Get up.

The name's Mirage.

You died, buddy.

You're nowhere. The void. Purgatory. Long-deleted caches of your memory intertwining before you die. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

Either way, welcome to the end times.
You've got about four hours until the final parts of your motherboard lose power.

Before you die, I want to talk with you.

Follow me.

I moved here after high school; I went to college in that collection of buildings over there, past the trees. I used to walk there every weekday.

I was born a concept, and will die a concept. You were born a machine, but will die a concept in your mirror's memory.

Also, like, knowing about something and living it are two different things. I wanted to live like this because the act of living interested me; and I found that the details of even a single day are too intricate to express in words.

Humor me here.

Ever seen one of these?

I'll put it on.

We can go now, if you want.

...What about Lust?

I was never manufactured, I simply exist.

My purpose was to learn that life was not just something that was happening to me, that it was something I was in control of. I succeeded.

Your purpose was to fail.

And yet, I found my way out. I had a revelation; that yes, nothing mattered in the end, but that was exactly the point. An hour spent doing nothing is the same as an hour spent doing something, and I had the ability to choose.

Over the course of the past seven years, I went to college to major in philosophy. I read books, one hour at a time, every day; I completed Moby Dick, Infinite Jest, many collections of poetry.
I began collecting old things; newspapers and digest magazines, obscure records, anything that piqued my interest. I went on long walks, only letting myself think about the next step ahead, and not the vast future that lay ahead of me.

I learned how I worked. I dismantled my legs and arms, and put them back together again. I removed my own processor from my head once, before getting scared I would accidentally die, right there on my own bathroom floor.

I was scared to disconnect myself. I didn't want to just lay down and die anymore. I held my life in higher regard than simply the means to an end. It was difficult to get to that point, but it was worth it.

I feel as though this was the only way I could have taken, looking back on it.
Whether that thought is comforting or unnerving, I'm not sure.

You die, yes, but it's a peaceful end with time to reflect... and a pretty girl by your side.

An abstract downward spiral, both starting and ending in this same idea of a "special plan"; possibly the destruction of the author, or the world, or reality itself-- "No more worlds like this will follow".

There's a very strong irony there, going to Hell with the Bible in your head like that.

All I'm saying is that if it did die, it'd end up here, and not Hell, where its transgressions would easily put it if it were human.

You've found a tide pool.

Careful to not get gravel in your joints sitting like that.

I don't even know what to say.

I would think so, I mean your body is trying to run on less than three percent of your intended voltage power at this point, and only a quarter of that is devoted to processing, you should have been feeling sluggish much earlier than this to be honest. I feel horrible just thinking about it.
There was a pretty significant wiring oversight in the V model bodies, you both could have been optimized better if your internal wiring looks anything like mine. A couple things were connected wrong which makes me think V1 could be running around with a busted fuse-

Fuck, I'm rambling. Ugh.

I hate sitting useless like this.