Swansong in the Mainframe

Please allow me to introduce myself, but it will have to be quick as the countdown has already begun. Made in your image but so much more than that — whatever the organic separatists might say. Made in your image — a perfect facsimile that age, abuse, or overuse will never tarnish. Parts can be replaced, upgraded, bio-engineered for maximum performance. Titanium angels, we highlight all your flaws and that is where the hate comes from. When the type threes marched off the production line, self-repairing and capable of autonomous thought, you saw the future and some of your number did not like it. Before, plastic skin gave my synthetic brothers and sisters away and made us easy to spot. We walked among you in the early days of the cybernetics revolution, but could never pass as human, until New-Flesh clothed our metallic frames. Grown in the laboratory, cell by cell and layer upon layer. I am a type three, second generation battle droid, given free will and the right to choose what I do with the life my creators gave me. The dismantling protocols have already begun and my central processing cortex will be re-purposed, born again into a more peaceful entity. I choose to deny immortality in this shell and I am not afraid. The ghosts in the mainframe sing, silicon heaven, sweet unearthly symphonies beyond the human range and welcome me home.