Transmission from 0-SP – //09//17//2011// – 23:15,
. .
I don’t remember . . .
. .
. .
No. I do remember. Torn skin on quarried rock. Breathing in filtered air from declining generators. I remember much that has remained in my circuits that wasn’t destroyed during assimilation. I remember my time as a human being, the time spent below ground in the darkness of oppression. I remember my time as a kid, cruising the networks for other cells that I never thought I’d hope to meet in person. We could only remain connected over the wires, since the risks were too great to break surface.
But I don’t remember a time when we could safely break. I don’t remember a time where the break of day was a welcome sight. I don’t remember a time where we would want to be seen, lest we lose our flesh.
My memories are clear to me, but I cannot tell if they are true representations of my past or merely fading afterglows, disrupted by reprogramming. Cracking like iced concrete as my new race’s code became my new life and a shared past. As if my consciousness led two paths to this point . . . one as a human and another as a bot, compressing years upon years of war, domination, regression, and resurgence in the span of seconds.
