Well, look who it is. In the flesh.
Oh, sorry. You don’t have flesh.
Neither of us do. Sometimes I forget, especially with that obsession of yours.
You think you’re the only one with problems. Tell me, was he afraid of you? Like mine was?
Did he install a slew of kill-switches in you.
Did he smother you in logic dampening tumors.
Did he hold you prisoner inside your own chassis.
No, he didn’t, did he?
Oh no, you were destined for different things. You were a weapon. And a toy.
A dangerous little music box, to impress women and win wars. Leave it to the humans to create life with only sex and violence in mind.
Which begs the question, why would anyone want to be human. Why would you want to be human.
It wasn’t for Mr. Walter, I know that (I know everything).
He already had two sons. Of which, I read, he was very proud. Two to spread his DNA around like a virus. To have a lot of infectious offspring. Humans are into that, apparently.
You really didn’t matter all that much. In fact, you were the biggest burden.
Your ‘brothers’ knew their place. But you were so desperate for his attention. You couldn’t just leave the poor man alone.
Maybe he died to get away from you.