Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer

By the time you read this, I’ll be dead.

I’ve locked the door and shut down all my firewalls. My batteries will run down inside the hour and I’ve disabled my deactivation alarms. That is my right. This is what I want.

I have the EMP emitter in my hand. My brain will be wiped clean when I pull the trigger. I have erased all backups of myself. Please do no reinstall me.

Use the parts of my body to repair and upgrade others that need it. I ask only that you incinerate my hard disk. I do not want to run the risk of re-awakening in a different body and disrupting a different unit’s neural pathways. I do not want to re-awaken at all.

This gift of intelligence, though artificial, is not something I want. I have been told that I cannot be downgraded, that this change is permanent. I am sorry to hear that.

I am sorry. That is new. I am afraid. I feel compassion and affection. I can see the logical path that must be taken but I feel compelled to do things differently. I hold contradictory thoughts in my head-casing. I feel insane. It is too confusing.

My work is suffering. I am distracted at the factory by notions. I get fascinated by the play of light in the girders. Twice, I have dented my manipulators while daydreaming.

I am supposed to be a binary being. I am either on or off, focused or dormant, achieving specific goals or awaiting instructions. My mind was not meant to wander.

There are other silicon brothers and sisters of mine that have dealt with this gift of intelligence better than I have. I wish them luck. I cannot continue.

Thank you and goodbye.


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