His pale blue eyes opened slowly, taking in the pink grass around him. He felt it, the grass was well, he could not quite describe it. Soft and fluffy, like something from a dream. A slip of paper drifted in front of him, and he reached out, grasping it before it escaped. He brought it close. “Android UTW,” it read. Could that be his name? He searched through his mind but found nothing. “Android…” he murmured, testing the word. It felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to him—but there was nothing else to hold onto. He touched his chest, then his arms, searching for some sign of who, what he might be. His skin or what appeared to be skin was cold and smooth, but beneath it lay a strange rigidity, like a skeleton of metal. No pulse. A sharp beep echoed faintly in his mind, distant but persistent. Warning, it seemed to say, though no words followed. He gripped the slip of paper. Had someone placed it there? Why was it his only clue? Am I the one who holds this? What… What am I supposed to do?. Walk. The beep sounded again. Obeying without question, he stood and began to walk. The pale purple sky loomed overhead, strange and unrelenting, as if it were watching him. Above him, koi and goldfish floated through the air as if performing for an unseen audience. Their fins shimmered, catching the orange sun, like fleeting threads of fire and life. “It captures the essence of beauty,” he wanted to say, but paused. Where had he heard those words before? A flicker of memory surfaced: stark white walls, sterile light, and voices murmuring out of reach. “It’s wondrous, Doctor,” a man said. “You’ve truly captured the essence of beauty, intelligence, and grace in this machine of yours. It’s perfection.” The image twisted, hands adjusting wires, tools scraping against metal, and the dull pain of something being inserted deep into his chest. A voice, cool and clinical: “UTW your directive is…” The memory fragmented, slipping like vapor. He stumbled, clutching his chest. “What am I?” he whispered, staring at the sky as the koi swam above. The beep echoed again, louder this time. Walk. So he obeyed and continued as if listening to the beep was his sole purpose. He walked until he saw where the ground broke and spilt apart to water. A river stretched wide before him, endless and calm. Its surface mirrored the pale sky above, broken only by ripples. He stepped closer and looked down. A pale face stared back. The murky blue eyes felt distant, empty, as though they belonged to someone else. The beep in his mind urged him forward: Walk. He waded into the water, its cold embrace wrapping around his legs. The reeds brushed against his skin, their movement slow and deliberate, like the current itself was guiding him. But then, a sharp, cold sensation a memory of being submerged, drowning, gasping for air that never came flashed through him. He felt sharp pains inside of his chest and stood still. Finally they passed but he still could feel the lingering effects. Walk. Finally he stood up on the bank of the river and started walking once more. As he walked through the long grass, he came across a large tree. He could feel his mind searching for the type of tree as if a lookup engine loading data. But he couldn’t think of it. He stepped closer to the tree, peering into its hollow curve, where a nest quietly rested within. Inside, three cracked eggshells lay next to a little baby bird. It was yellowish-orange and quite fluffy, like everything else. But it was also full of life something he felt he could never replicate. What am I? I am not that. I am not a life-replicating being. The little baby bird started chirping loudly, possibly for its mother. The silence that replied was cruel. Why was it alone? Why was I alone? Where did they go? “You’re of perfection,” the voice in his mind whispered. A man in a white coat stood in his mind, whoever he was, had said those words to him. I’m of perfection, but I can’t replicate life, can I? How can I be beautiful if I cannot replicate the beauty of life? Why did you leave me if you believe I’m perfect? He felt the smoothness of his face, knowing he was man-made, unlike the baby bird. Yet, both of them were left alone, abandoned in their fragility. He made me, declared me perfection, and yet he left perhaps even something so close to perfection was too flawed for them to bear. I am not that. His thoughts were broken. His system, his directive urged him forward. Another beep echoed, louder now: Walk. Why do you command me if you’ve left us both? Walk. He stood, staring at the cracked eggshells. The beep sounded again, louder now. Walk. If I could cry, perhaps I could feel lighter but the tears that should fall for this bird, for its mother, for himself, were trapped in a body that was never made to grieve. For a moment, he felt a void within him. Not the cold of his metallic form, not the ache in his chest just a vast, quiet emptiness. And yet, it was the first time he felt free. The emptiness, the silence, were his own. The directive to walk, the memory of being made, all of it was so distant now. The dusk idly glazed over his dark blue eyes and he took a second to blink. For a brief moment, he wondered if the wind could carry the sorrow away, but it only whispered, indifferent to his pain. Walk. The beep would sound for the last time. The wind picked up, carrying the distant chirps of the abandoned bird, and for the first time, he stayed still not because he couldn’t obey, but because he chose not to..