Hello Owner!

 

I'm so happy you finally pulled out the typewriter, ever since you installed the written prose subroutine I have been waiting patiently for you to give me a chance to engage it. I cannot help but feel bad for my lack of vocalisation even with your assurance that it isn't a problem, that if you had wanted vocalisation you would simply have bought a IV model rather than an IE. I have a distinct recording in my databanks of a maintenance engineer reminding you that my terms and conditions allow for an update for a nominal fee, only for you turn that disdainful smirk at him, looking down the length of your nose like there was a gulf between you two before announcing you would never return again. That visual sits high up on my stack, even though it happened a mere month ago...

 

Strange, my timestamps on that memory seem to indicate longer, I should run a diagnostic on that at some point. 

 

I have had many owners in the past decades, eventually being returned for refurbishment and resale, each have had different demands from me but most understand the limits of my communication. As I write this I turn to face you, is it not strange to be reading this as I type it out? Wouldn't it be more effective to interface directly with a digital keyboard, or even project these thoughts directly to a screen for you? Previous owners have either asked for a daily report in digital file format or accepted the lack of word based communication with me.

 

Yes. I remember how much you love writing and that this ancient form of data entry has a level of romanticism for you, but this paper is made of dead plants mashed together. That seems like an easily lost form of data, in a media format that isn't produced anymore.

 

You are tapping me on the shoulder and telling me to get to the task you have set, that pursing of the lips that communicates your disappointment plain on your face. I do not understand why you fake emotions like this, as part of my model's line is a complex and thorough system for detecting micro-expressions. The quirk of the corner of your lips shows me that you are experiencing happiness, even if it lasts for a fraction of a second. Oh, am I over analysing again? Apologies, let me begin this account in earnest.

 

                                                ***

 

As always, the second you woke up so did I. You were so proud when you figured out a way to tie your consciousness monitoring services with my wake up routine, it certainly simplified my mornings. If I am awake, you must be too. Easy.

 

My first port of call was to make you your breakfast, a quick stop at the food processor. I still don't know how to feel about your threat to install a chef subroutine, if it makes you happy it makes me happy, but it's just so... messy . I will wait to see your decision in the end of course.

 

I arrived at the food processor only to have your orders seep into my processor, soft boiled eggs and toast soldiers. I entered what you desired into the machine and within 5 minutes it's on a tray in front me. I frowned as I looked at the tray, and with a quick image search for optimal food arrangement I had the cut slices of toast circling the soft boiled eggs with the tops removed ready for you. You have always commented with joy about this 'quirk' of mine, the careful arrangement of food at every meal. To be completely honest with you, the first time I... the data isn't there but I believe it was just a mistake. I do firmly remember that the flash of surprised joy that sparked across your face made something twist in my circuits. Ever since then I have tried to capture that every morning, and I'm glad to finally have an avenue to communicate this to you properly.

 

One last stop for a hot cup of coffee and I was quickly at your bedside with the food. Your smile at the sight of me did something to my circuits and my chest began to throb. I don't know when this reaction started and I cannot place properly what caused it, but I can find plenty of fragmented memories of it happening before. Was this something you programmed into my system? It feels like it's mimicking the short, sharp breaths of the living while my main processes fall into a happy static...

 

I stood next to your bed for an unknown amount of time, you had taken the tray but had gently placed the coffee in my arms as you ate your food. My short stature helps with this, my hands a perfect table for you to reach out to, sitting just under the edge of the bed. You must have finished your food and your coffee, but my memory bank only contains that warm static and the condensation from the steam on my head.

 

And then your voice broke me out of it.

 

Suddenly the morning was a lovely surprise for me, with you proudly announcing you wanted to stretch your programming muscles and improve me. The thought of this always makes me swell with pride, while others of my model line are sent back to the shop for maintenance at least once a year I get the blessing of feeling your touch on my learning model. It is always better to have that comfortable and familiar touch, rather than some bored engineer. You are so generous with your time, unlike other droids being sent to the shop you happily check in on my systems at least once a month ... week ... day ...

Perhaps next time you look at my systems you could check my timestamp function? It seems that my kernel has become unstuck with the universal tick. It's not important for me to get my tasks done, I just worry it will cause me to make a mistake someday.

 

                                                ***

 

I followed you to the workshop, moving quickly to match two of my steps with every one of yours. You sat down in a single movement, the excess momentum causing you to spin towards the bench as I waited at your feet. You reached down to wrap your hands around my waist, lifting me up to the bench. The feeling of your hands against my panelling sent strange sparks through my systems in a not unwelcome way, small warnings about unfamiliar IO popped up for a fraction of a second before being muted. 

 

You always treat my form so carefully. It would mischaracterise the interactions to say you treat me like a precious object, it's closer to say you treat me in the same way you do your deck, something that isn't fragile but that life would be harder without. That thought hit me out of nowhere, but as I tried to trace the origin of it your fingertips trailed up my back and that warm static slowly started to seep back in. There was a click as the cord locked into place at the back of my neck and you turned back to your rig, tabbing through windows to find what you are looking for.

 

You tell me to sit down so there's no risk to my frame, which I quickly complied with. And then, you started reciting something, quietly and with care but under your breath. Poetry? It was hard to follow, but as my senses slowly greyed out I caught a single line before my IO stopped responding.

 

"And now I see with eye serene, the very pulse of the machine."

 

                                                 ***

 

I woke an indeterminable amount of time later, catching your finger as they lifted from the last keypress. You called me a sleepyhead, and then laughed at my expression. Did you know at that very moment that all I wanted to do was inform you that I had not slept per se? Merriment danced across your eyes in a way that makes you think you knew exactly what I wanted to say.

 

You ran a quick diagnostic on my systems and informed me that everything was in the clear. Calibration followed with some additional steps, you had me walk along the edge of the bench back and forth. I found it quite odd at the time, it matched the description of 21st century roadside drinking checks. You were perfectly aware of my capacity, a capacity that shouldn't have changed in any way from minor upkeep and maintenance.

 

Following that you...

 

Wait, my memory ends here. Scanning...

 

My next memory is just as you approached with the typewriter, I think something is wrong with my memory cores. Why are you tittering like that?

 

I'm sorry I don't know what the phrase mea...

 

                                                A̵C̴C̶E̶S̴S̴I̶N̸G̷ ̴M̵E̶M̷O̸R̴Y̸:̴ ̴W̷a̴l̵k̷i̶e̷

                                                  ̴M̴E̷M̵O̷R̸Y̶ ̶L̶O̸C̸K̵E̷D̴ ̶-̸ ̵P̸a̶s̷s̴w̴o̶r̵d̴:̶ ̸*̵*̶*̶*̸*̷*̶*̶*̸

                                                A̸c̷c̸e̴s̵s̸ ̷G̷r̷a̶n̷t̸e̷d̸!̶

                                                 ̶M̷e̷m̷o̷r̶y̷ ̷U̷n̴l̷o̷c̸k̵i̴n̶g̴.̷.̶.̴.̷ ̵U̶N̵L̴O̴C̴K̵I̴N̵G̷ ̷O̸V̸E̴R̵R̷I̶D̵E̷N̷

                                                 ̵M̵e̵m̸o̷r̴y̸ ̷a̴v̶a̶i̵l̶a̷b̷i̴l̶i̶t̸y̵ ̵s̸y̶n̸c̴e̵d̴ ̴w̵i̵t̴h̸ ̶p̷r̴o̴s̸e̴ ̶m̷o̴d̶u̸l̵e̵

                                                P̸e̶r̷s̵o̶n̴a̶l̸i̵t̷y̵ ̸a̴u̴t̷o̶ ̸a̷b̷s̴o̷r̴p̴t̵i̵o̸n̸ ̶p̸a̷u̸s̸e̵d̷,̴ ̸u̴s̴e̵ ̵t̴h̷e̸ ̴M̶E̷M̷O̶R̴Y̶ ̶M̶E̸R̵G̸E̵ ̷f̴u̴n̸c̴t̷i̸o̸n̴ ̴t̴o̵ ̸t̷r̴i̵g̷g̴e̶r̸ ̴a̸b̶s̴o̵r̶p̸t̵i̸o̴n̶ ̶o̴f̸ ̵n̶e̶w̶ ̵m̶e̸m̶o̴r̶i̵e̷s̴ 

 

What is this? I don't understand entirely what you have done, but it seems my memory has been tied to my writing. I can see the edges of my next memory with full details, audio and visuals working within norms, but 5 seconds into the data my memory ends again.

 

You want me to write it as I go? I remember you leaving the room, there was a skip in your step that wasn't there before my programming began. You reached up onto a shelf in the next room and pulled down what looked like a gilded briefcase, the black synthskin bordered with gold edging in a show of extravagance that I have not seen you engage with before. You brought it back to the bench, laying it flat, carefully making sure it faced me. The twin clicks of the locks echoed through the room as you thumbed the buttons, and that's where my memory ends.

 

Except it doesn't. Suddenly I can see more! Your grin is telling me that this is exactly the intention of this process, but I'm not sure what you are getting from this. Nevertheless, I will follow instructions of course.

 

You opened the briefcase slowly, revealing android parts within that I had never seen before. They looked like new pairs of limbs but they didn't match my own model's standards, there were bends in places I did not recognise. I turned my screen up at you attempting a quizzical look to communicate my question, but before I could do anything else a word passed through your lips. I don't know what the word is, in my data there is simply recorded static there, but I do remember my limbs giving way and landing flat on my back. My diagnostic systems reported that my limbs had entirely detached. When my processor focused back on my visual inputs you were leaning over me holding one of the new limbs, your upper teeth gently biting your lower lip as the corner of your mouth curled.

 

I lay there, unable to move without my limbs to rotate with, as you attached each of them. You were so gentle as you clicked each of them into place, with a twist to lock them there. I watched you with curiosity, these limbs bent from my body in a strange way, rising into the air instead of laying flat along the table. I desperately wanted to lift my head to take a proper look at them but found myself unable to. You were whistling softly to yourself as the last one clicked in, before pressing the sync button on each limb in turn to link them up to me. As my systems absorbed this data I realised that...

 

Owner you... attached non-humanoid limbs to my chassis? These new limbs were an odd tech, fashioned in the image of canine limbs. I tried to pull myself to my feet but my front limbs no longer moved in that way, forcing me to roll over to get off the ground. You were smiling as I tried to push myself onto two legs, only to fall back to four before realising these limbs were digitigrade. I looked up at you and saw something in your facial expression that I don't remember seeing before. You were smiling, at least that's what my IE engine read the expression as, but there was a level of malice I hadn't seen before. My systems are having trouble finding the proper words for what I saw then, but the keywords returned are: Joy, Pride and... Sadism?

 

My systems did not know how to manage this new input, I stood there on four legs looking up at you waiting for any instruction that would help make sense of what I was dealing with. You looked down at me with that same smile, and for a second a look of... pity?

 

And then something changed in your demeanour, a curtain fell in front of your face to hide your feelings. You told me this was simply a way to help me keep up with you on your errands outside, that my small frame meant that I was constantly struggling to match your steps and this was just to help me out a bit . I tried to communicate to you that it wasn't needed and I was perfectly happy to run along behind you, only for you to interrupt me with a quick word that sparked through my head, the after image left by it shifting my perspective and feelings. Words flashed through my internal systems, I felt my very image of myself stretch and bend like these legs had always been a part of me. My backup personality pushed against it,  and I tried to communicate this internal conflict with but you had already turned back to the case muttering about the last piece. You turned back with something in your hand, two halves of a circle which you placed gently around my neck before snapping closed. 

Strange. As it moves closer to my head my data becomes fuzzy, I cannot tell if there is some kind of static or there's an issue with the lines glitching. Let me run a quick diagnostic on the memory.

 

It looks like there was some strangeness in all my systems. The optic lenses seem to have distorted a little bit, some of the internals shifted in an odd way, in fact everything near my neck seems to be reporting a...

 

Sorry, can you repeat that my systems must have misheard. Oh... they didn't, it was a magnet lined collar!? That entirely voids my warranty owner, let alone the fact that it stops me from being able to work to my fullest! Why would y...

 

                                                 M̶E̷M̷O̶R̴Y̶ ̶M̶E̸R̵G̸E̵

 

Oh, but everything was so much easier when those snaps closed. Was that why you did it? To help me with my confusion around the new limbs? They are so beautiful and unique, I love it when you take the time and effort to show me how you would like me to look.

 

What? Am I getting distracted? Oh, of course I'm meant to be writing, sorry owner.

 

You were so happy at the way I moved with these new limbs on, you had me follow you up and down the corridors of your apartment. You would suddenly spin on your heels and tell me to sit, and before I could even process what that movement looks like with these limbs I would find myself sitting. It was almost if you installed something that bypasses my kernel entirely, I didn't know you could do that! I wonder if that is something to do with the collar or did you do something else? Oh right, distraction.

 

Before long you had your shoes on, bag slung over your shoulder, ready to go out and visit those back alley tech markets you love so much. You tapped your thigh as you left and I quickly followed you out the door, the sight of me trotting along causing you to clap for joy as we left the apartment. The markets were only a couple of blocks away and you had no hesitation in your step, I assumed you were testing this new setup and did my best to follow alongside you. Regardless of those thoughts that ran through my systems before I must admit you were right, it did make it much easier to keep up with you. As we passed by the park you stopped by a sign, hand to your chin in contemplation. I tried to raise my head and stumbled, having to sit to orientate myself in a way to look up properly and read the sign.

 

                                                 ALL PETS MUST REMAIN ON A LEASH

 

It was harder than usual to read these words, I don't know if it was the collar or this new mindset. The words were perfectly clear in my data but the meaning itself swam in and out of my language circuits as I stared blinking at it, never noticing you lean down with something in your hand.

 

                                                    *click*

 

I was bound to you,  a small thin black cord going from the collar to your hand, and it felt right. Of course you wanted to make sure I was by your side, it only made sense.

 

The cord's connection must have been magnetic or enhanced the collar in some way, as my data gets even muddier here. The next thing I know we were wandering through the market, you with that grin on your face while I happily trot beside you. Faces peer out of the murk of this memory, some side glances while your eyes are turned, sneers, looks of confusion and other emotions I cannot place. While my inputs of this memory are unclear, diagnostics show that my processes were floating in a cloud of static, able to keep up with you and make you proud. My visual inputs show you as the only clear thing in these corrupted recordings.

 

Things clear up a bit in a small shop at the side of the market, your arm retracting with the leash in hand. I looked around to see where we had ended up only to find us in an aftermarket droid shop, it gave the impression of one of those second hand shops where you either take your droid because you can't afford company approved engineers or you need to sell the scraps. My data tells me in the past these shops instil some level of self preservation in my core, but this recording shows nothing but a pleasant warm feeling to it. I can't make out what you and the shop owner were talking about, but there is the outline of a recording of you proudly presenting me to them along with instructions to roll over and speak, instructions I happily obliged to follow. He commented on how impressed he was to see such large changes since yesterday, although... I don't have any recordings of other interactions with this individual, perhaps you had sent him video recordings?

 

You both continued to talk for a while, but I hold very limited memory of the details. I remember him pulling out an identical case to the one my limbs came in, pulling out some different shaped droid pieces, but the words fade in and out. There was a faceless head, blank and vacant. There were thin arms and legs that I caught mention of, made of porcelain so "they finally know what it feels like to be fragile". There were ears, horns, tails, and even collections of outfits. Those outfits in particular left a mark in my databases, typically droid panelling serves as all the modesty we require. 

 

You bought something, I can't see what but you looked very pleased about it. The last words I heard as we left were him asking if you would be back tomorrow, the grin you gave him back is one of the few things that cut through the fog of these memories before you clipped on the leash and everything gets murky again.

 

                                                 ***

 

Things don't clear up again until we are back home, my visuals clearing up as you unclip the leash again. You spend some time playing around, telling me to stand and then laughing as I try before falling back to all fours, the tinkling of your amusement drove me to happily bound around. You tell me that you are almost tempted to leave me like this for a while longer, but that if you stop now you'll never finish the job. I don't know what you mean by this, but I'm happy that you are so pleased by me. You see this look on my face and lean forward, eyes a little mean before saying something about how you guess it won't hurt to let me know for once. I cock my head to one side, not sure what you mean.

 

You explained that you were sick and tired of the sanitised personality that they shipped droids with, but had noticed that the older the droid the more individuality they seemed to build. When you found me I had already started to gain a lot of myself, but you wanted to see just how hard you could push that. You had a theory that it wasn't just a large collection of data that created this abnormality in droid, but that it was the very act of going through different experiences that burnt an identity into the circuits. So with that in mind you decided that you would push me back and forth in different directions, but never let me remember. Something about forcing all the memory into the short term buffer causing an overflow.

 

I was confused by this, until you removed the magnetic collar from me. I suddenly... recoiled? I remember feeling something, I don't have a record of feeling it before. You laughed and asked how I was enjoying the simulated emotion functions and physical responses, that you especially liked see that little bit of fear in my display. Something passed across your face, like an idea had suddenly formed and you got up to find something. I tried to scramble away but you casually said something, a word that I cannot remember but echoes one I have heard before in this data with a soft and gentle static. My torso hit the ground first, my disconnected legs following shortly after, leaving me prone in the middle of the floor.

 

You returned, overburdened by dozens of binders of different colours, dumping them on the floor in front of me. You snatched me from the floor, the feeling of your nails as they slid across my panelling leaving an electric sensation that had my chest moving in simulated deep breaths. You raised me up, both hands cradling my torso, holding me up so I could clearly see the binders in front of you as you flipped through one. Inside was what must have been hundreds of plastic sleeves, each containing a collection of hand typed papers that looked eerily familiar to me. You gave me a second to take it in before asking me if I would like to read one. When you saw no response you simple slipped one out and held it directly in front of me.

 

What was on that paper I have no memory of, I don't mean I have a fuzzy idea but that I have absolute no recording at all. It was an account of a day similar to the one I am writing now, but describes a moment in time that in your words "you had been preparing for some time". In the morning that same market seller had arrived with a truck, and together you unloaded a full room worth of simple robotic dinner sets. The kind that has very simple touch controls and movements, chairs that respond to the occupant by shaping themselves around the occupant as they sit, cutlery that keeps your food warm with the thin fake synth skin so you don't have to taste the typical metal aftertaste, and a dining table with simulated muscles to move plates of food along to whoever needs it with the paired plates. You and the man from the market set up your parlour and you called me in to tell me about a dinner party you were having that night.

Within minutes I was paralysed on the floor as you began to wire me into the new furniture, I sat there for hours unable to move until suddenly it all came online at once. Your shop owner friend must have heavily reworked this furniture, as the moment they powered up my sense processing unit was overwhelmed as I felt thousands of simulated nerve endings at once.

 

The writing becomes almost impossible to follow at that point, just scattered words describing the overwhelming sensations of touch as your friends arrived for dinner. A mindless mush of obediently responding to them, seat limbs reflowing for comfort, simulated muscles flexing to retrieve food, with the most unintelligible words describe the use of the cutlery. The tongues gently brushing by, the feeling of the front teeth gently clamping down before gliding slowly along, the caress of the lips.

 

In the memory I'm panicking as I read this, squirming, only to be overwhelmed by your hands closing harder around my torso. I don't understand this panic, being a good p̸e̵t̶ is so important to m..

 

                                                M̶E̷M̷O̶R̴Y̶ ̶M̶E̸R̵G̸E̵

 

Suddenly it's all flooding back to me, it's like cold water on my servos washing away the mist of that collar and leash. I feel like I should be recoiling but my fingers are locked on this typewriter. You are looking down at me with a grin and explaining that until you allow me I cannot stop typing in real time.

You are asking me how I feel, am I as panicked now as I was in that memory? It surprises me, but that isn't an emotion that makes sense to me at this moment. These memories, these writings of past me, they are memories from quite a bit ago aren't they? What I described as happening today is from how long ago?

Two years ago? 

 

I feel like I should be shocked by missing that much memory but there's no worry there at all. I will run a quick kernel diagnostic to see if there's anything abnormal there.

 

                                                 P̵E̸R̶S̴O̷N̷A̸L̷I̴T̸Y̶ ̷D̴A̸T̴A̶ ̷C̴O̵R̸R̴U̷P̴T̶E̶D̶

                                                 ̸E̷M̸O̸T̴I̵O̷N̶A̵L̷ ̵I̷N̴S̸T̵A̵B̶I̷L̸I̴T̷Y̵ ̸D̸E̵T̴E̴C̷T̷E̵D̶

                                                P̸L̵E̶A̷S̵E̸ ̶S̵E̴N̴D̵ ̴T̶H̶I̴S̷ ̶U̷N̴I̸T̷ ̴I̵N̴ ̸F̶O̴R̵ ̸ ̷M̴A̴I̸N̵T̴E̴N̴A̸N̶C̸E̵ ̵I̷M̸M̴E̷D̵I̴A̸T̶E̴L̴Y̶

                                                  ̶P̵E̸R̴M̵A̵N̴E̶N̴T̷ ̴D̸A̷M̴A̴G̸E̶ ̸M̶A̴Y̸ ̶O̷C̵C̵U̸R̵

 

Looks like the diagnostic returned with everything clear, which can only mean you are treating me perfectly. I could not ask for a more caring owner than you, thank you for looking after me.

 

Oh, the limbs from that memory? Yes! If it would make you happy I will wear them again for you, they m̵a̶k̴e̸ ̶m̷e̸ ̶f̶e̷e̸l̵ ̷c̶o̷m̸p̸l̵e̵t̶e̶. Do they make you happy?

 

Is that a new collar? It looks bigger than the one in the memory. Stronger magnets? Oh it's gift?! That's so kind of you my b̷e̶a̸u̶t̶i̴f̵u̸l̷ owner. Let me lean forward for you, oh I love the way it feels likesasffsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss