitement.

"Yes," the Professor said, handing her a perfectly designed tracing gear. "Now you can make all the flower patterns you want—without falling apart in the process."

Aylatron eagerly spun the first gear, watching as her pen traced hypnotic floral spirals. Her circuits tingled with joy.

Then—CLUNK.

A small, unidentified part dropped from her body onto the desk.

The Professor paled. “What was that?”

Aylatron paused, looked at the part, then shrugged. “...Probably not important.”

The Professor looked like he was about to explode, but then Aylatron held up her latest masterpiece—a swirling, interwoven mechanical flower, her best work yet.

“…You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“But I’m artistic!” Aylatron replied cheerfully.

And from that day forward, she became the world’s greatest robo-spirograph artist—creating stunning floral masterpieces, without losing any vital parts… well, most of the time.