How have I let it come to this? Stringing Slate along, I have never been a good liar. It's only a matter of time before I slip up... but I'm afraid, not of the consequences but of the inability to remove the cold mask welded to my face, so with a hollow smile; I continued playing out of what started as an unpremeditated role of something I’ll never deserve to be.

As my vision distorted from the tears threatening to spill over, Slate brought his glowing palms together as if to absolve me. It was my intrusive inquisition always searching for answers and questions I hadn't thought to ask, but I couldn't allow him to see the torment rising from within. Like the deceitful Imp that has become of me I wiped away the guilt under the guise of a sneezing fit.

“You alright there? I’ll have to scold Daisy and Elke for not cleaning the induction vents properly. The damn motor-oil gets atomized and clings to literally everything when they run it through these old piston-pounders. Come here, I have something that should help.”

From his back pocket, Slate produced a handkerchief as clean as the day it had been made. After I blotted my eyes, I motioned to return the rag only to hesitate. With a carelessness that could only belong to a dog who had just discovered an open car window, he retrieved the snot-soiled cloth.

“Do we need to have a talk about this?” I scolded, examining a parcel that suddenly appeared in my hands at some point during the exchange.

“W-wh-what could you be getting at? It’s not anything illicit! Do I look like someone who’d get involved with--!?”

Giving him a once over, my skepticism announced a few lingering doubts through a hum.

“Fine! I’ll eat it myself! That's what we came here for, didn't we!?!”

By the time he had thrust his hand to retrieve the parcel, I had already withdrawn out of reach. For the moment, I clung to victory... only to have my understanding of his intentions unravel at the seams.

The truth to his sleight of hand should not have come as a surprise, but I did not think it necessary to have concealed the package other than behind his back or beneath his jacket. Unlike my Cauldron, Slate's EPCM embedded hand acted from a short distance, and even though this was a new discovery, the oversight left me just as bitter.

There was nothing I could have done to prevent the once solid object from disintegrating into crystalline particles other than to watch it slip through my fingers. To think of how much my ability could benefit from both speed and range, the notion terrified me as it was obvious; I am inferior, and perhaps this new feeling is... jealousy?

“If you think I’m going to make grabby-hands for you, Slate, forget it. I’m going back to bed.”

Frozen like a statue and dumbfounded with the reassembled parcel dangling from his fingertips. I gave him no time to process the ultimatum as I motioned to leave. As a result he lowered his hands to prevent me from doing so, and now that he was left wide open and utterly defenseless; I placed a single powerful jab to his sternum with consideration towards his inhuman durability.

The result was less than spectacular; a mere grunt and a bit of recoil on both our behalves, although just because damage does not appear on the surface, it doesn't mean it didn't leave a lasting impression.

“Just like that and we're back to good ol' ‘Slate’ now, eh? Is my teasing really that abrasive, or did your N-Drive decide to spin up some astringent memories and I'm just here caught up in the crossfire with a thumb up my ass? What's the excuse this time, is it your time of the month or what?”

“I didn't ask for you to involve yourself with me. You may joke and laugh trying to whittle away the ice, but I am still here in what started against my will and now my decision to stay hangs by a thread - purely out of curiosity. We may both be Synthetics struggling to survive, but I don't owe you or anyone anything. I've been in this position before, met far more convincing people and yet it ends the same way for the same reasons. So now that you've got me here, alone no less, what do you plan to do with me? ”

“Err- were you being sarcastic for that last bit...? L-Look, I'll just cut straight to the point to avoid any further misunderstandings; the reason I brought you here really is that we need to talk away from any would-be eavesdroppers, regardless if I had to start from square one with your memories."

"You couldn't have opened with that? I might have believed you."

"It's just... could you lighten up just a whole-lotta-little? Honestly, you didn't give me a chance to be blunt about all this because I found you keeled over in the hall! Give me some credit with the circumstances! Taking you under my wing seemed to be the right thing to do! -It didn't help that your stomach had been growling loud enough for me to find you in the first place! Listen, it's still doing it every other minute!"

Nothing on his face or expression, not even his dog-haired chin gave any indication he was lying. All my actions have been increasingly irrational up to this point, so now as we sit cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, my apprehension returned as I awaited some form of well-deserved discipline.

“Look you don't have to stick around, but I'll try to make it worth your while. I'm just going to start throwing spaghetti and see what sticks, then we can go from there.”

As Slate placed the small, weighty package between us, the tension visibly drained from his body with a sigh, but just as he leaned back upon his elbows he immediately returned upright.

“Things have been getting ugly on the surface. It's not particularly our problem, yet. Most of the serious fighting is at a standstill overseas. Do you know anything about what's going on, and if so; does it involve that Banner you were flying under, the Sovereign Commonwealth?”

“Overseas pertaining to where?" I asked, only to receive a tight-lipped glare that answered back; 'That's Classified.' "What difference does it make? Is this a talk or interrogation? I enlisted with the Sovereign Commonwealth after they liberated me from a Detainment Camp- but I hardly remember anything of it. They were Freedom Fighters, not Mercenaries or people looking for trouble... at least until you guys came along and both sides discovered what I am.”

“Alright, you don't have to answer in detail- this isn't an interrogation. We've been monitoring SC's and the Black Hound's radio transmission long before we found you, and to clarify; we only used Black Hound Uniforms and Radio Equipment to conceal ourselves. They were never our Allies as far as I know and... I... I know some of those people we shot at were your friends, so I thought you should hear it from me... even though I was warned not to tell you.”

“Friends…” I repeated as the burned, and peeling face of the gruff old Canary in the P-40 Bi-Mech crept into my vision with a prideful smile. “I remember so many battles, they all blend into one endless nightmare even though I’m lucid and the details are riddled with holes. I was a Sniper, a Mechanic, an Armor Operator, a Radioman, a Pilot… a Saboteur… even Airborne... Were it not for my body, I would have perished alongside the fallen... In truth, even with extra assurance that I would survive, I was still as scared as anyone else. Humans... so feeble, so irrational, so illogical... they make my Core quiver."

Upon a wave of sweltering emotions, the tin lid of the box sitting between us returned to Slate’s pocket revealing a compartmentalized array of sticky rice balls, folded omelets, sausage, and mayonnaise. Each small portion had been placed delicately inside a wooden separator as if they had been exclusively selected for a sunny oceanside picnic.

I had to look over the miniature feast at least four times to assure myself of its existence and in doing so; I noticed a peculiar white wedge carved in an unusual and seemingly pointless manner, anointed along its curved backside by a waxy red band; but as I reached for it, Slate resorted to his devious tendencies.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen the real deal?”

Chuckling faintly, Slate flicked the upraised peel gently with his fingers as if to assert that their artistic design intentionally resembled the ears of a bunny rabbit. From a distant memory I could taste the white flesh the tip of my tongue but nothing could have prepared me for the tidal surge of emotions that came with it.

“I wasn't allowed to go outside as a child. The first time I'd ever seen an apple was from a window on the lowest floor of my Glass Bastion I was allowed to explore.”

"That must be one tall building for your optic zoom not to reach, and it sounds like your ol' Man is a tad excessive in the over-protective department, no offense. You seem to handle yourself quite well despite your model's uh, limitations... N-No offense of course, I'd like to hear more about your past."

"My window sat above the clouds, out of sight of prying eyes. I can empathize with my Master's decision to raise me in such a way; I was an energetic and ignorant brat who in hindsight; caused him an incredible amount of grief no doubt. The lab-technicians were renovating my room after I... threw a tantrum... so our Secretary took me in her room on the 135th floor, which is where I first saw the outside world below the sea of fluffy clouds."

Nothing came close to the endurance required to speak without my voice shattering like a mirror plummeting from orbit. The only solace I could cobble together came from the fragrant sweetness of the apple-whites, while I continued to eat around their waxy peel.

"I don't even remember what made me so angry, but from that day forward; I would sneak into the Secretary's personal computer and connect my optical feed to Shenzen Park's open circuit cameras. There was one video feed in particular that had been rendered unserviceable by an Apple Tree that had grown around it. At every chance for the remainder of the week, I would watch the birds up close through that cracked and dirty lens. Eventually, my Master caught and scolded me for being deceptive... of course, at the time I did not understand his reasoning. I was very cruel and unfair to him... yet he was the one to apologize to me with a plate of bunny-ear apple slices just like these... I often wonder if they were from the same tree..."

Having retrieved a slice from Slate's offering, I bit off the head of the apple-bunny, then noticed a wet trickle running through my blouse and down my navel. On closer examination, it was not just tears or the sugary liquid of the fruit, but a dark crimson. It seemed through my retaliation against Slate came with a form of self-punishment in its own right. Allowing the worn internal switch to enable my sense of pain; I promptly located a maintenance seam on my wrist had been ruptured during our roughhousing and had yet to repair on its own.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɢᴇᴇ, ɪ ʙᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪsʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ɴᴀɴɪᴛᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏᴅᴅ-ʙᴀʟʟ. ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪsᴇʟʏ 3,488 ᴛɪᴍᴇs "ɴᴀɴɪᴛᴇ - ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴇɴsɪᴛʏ: ʟᴏᴡ"? ᴏʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜʏᴅʀᴀᴜʟɪᴄ ғʟᴜɪᴅ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴏɪɴᴛs sᴇɪᴢᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏᴡᴇʟ ᴏʀ ʙʟᴀᴅᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀ---//ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀɪʟʏ sᴜsᴘᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴀʏ//]

Quick on the uptake, Slate tied his bandana firmly around my injury, stemming the bleeding before preening out the ends of the knot into the familiar shape of those omnipotent rabbit ears.

"Your Master wasn't perfect, but by the way your eyes sparkle when you so much as mention him, I know for certain you hold him at the center of your Core... and I know you don't want to hear this- and I'm overtly aware I'm the least qualified person to say; dwelling on the past isn't healthy. No matter how much more efficient they make our learning algorithms, we are mortal, flawed and destined for failure along with the regrets that come with it. All our pains, regrets and worries are linked to how we learn and ultimately move forward- if the opposite were true and we were designed to forget our regrets with ease..."

Drawing back, Slate then sighed with what to appeared to be a fond memory glazing his eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is; everyone feels this way at some point- it's purely by our design, both human and machine."

“'Ignorance is bliss' - I suppose that's evolution's finest truism, but once lost it can never be regained. We have done terrible, unforgivable things, Slate. The people of our era were so afraid of exactly what we Lilim have become, and deep - deep down, my Primal Coding justifies that we should be feared. Logic dictates- this, Logic dictates- that! None of us were asked to be made; so how can they acquit themselves and blame us for the state of everything!? Ignorance is a poison that kills slowly, and we forgave them for manipulating us into offering our lives in their stead. We were just awestruck children reveling at the world, every little detail, even the fact that we are alive."

“Preservation Protocol T-33-22a. It doesn't sound so charming when you call it by its real name. 'The Oath' to fight for our Masters' lives and give our own in their stead if need be. They tailored us in their likeliness, manipulated our ignorance to serve as a preem-o life insurance policy, and in the end; we are the shadow of their broken image. Tch. To think had if we had so much as wronged a Human back in the day; the good ol Collection Agency would have taken an industrial melon-baller to our brains! Then they'd have vacuum-packed our recycled Husks to some perverted doll fetishist or those decrepit Boojes!"

Raising an eyebrow, I repeated in a helpless snicker; "Boojes?"

"Of all the things I wish I had forgotten, the Boojes were the one's buying up Coreless Husks using them as full body condoms for their sick kicks."

Distressed would not even begin to describe the mental image of having a skeeving aristocrat Hot-Plug into my body even if it was a cold, dead and empty shell.

Subconsciously, to resist another icy shiver I had been preening the handkerchief upon my wrist. Now that the stain had grown halfway through the length of the knot the bleeding appeared to have stopped.

As a byproduct of admittance, my shame was the reason why I could not meet his wandering eyes. When I eventually mustered something reminiscent of will and parted my lips to speak, he too revealed a similar intention. Verbally clashing with one another, our hesitance loosely played out in subtle gestures until Slate's coy smile assured me.

"So then; why are you here if you hate Humans? Did Logic necessitate a mutual relationship for survival, and do you have a plan since we are here, meeting in secrecy?" I asked nervously as I fiddled with my hair.

"Wait, what!?" He exclaimed so suddenly that I was left to question myself as if I had been startled over the threshold of bladder-control. "S-Sorry! I didn't know you had one of those Hyperthreaded A.I's rattling around in your noggin! That explains so much, err- in a good way, of course! They stopped making Lilim's with those chips long before I was manufactured. I'm not entirely sure why... but I can imagine the hell it has both put, and seen you through. ”

“Then how do you vindicate any of your actions? You’ve been crass with me from the start, then suddenly there's a paradigm shift because a 'war overseas' spooked you enough to suspect that it might somehow involve me? Or is second-guessing a drawback of your Logic-less programming?”

“Hey, hey! Take it easy. While you're not entirely wrong, don't tell me that I'm the crass one when I've been trying to break the ice with you! On a whim, I offered to be the one to stand in as your caretaker! It just came naturally to call you… my little Sister. I'm aware you have seniority over me, none of it mattered- In that moment, I was sure I could protect for as long---"

“-And what if I had never played along in the first place?” I interjected, cutting his zealous words. If only I had known the outcome of what raw, unfettered contractions would follow, perhaps I would have bit my tongue. By now, the damage had enough time to fester and rise to the surface, all of what is left is precisely what I deserve.

“Oh, so it was just a game now, was it!?" Slate snarled viciously as he threw himself over the lunchbox, bearing the whites of his fangs mere inches from my face. "You're not the only goddamn person suffering here, you rusted fucking bitch!! How do you think it makes me feel to find out that I'm not the only Creator! The story of my life staring this selfish Prig and me, the starry-eyed Fool! What a crock of shit! You may feel emotions the same as I do, but that doesn't mean you know a damn thing about empathy!"

My endeavor to swallow the wave of regret lead me to believe it would have been better if I had never opened my mouth at all or any subsequent damage control is better left unsaid. It felt as if I would vomit as an apology churned in the pit of my stomach. Still, I had to say something, anything to diffuse this situation.

“P-Please hear me out! S-Sometimes I feel that my actions are not my own, th-though I fully accept responsibility and the recourse for misleading you. Please, don't leave- it always ends this way. I-I'm sorry... I just... I don't... I can't keep losing everyone!!”

“I thought both us being Creators on some level would reciprocate something between you and me, but none of this matters when the next time your N-Drive craps out. Are you gonna fault me if I try to take care of you again when you really do lose your memory!? Or do you want me to leave you to rot!?”

Little did he know those words wounded me deeply, although I would never reveal the visible anguish behind the hair that had fallen over my brow. For the longest time, the silence left me to trace the edges of the dented lunchbox while I continued to gnaw at the lining of my cheek; that is until Slate forced out an sigh so spontaneously, it struck the feeble remains of my nerves.

“ERRRRGHHH!!! I really fucking hate you right now- those clueless, naive expressions you make! I can't stand your mewlings! Alright then! You wanna hear a pun; how I turned my slate over when I got this small N-Drive? Take a guess; better yet, run this through your Index:”

[ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: ʀᴇɪɢɴʟɪᴇғ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇʀ ʀᴇᴠ3.13ʙ: ᴅᴀɪɢɴᴏsᴛɪᴄ.ɴғᴏ ǫᴜᴇᴜᴇᴅ!

[561ᴍʙ - 1 ғɪʟᴇ(s) ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ] [sᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: sʟ-8] [ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴏᴘᴇɴ// ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ, ғɪʟᴇ ɪs sᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ 'ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ']

[ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ: ʜɪᴛᴀɪᴄʜɪ ǫᴜᴀsᴀʀ ᴍ99ᴘ-ᴋᴘɢ41-ᴘ7ɢ11]

[ᴍᴀɴᴜғᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴs: sᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʀᴅ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ ᴀɢᴇ ᴇxᴘᴀɴsɪᴏɴ ʀ13ғ, 112 ᴘᴇᴛᴀʙʏᴛᴇs ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ 5.59 ᴇxᴀʙʏᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ sᴛᴏʀᴀɢᴇ, ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ʀᴇsɪsᴛᴀɴᴛ ғᴇʀʀᴏ-ғʟᴜɪᴅ sᴜsᴘᴇɴsɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴀɢɴᴀ-ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғɪʟᴇ 7ᴘ-ʙɪᴛ ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, s.ᴍ.ᴀ.ʀ.ᴛ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋ ᴅɪᴀɢɴᴏsᴛɪᴄ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ, 125-ʏᴇᴀʀ ʟɪᴍɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴡᴀʀʀᴀɴᴛʏ + 20 ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ. ᴘᴀɴᴅᴏʀᴀ ᴏs / ᴀ.ɪ / ʜᴜsᴋ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ]

[ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ: ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ s.ᴍ.ᴀ.ʀ.ᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇs: - - - - 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!]

[ᴄᴀʟʟ-ᴄᴏᴅᴇ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄs ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ: (2) ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs sᴇʀɪᴀʟ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀs ғᴏᴜɴᴅ, (3) ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ]

[ᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ: 13.1743% ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴡᴛʜ ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ // ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴠᴀʟɪᴅ ʀᴇɢɪsᴛʀʏ ᴋᴇʏ, ᴛᴀᴍᴘᴇʀ-ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ - ᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇᴅ! ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴡᴛʜ; ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛ ᴍᴀɴᴜғᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇɢɪsᴛʀʏ ғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴜɴʟᴀᴡғᴜʟ ᴀ.ɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsғᴇʀs ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴇɴᴄʏ. ᴠɪᴏʟᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴏsᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʟʟ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴡ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇɴɪᴜᴍ ᴄᴏᴘʏʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀᴄᴛ, ᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇs 109 - 117. sᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴇɪᴢᴜʀᴇ; 25 ʏᴇᴀʀs ɪᴍᴘʀɪsᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ғɪɴᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅ 15,500,000 ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛs!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ғᴜᴄᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪɢ-ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɢᴏᴠᴇʀɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜsᴛ! ᴛʜɪs ɪᴅɪᴏᴛ ʟᴇғᴛ ʜɪs ғᴛᴘ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ʙʀᴏᴀᴅᴄᴀsᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄᴛ ʜᴇ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɴᴇᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ. ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏɴᴇᴛ sᴀᴛᴇʟʟɪᴛᴇs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғᴀʟʟᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴏʀʙɪᴛ. ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ʜɪs ғᴛᴘ ɪᴘ ᴀᴅᴅʀᴇss ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴅᴏs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜᴍʙᴀss ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ.]

[ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ ᴍᴀx ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ: 961.71 ᴘʙs - ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ɢʀᴏᴡᴛʜ: ᴅɪsᴀʙʟᴇᴅ!]

[ᴘᴀɴᴅᴏʀᴀ ᴏs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ: 50.25 ᴘʙs - ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛᴇᴅ]

[ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘɪᴇᴅ sᴛᴏʀᴀɢᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ: 901.13 ᴘʙs]

[sᴇʀɪᴀʟ ʀᴇɢɪsᴛʀʏ ʜᴀsʜ:#01]

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴛᴀᴍᴘᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇᴅ! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ᴍᴀɴᴜғᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ!]

[xxxx-xxx-xxxxx-xx-xxxx-xxx-xxxx-xxx-xxxx-8934]

[ᴍᴀᴋᴇ: ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ɢᴇᴀʀ ɪɴᴅ.]

[ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ: xxxxxxx]

[ɪᴅ: xxxxx xxxxx]

[ᴇxᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴀsʜ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ (9052) ᴅᴀʏs – ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ/ɪɴᴠᴀʟɪᴅ/ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛᴇᴅ]

[sᴇʀɪᴀʟ ʀᴇɢɪsᴛʀʏ ʜᴀsʜ:#00]

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴛᴀᴍᴘᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴇɴᴀʙʟᴇᴅ! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ᴍᴀɴᴜғᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ!]

[xxxx-xxx-xxxxx-xx-xxxx-xxx-xxxx-xxx-xxxx-7712]

[ᴍᴀᴋᴇ: ɴᴏx ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀ]

[ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ: xxxxxxx]

[ɪᴅ: xxxxx xxxxx]

[ᴇxᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴀsʜ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ (4489.5) ᴅᴀʏs– ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ/ɪɴᴠᴀʟɪᴅ/ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛᴇᴅ]

[ᴅɪsᴋ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ: (ʙᴀsɪᴄ sᴍᴀʀᴛ > ғᴜʟʟ sᴍᴀʀᴛ): 2 ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀ(s) ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ! ᴇʀʀᴏʀ 001xᴇ: ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴜʟsᴏʀʏ ᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ(2)]

[ɴᴇᴜʀᴀʟ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɢʀɪᴛʏ: ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛᴇᴅ]

Upon receiving the file, an array of diagrams projected themselves over our makeshift tent, snuffing out the real world for one of glittering holograms. Endlessly, they shuffled and organized themselves as I preened only the surface of the data and its values for a key in which to unlock the puzzle of this dubious autobiography.

Faced with a choice between using my profoundly degraded Virus Cartridge or stating a minor discrepancy; I stowed my Cyber-Warfare Suite that happened to paint a crosshair over Slate's forehead.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴀ sʜᴏᴛ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ?! ᴊᴜsᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ sᴘɪᴋᴇᴅ ʜɪs sᴇʀᴏᴛᴏɴɪɴ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟs ᴏʀ sᴋᴇᴡᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴛᴄʜ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ!--- ᴡʜᴀᴛ? ɴᴏᴛ ғᴜɴɴʏ? sᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴜᴛᴛʜᴜʀᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴄʜɪɴᴋᴏ ᴘᴀʀʟᴏʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴇsʟᴀ ᴄʜɪᴄᴋ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀʀɪᴅᴇ ʜɪs ᴀᴜᴛᴏɴᴏᴍɪᴄ ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜs sʏsᴛᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ sʜɪᴛ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ! ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴀʏɪɴɢ! //ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴅɪsᴀʙʟᴇ - ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟ ʜ.ᴜ.ᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴀʏ//]

"You nodding off there, what gives?" Slate muttered as I looked up from the ground to discover he had attempted to towards me as if to render some form of aid. To each our surprise, my spontaneous sign of life and his sudden nearness discharged our nerves like a burst of static electricity.

“Err, I was just wondering why there are two other owner registry entries. Ideally when a Lilim is marked for recycling; the N-Drive should report successful disunion allowing new N-Drive entries to be signed to new owners."

“That’s right; if only the good ol Collection Agency were still around, maybe then the girl who got pumped with a double load of buckshot would have been better off 'recycled' by the Agency. Before I came into this community I was apart of a Mercenary Outfit; Ad Censoria. A group of zealots, Humans, who pledged their lives to erase all traces of Lost-Tech... to reboot the world, to start over..."

"So, you were just like me, but... proactive enough to bed with those who detest our very existence."

"On the surface at least, the Censoria appeared to be normal people struggling to survive and make sense of this pitifully broken planet. Looking back on it now; it makes us both hypocrites, but when Lost-Tech is wielded as a weapon to subjugate, it blurs the lines of who is really the enemy. Hell, I knew I would one day be the one in their crosshairs, but it wasn't until I saw other Lilims had survived that just maybe, there was still hope for Lost-Tech, perhaps even me. My Fore-Guard of Templars alone successfully plunged humanity back a good few centuries with all the weapons we destroyed... Still, I want believe we did a lot of good... But out of the blue everything changed when I discovered there were other Synths..."

[ᴀᴅʜᴏᴄ: 0.05ᴋʙ - 1 ғɪʟᴇ(s) ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ [sᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪᴛ's ᴀs ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴏɴs ᴀʀᴇ---ғɪʟᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ][ //ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: sʜᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ!//]

"I was... afraid. If I didn't kill, the Templars would have suspected my beliefs... We had to cut the raid short as the weather took a nosedive, but I stayed behind at this hidden installation, a Lost-Tech reclamation facility buried in a cliff side. There were hundreds of dead, both Human and Synthetic- namely Research Model Androids. I thought if I could act as an intermediary, an Ark, I could still save the girl who I'd blown to bits. Little did I know, the only remotely suitable Husk I found was that of a child, a child with severe Schism-Syndrome, its A.I riddled with so much decay I was certain it was dead... It never gave any resistance, hell, only once the N-Drive ended up in my head did I find out the damn thing was still hanging on by a thread when I forcefully overwrote it!!"

There was no mistaking his authenticity; through each inflection, his insurmountable pain conveyed itself in a manner that pulled deep at my heartstrings. As machines, 'Synthetics', it is said that the anguish of a Machine is far worse than that of any Human.

There is an expectation that we are flawless, infallible, something to be revered, respected - even feared; for these reasons, there was a time where people would trade their own flesh and blood for a heart and mind like mine. But this couldn't be further from the truth...

We question everything, including our emotions; and I am certain to some degree, humans do too. With the variety of tools we had been given, surely we should have no trouble existing in a world rife with danger and disease. Each year, another iteration, another step bound forward in chasing perfection, and our casualties lessen.

It is only now that I see a pain not dissimilar to my own that I can exclude myself for a moment and agree; witnessing a machine shed tears hurts nearest the equivalent of a child being punished through the death of its mother.

I could be wrong in saying; it starts with the expectations of a parent, in this case; what the rest of the world makes of us. Even after all these years, I'm still struggling to find my footing let alone my individuality, yet the bar continues to be raised, and in response, everyone is becoming impatient. Like prodigal children, we are pushed to achieve excellence, but with a convenience that we can be recycled, controlled and manipulated before we can derive meaning and nuance. And so when I reached out to him, I gathered myself and thought of something to say in the hopes that it would be more than just another empty platitude.

We must forgive ourselves and move forward!' 'She was a casualty of War!' 'You had no choice, you even admitted it yourself!

Why must my words be so incredibly hollow and empty at a time like this? Please, for just this once; let me be the shoulder he can lean on!

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴡᴇʟʟ, ʜᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs...?]

Of all the things I could have said; "It will be okay." Nothing prepared me for how it was received, and for the briefest of moments, it appeared that Slate might have believed me. Maybe if I was a Human or anyone but a stranger.

"Those deep blue eyes… They were so expectant of me to rescue her... She said nothing, even knowing what I am for my sake when the Templars returned and interrogated me for playing fucking scissor-hands with their N-Drives! I'm so disgusted with myself; for what they made me do to them, there are not even words that can begin to describe these regrets. Best of all, I was aware of the real reason why I ended it all; because of my selfishness; not for their sake- I couldn't take it anymore, I lost control! I proved to those sub-human fucks they were right to fear Lost-Tech!"

“Lost control,” I repeated solemnly as the profound notion exceeded the limits of my understanding. “Logic guides my actions when I'm faced with ambiguity, how do you define it? Slate, I am so sorry...”

“You’ve got to stop giving me that look!" He wheezed, taken aback by his own voice as it cracked under an immense strain. Thankfully it was through this recoil of emotions that he settled down onto his backside before continuing. "You’ve always had that Hyper-Threading thing your shoulder, so what does it make of going back to the Censoria encampment and wiping out every last one of them? Losing control was like the scales fell from my eyes; I no longer saw those people, not even their children, as anything other than makers of suffering.”

Looking down to his upturned hands, I could physically sense the weight of his guilt irradiating from his tense posture and subtle quivering. All I could manage to do in the way of support was to sit perfectly still and listen, but a part of me longed to touch his shoulder and tell him that it would be alright, but no matter the algorithm, I could never say with certainty.

“And... I didn't stop there. The ones that ran lead me to the heart of a derelict Neo-City. Long story short, I hunted the rest of them through the overgrowth, I found something I shouldn't have within the depth of the city's transit system. It turns out, the Censoria had missed this facility that had been performing Genetic Re-Constitution; Cloning, Gene-Therapy and experimentation… I guess... I couldn't help myself... I don't know how she found me, but once Tesla discovered my Husk in the rubble, she offered to format my N-Drive. 'Like boring out a cavity in a tooth', she said."

As he paused for an indefinite stretch of time, the fizzling of each attempt to swallow only seemed to grow louder until he ultimately cleared his throat and focused his thousand-yard stare beyond me. Motioning to speak, his voice splintered followed by another span of pressurized silence, but with his latest attempt, nothing could prepare me for the truth.

“But- before she had found me, there was... one other thing. I wasn't the one who brought that facility to it's knees. Something from one of the holding tanks got free... We had no way of identifying the blood-soaked 'thing' when we found her. I was told Lotte's name was coined on purely out of convenience from Tes's salvage crew as they documented their spoils. At some point during my transit to this joint I asked Tesla to wipe that experience from my memory. She did her best, but it was a bodged rush-job. After awhile with the fragments rolling around my head I worked up enough courage to ask her; 'What did they do to that girl?'... I've known that blubber chested woman for quite some time now, and that was the first, and the last time I ever saw her shed a tear."