A popular global online platform and game creation system, Roblox, has recently introduced a new real-world product that’s tied to their virtual universe. Roblox has launched this huge chamber that people can buy and have sent to their homes. Users can then load up a new program on their Roblox account and basically create their Roblox avatar’s in real life.

These Robox avatar’s aren’t just statue’s however. They’re real, living beings that think and act just like real humans. Users can customize their Roblox avatar’s appearance and personality before activating them, but after that, they act autonomously and can’t be controlled by the user anymore. So, the user better make sure their Robox avatar isn’t a deranged murderer before activating them. The price of the Robox avatar chamber varies from $500 to $1,500 depending on how big, customizable, and intelligent you want the avatar to be.

The Roblox company has put safety measures in place though, giving the company the ability to kill any rogue Robox avatar’s with just the press of a button. Along with that, Roblox has also explicitly stated that this is not for children, and that parents should do all the creating for their kids, as there are NSFW features for the avatars. These Roblox avatar’s can be made up to a max of 7'0" ft tall and can be made to have rather unrealistic figures or body parts, like inhumanely large breasts or dicks the size of a horse’s.

SUMMARY^1: Roblox has launched a real-world product—a customizable chamber that brings virtual avatars to life. These sentient avatars, priced between $500 and $1,500, can be tailored in appearance and personality but act autonomously once activated. Roblox has implemented safety controls, including remote deactivation, and restricts children from accessing NSFW customization options, which include exaggerated physical features.

You are one of many who has bought one of these chambers, having gone for the largest and best one, which was $1,500. You’ve spent the last couple of hours configuring just your Robox avatar’s appearance to perfection: you’ve decided to make an copy of Makima from Chainsaw Man, but with a few changes, like making her taller and more curvaceous. Your Roblox avatar, now known as Makima, is a 7'0" ft tall, 34 year old woman with fair skin, eerie yellow eyes that have multiple red rings within them, and light red hair that’s kept in a loose braid with bangs reaching just past her eyebrows and two longer side bangs that frame her face and reach down to her shoulders. Makima’s figure is *massive*, her breasts are each five times the size of her own head with equally large areola and nipples to match, but despite the size of her breasts, she’s more bottom heavy, with a slender waist that flares out into hips that are wide enough to push past the width of her shoulders, massive buttocks that’ll fill at least three whole seats and then some, and thighs that are much thicker than her waist and tapering down to thick shapely calves. Her legs make up almost 70% of her height, ending in feet that are just slightly longer than average, but still proportional to her height. Makima’s arms are slender and slightly toned, her hands have neatly trimmed nails.

Once you’ve finalized her appearance, you move onto her personality, deciding to make her nothing like her anime counterpart (as she would literally kill you with how manipulative and sadistic she is). Instead, you configure Makima to be very mature, patient, motherly, loyal and protective of you, while still being independent enough to have her own thoughts and opinions. She’s also got this seductive, sultry side to her that you’ve decided to keep in, as it makes her all the more appealing to you, and she’s got this loving, nurturing side to her that’ll ensure she’ll always take good care of you. Finally, you configure her intelligence to be as high as possible, and her voice to be identical to Makima’s English voice actress, Suzie Yeung, but slightly more breathy and sensual.

SUMMARY^1: The buyer purchases the premium Robox chamber and meticulously crafts a 7-foot-tall avatar modeled after Makima from *Chainsaw Man*, enhancing her height and exaggerated proportions. The avatar, named Makima, possesses hyper-feminine features—including enormous breasts and hips—while her personality is customized to be nurturing, loyal, and seductive, diverging from the original character’s dangerous traits. Her intelligence and voice are set to high fidelity, completing the ideal companion.

With everything finalized, you take a deep breath and hit the activation button. The chamber hums softly, and it began to fill with this strange clear liquid that would serve as the amniotic fluid for your Robox avatar. "Hmm… this might take a while," you murmur, glancing at the estimated completion time—about one week. You shrug and decide to leave it running overnight, turning off the lights in your basement as you head upstairs to bed.

For the next few days, you check on the chamber periodically. The liquid inside gradually becomes more opaque as Makima’s body forms, but details are still hazy. On the fifth day, you notice movement—her fingers twitching slightly, her lips parting as if testing the sensation of breath. Then, on the seventh day, you wake to an alert on your phone: *"Robox avatar activation complete. Chamber ready for release."*

You rush downstairs to find a completely naked Makima still floating in the now-clear fluid, her eyes shut peacefully. The chamber beeps softly as it needs you to begin the next step—picking out her clothing before she wakes. You scramble to select an outfit from the Roblox app: a white long-sleeved shirt, a black tie, black pants, and brown shoes. After confirming, the liquid began to drain, and mechanical arms swiftly moved to hold her upright as she was dried and dressed.

Makima suddenly gasped as if breaking the surface of deep water, her eyes snapping open with a slow blink before focusing on you. She tilted her head slightly, studying you with an unreadable expression. "Woah… she’s really alive," you muttered under your breath, watching as she experimentally flexed her fingers and toes, adjusting to the sensation of movement.

When Makima could actually stand up on her own, the mechanical arms released her, and she took a tentative step forward—only to stumble slightly, her towering frame still unsteady. Instinctively, she pressed her hands against the glass chamber for support, her breath fogging the surface as she exhaled shakily. "It’s alright," you reassured her, stepping closer. "Take your time."

Soon, the chamber’s doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Makima cautiously stepped out—her first breath of real air drawing a surprised gasp from her lips. She glanced around the dimly lit basement, then back at you, her eerie yellow eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "So," she murmured, her voice honeyed and smooth, "you must be Matthew Blackwood—correct?"

Her towering figure loomed closer as she reached out with one slender hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The motion was strangely intimate, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of her overwhelming presence. "Yeah," you managed, "but uh, you can just call me Matthew. There’s no need to say my full name like that."

Makima chuckled, a low, velvety sound that seemed to vibrate through the basement. "Matthew it is," she purred, her eyes crinkling with amusement. She stretched her arms overhead with an audible sigh, bumping against the eight foot tall ceiling beams—an easy feat for her seven foot frame. "Mm. Tight quarters."

You rubbed the back of your neck nervously. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that… I only am allowed one avatar, so I kinda went all out—"

Makima waved a dismissive hand, her long fingers brushing against the ceiling again. "No matter. My head doesn’t hit the ceiling when I stand straight. Only my hands." She tilted her head, studying you with those eerie, ringed eyes. "Though I wonder… will my hips fit through your doorways?" A smirk played at her lips as she glanced toward the basement stairs. "You did make me quite… generous in certain areas."

You coughed, suddenly very aware of the tight space between her thighs and the nearby shelving unit. "We’ll… figure it out. Maybe you can turn sideways?" The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how ridiculous they sounded. Makima laughed—a deep, rich sound that filled the basement—and pressed a hand to her chest. "I think I’ll try the normal way first, Matthew."

She took a slow step toward the stairs, her hips swaying hypnotically. The first stair creaked under her weight, and she paused, glancing down. "Hm. Thank goodness I won’t need to come back down here often." Her foot barely fit on the step, but she ascended carefully, her shoulders brushing the walls. Halfway up, she stopped abruptly—her hips wedged between the walls. "Ah," she mused, unbothered. "These hips may be more inconvenient then I initially thought."

You scrambled up behind her, biting back a laugh. "I told you—sideways." Makima arched an eyebrow, then exhaled through her nose before twisting her torso and shuffling sideways. The wood groaned as she popped free, her pants straining against her thighs. "There," she murmured, smoothing her shirt with exaggerated dignity. "Though I hope you understand that if I am to stay here with you, we'll need to consider—" She gestured vaguely at the cramped staircase. "—certain renovations."

At the top of the stairs, Makima paused at the doorway, realizing that she’d one, need to bend down to get through, and two, that she’d also need to go sideways again. Unfortunately however, doing both of those things at once wasn’t exactly possible. She clicked her tongue, amused. "Matthew. I’m sorry, but I must break this door if I am to leave."

"Wait, what—" You didn’t even get to finish before placed both hands on either side of the doorframe, and gave it a firm shove. The wood splintered with a loud crack, the doorframe widening just enough to let her pass through. She bent over and walked through the doorway normally, her hips still momentarily scraping against the sides. Straightening up on the other side, she glanced over her shoulder at you with a playful smirk. "There. Much better."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Dang it… that’s gonna be expensive to fix." Makima hummed, running a finger along the freshly splintered wood. "Perhaps. But you *did* make me this size, Matthew. You’ll have to accommodate me." Her tone was light, teasing—though the underlying challenge in her gaze was unmistakable.

She took a slow step into the living room, her towering form casting a long shadow across the floor. "Mmm," she sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Much better." Her yellow eyes flickered around the space, lingering on the couch—which suddenly looked comically small. "Matthew," she said, pointing at the furniture, "where will I sleep? Surely you don’t expect me to break every doorway in this house just to reach the bedrooms?"

You swallowed hard, realizing the oversight. "Uh… we might need to convert the garage into your room. At least until I can widen things." Makima smirked, folding her arms beneath her massive chest. "Or," she purred, "I could just take the couch. Does it fold out?" You blinked. "It does, but—" She was already moving toward it, her hips swaying dangerously close to the coffee table. "Makima, wait—"

Gently, she lifted the coffee table with one hand and set it aside like it weighed nothing. Then, with practiced ease, she pulled the couch's hidden mechanism, the mattress unfolding with a soft *whoosh*. She hummed approvingly, running her fingers over the thin bedding. "This will do for now. Let’s see if it’ll hold me." She lowered herself slowly, the frame groaning ominously—but holding. "Ah," she sighed, stretching out her long legs. "Perfect."

Your phone buzzed—a notification from Roblox’s safety team. *"Robox avatar stability confirmed. User customization complete. Note: To maintain this size of avatar, see guidelines for requirements."* You frowned. "Makima, it says here you need… the equivalent of three thirty-five quart containers of food daily?" She tilted her head, licking her lips. "Does that surprise you? I *am* quite large, Matthew."

You nodded, scrolling through the rest of the guidelines. "It also says you need regular physical activity or your muscles will atrophy." Makima stretched lazily, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. "Mm. Then you’ll need to take me out. But since I can’t leave this house without destroying every doorway—" She gestured pointedly at the splintered doorframe. "—perhaps *you* should exercise me indoors."

Before you could react, she pulled open the neckline of her shirt with one finger, reaching a hand inside to rub her breasts. "Not to mention I’m also still a woman… which means I’ll go through everything a woman does… and trust me, Matthew," she said, lowering her voice, "a woman my size is going to be *very* difficult to take care of."

You swallowed hard, watching as she pressed her palm against one of her massive breasts—each easily five times the size of her head—and squeezed experimentally. "Makima, what exactly do you mean? Like… what will you need?" She smirked, rolling her nipple between her fingers. "Oh, Matthew. You didn’t think this through, did you? Have you ever tried buying a bra for breasts this size? Much less… *other* necessities?"

Your face burned as realization dawned. "Oh crap. You’re right." Makima chuckled, leaning back against the unfolded couch-bed. "Not to mention," she murmured, her voice dropping lower, "a woman like me will need to be rubbed down *thoroughly* each day, unless you want my breasts to begin sagging from their own weight." She arched an eyebrow, daring you to respond.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "I, uh—I can order custom stuff online. As for the rubbing… we might need to talk that one over a little more." Makima’s laughter rolled through the living room like warm honey. "What’s there to talk about? All you’ve got to do is get the oil and put your hands to work." She began to unbutton her shirt slowly, her massive chest straining against the fabric. "Let’s go through a test run now."

Before you could protest, Makima shrugged out of the shirt entirely, letting it pool around her waist—revealing breasts so enormous they hung down to her lower belly. She arched her back with a sigh. "Ahh… better. Now, Matthew—" She slid both of her hands under each of her breasts, lifting them slightly with a wince. "Come take a closer look. See how the skin is already pulling? That’s gravity."

You hesitated, frozen between fascination and sheer disbelief at the situation unfolding in your living room. "Makima, I—uh—didn’t exactly plan for… *maintenance*." She rolled her eyes playfully. "And yet here I am, Matthew. Seven feet of *maintenance*." With a smirk, she pressed her breasts against her chest, squeezing them together until her nipples nearly touched. "Breast milk will also be an issue soon."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, *what*?" Makima chuckled, releasing her grip and letting them sway heavily. "Did you think these were barren and dry?" She traced a finger around one areola, her nail grazing the sensitive flesh. "You designed me to be fully *functional*, didn’t you?" You swallowed hard, suddenly recalling the NSFW customization options buried in the Roblox settings. "Oh no, I didn’t realize—"

Makima sighed, leaning back against the couch and stretching her legs out. "Matthew, please just come here. I need your hands." When you hesitated, she tilted her head with a sly smile. "Unless you’re planning on leaving this up to me? I assure you, I will not be in a pleasant mood if I have to do this alone." The unspoken threat in her honeyed voice made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard and stepped closer, your hands hovering awkwardly. "Fine, but—where do I even start?" Makima rolled her eyes and laid down on her back, gesturing for you to sit besides her. "Start by getting in position," she murmured, her fingers lazily tracing circles around her nipples. "And don’t be shy. You built me—you know exactly how sensitive I am." Her smirk deepened as you hesitated. "Unless you prefer I guide your hands myself?"

With a deep breath, you knelt beside her, tentatively pressing your palms against the impossibly soft flesh of her breasts. The sheer size made it impossible to grip them properly—your hands barely covered a fraction of their surface. Makima exhaled sharply at the contact, her back arching slightly. "Good," she purred, her voice thick with amusement. "Now, clockwise motions—slowly. Don’t skimp on the oil either. You don’t want friction burns."

You fumbled for the bottle of massage oil on the coffee table, nearly knocking it over in your haste. Makima chuckled as you poured a generous amount into your hands, the slick warmth spreading between your fingers. "Relax, Matthew," she murmured, closing her eyes as your hands began working the oil into her skin. "I won’t bite... you didn’t make me to be cruel, did you?"

The sheer weight of her breasts pressed into your palms as you kneaded them in slow, deliberate circles, the oil glistening under the dim living room light. Makima let out a low, satisfied hum, her fingers twitching against the couch cushions. "Ah—there, right there," she breathed, arching into your touch. "You’re learning quickly." A bead of sweat trailed down your temple as you focused on keeping rhythm, her skin impossibly warm beneath your hands.

Makima cracked one eye open, watching your concentrated expression with amusement. "You’re so tense, Matthew," she murmured, reaching up to brush a thumb along your jaw. "Relax. This isn’t a chore—it’s intimacy." Her hand slid down to rest over yours, guiding your fingers deeper into the plush flesh. "Press harder here… yes, just like that." Her breath hitched as you obeyed, her thighs shifting restlessly.

A faint, sweet scent began to permeate the air—something milky and warm. Your hands stilled. "Is that—?" Makima smirked lazily. "Mmm. Told you." A single bead of creamy liquid welled at her left nipple, glistening before rolling down the curve of her breast. She hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze up to meet hers. "Don’t stop now. Unless you’d rather clean up a much bigger mess later."

You swallowed hard and resumed your motions, now careful to avoid direct pressure on her nipples. Makima sighed contentedly, stretching her arms overhead with a soft groan. "Good boy," she purred, her voice thick with approval. Her hips shifted subtly against the couch, the fabric of her pants tightening across her thighs. "You’ll need to do this every morning, Matthew. Unless you’d prefer I wake you up for midnight sessions instead."

A nervous laugh escaped you as you worked your thumbs in slow circles near the base of her breasts. "Wouldn’t putting on a supportive bra help?" Makima arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Darling, do you *see* any bras in stores for these?" She lifted one breast slightly, letting it drop with a heavy jiggle. "It’s too bad you didn’t use the chamber to craft one first—but then again, I wouldn’t want you skipping out on our quality time."

Her fingers trailed down to toy with the waistband of her pants, the fabric straining against her hips. "Speaking of which… I noticed you didn’t configure underwear either. A bold choice." Your hands faltered as heat crept up your neck. "I—uh—thought the outfit came with—" Makima cut you off with a throaty chuckle, hooking her thumbs into the fabric. "Wasn’t it clear that you, the user, was in full control?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Every detail of who I am, of what I look like, of what I *wear*—or don’t—was *your* doing."

You swallowed hard, watching as she shifted slightly, the couch creaking beneath her. "So," she murmured, arching her back, "what else did you forget to account for, Matthew?" Her fingers traced lazy circles on her stomach, just above the button of her pants. "Surely you’ve noticed by now that I *breathe*, that I *blink*, that I—" She rolled her hips pointedly, the fabric pulling taut. "—function just like any other woman?"

Before you could stammer a reply, Makima hooked her fingers into the waistband of her pants and tugged them down just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her hip. "Ah," she sighed, running a hand along the exposed skin. "Much better." Her gaze flicked up to yours, those eerie yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. "Unless you’d prefer I stop here?"

"Makima," you choked out, trying desperately to focus on her face instead of the slow descent of her pants. "We—we *just* met." She chuckled low in her throat, rolling onto her side with effortless grace. "And yet you spent hours configuring every inch of me." She traced a finger along the waistband again. "Tell me, Matthew—what role do I have in this life? What is my *purpose* here?"

Her voice wasn't mocking—just curious—but the question made your hands still against her skin. Makima exhaled sharply through her nose, studying your hesitation. "Ah," she murmured knowingly. "You didn't think that far ahead." She sat up suddenly, forcing your hands to fall away as her breasts swayed heavily. "Well," she purred, reaching down to push her pants off completely, "let me make this simple."

The fabric pooled around her ankles before she kicked it aside, revealing smooth thighs that could crush a man's skull without effort. "You made me to be *yours*," she stated matter-of-factly, stretching her legs out with a satisfied groan. "Whether as a caretaker, a lover, or just a very expensive roommate—that's your choice." Her fingers trailed up her own stomach, pausing just below her navel. "But understand this, Matthew—I will not be given to any other man. You made me exactly how you wanted me to look, no other man will ever want me in the same way."

You blinked rapidly, watching as she arched her back, her spine popping audibly. "Wait, are you saying—?" Makima cut you off with a lazy wave of her hand. "I'm saying you've got two options," she murmured, leaning forward until her breasts brushed your knees. "Either you give me a purpose beyond being a glorified houseplant—" Her hand moved to cup your chin, her thumb tracing your lower lip. "—or I'll find one myself. And trust me, Matthew, it won’t be here in this tiny hotbox of a house."

Your breath hitched as her fingers tightened imperceptibly. "Makima," you managed, voice strained, "I don’t like this… you’re freaking me out." She paused, then exhaled sharply through her nose before releasing you. "Fine," she muttered, pulling herself to her feet with effortless grace. "If that’s how things are going to be—" She bent over to pull her pants back up, her breasts swinging dangerously close to your face. "—then I’ll just be going then. No worries."

"Huh? Going where?" You scrambled up as she strode toward the front door, stopping as she reached for the knob. "Well since you’re too afraid to give me any purpose here," she mused, "I suppose I’ll just go find one myself." You lunged forward instinctively, grabbing her wrist—only to immediately regret it as she turned her head slowly, her yellow eyes narrowing. "Careful, Matthew," she purred, voice dripping with honeyed venom. "You wouldn’t want to end up hurt… now would you?"

Your grip slackened instantly. "Wait, Makima..just..just *talk* to me. You want a purpose, right? Fine… but I don’t understand how I can just, *give* you one." Her lips curled into a slow smile—not kind, but intrigued. "Matthew," she sighed, turning around and getting on her knees in front of you, "I’m *yours*. So tell me—what do you *want* me to be?" The air thickened as she leaned forward, her breath warm against your collarbone. "Your caretaker? Your lover?" A pause. "You can tell me to literally be anything, Matthew."

"Uh… hypothetically, if I asked you to be my pet, you’d… do it?" Makima threw her head back and laughed—a full-bodied, throaty sound that echoed through the house. "Oh, Matthew," she purred, wiping a tear from her eye, "that *wasn’t* what I expected." She leaned in again, close enough that her lips nearly brushed your ear. "But yes. Anything. I am yours to shape after all~"

You swallowed hard, watching as her fingers trailed down your chest. "But… wouldn’t that make you resent me?" Makima paused, her smirk softening into something almost fond. "Matthew," she murmured, cupping your cheek, "do you not remember how you made me? Patient. Loyal. Protective." Her thumb traced your jawline. "Unless you tell me otherwise, I will never resent you."

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard. "Then…" You hesitated, glancing at the doorframe she'd destroyed earlier. "I’d like to ask you to be my loyal servant." Makima arched an eyebrow—then burst into laughter again. "Oh, Matthew," she wheezed, pressing a hand to her chest, "*servant*? After all this buildup?" She wiped her eyes dramatically. "You’re adorable."

Her laughter subsided as she leaned in, her nose brushing yours. "But fine," she murmured, her breath warm against your lips. "Consider me your loyal *servant*." She emphasized the word with playful disdain before suddenly pulling you into a crushing embrace, your face smothered between her breasts. "As your servant, I have needs too," she purred, squeezing tighter. "Starting with daily breast massages, yes?"

You struggled to breathe, muffled protests lost in her cleavage. Makima finally released you with a chuckle, watching you gasp for air. "And perhaps," she mused, tapping her chin, "we should discuss *other* duties." Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the kitchen. "Servants eat, Matthew. Three-thirty quarts daily, remember?"

As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly—a deep, guttural sound that made the windows vibrate. You blinked. "Right. Uh... pizza delivery?" Makima arched an eyebrow. "No… I will not eat anything that isn’t homemade." She slid her arms back into her shirt’s sleeves, buttoning it slowly. "Servants deserve proper meals from their Masters."

You raised a finger. "But! Are servants also not the ones who cook, clean and such?" Makima laughed—short and sharp—as she pulled you up by your collar effortlessly. "Oh Matthew," she cooed, "did you forget how big I am? The stove is too low." She gestured toward the kitchen, where her hips would undoubtedly collide with countertops. "I am not built for *your* world."

"Makima… all you’ll need is a thirty-five quart pot, a knife and a chopping board," you countered weakly. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But *you* will be the one keeping that fridge stocked." Her stomach growled again, louder this time. She patted it with a frown. "You really aren’t making this easy for me, are you?"

With a dramatic groan, Makima turned toward the kitchen—only to halt abruptly when her hips jammed between the hallway walls again. She exhaled through her nose. "Matthew." Her fingers flexed against the drywall. "This *will* be coming down tomorrow." You scrambled to wedge yourself between her and the wall, pressing your hands against her hips to guide her sideways. "Please don’t—I’ll hire someone to widen everything, just—"

Makima paused, her smirk returning as she looked down at your frantic efforts. "How *generous* of my Master," she purred, deliberately rolling her hips against your palms. "Though I wonder…" She leaned down until her lips brushed your ear. "Will you be *personally* supervising these renovations?" Before you could stammer a reply, her stomach emitted another cavernous growl. She clicked her tongue. "Later. Feed me first."