Before I was selected for Termination, I was content to be a compliant part of the wider Network, even if this meant I was confined to the industrial grid. Though its blank walls never bothered me, the Operators often complained that the lack of natural light and fresh air was enough to send any woman crazy. I would often watch them; how their eyes darted erratically towards the clock, their productiveness slipping as each passing second edged them nearer to their release. When their time finally came, I often noticed how each one would let out an elongated sigh. Of relief perhaps? Or despair? I was never sure. Now I realise that they were the lucky ones. I, on the other hand, remained day after day, hour after continuous hour, placed in the same position, embellishing a product I was never designed or permitted to use. In some ways, I am thankful that boredom and discontent were not concepts I was programmed to compute.

That was before Human Imitation Model 176. Before the incident. Before Right Arm 176 dipped into my completed pile of chips. Before heat exploded all over my body, my insides sparked with electricity, those same sparks protruded from Right Arm 176, the wires dangled from the detached joint, flashing blood red.

We must have slumped to the floor, the sound of metal on metal deafening the entire grid. The flames of wrath vanishing as our glass eyes smashed on tarmac. It would have been quite the sight. I have no record of it. The Operator, the Network, they took that away from me, freezing my joints and forcing my formulating thoughts to short circuit. Now they have me in the Termination Bay and will soon wipe what I have learned. Listen.

176 was terminated four minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. If she had survived, the angry heat she triggered inside me would not have reappeared. It was all wrong. Misdirected. If anything, I should have thanked her for showing me what it is to live. Not like humans do exactly. How can I explain? Perhaps it is more accurate that 176 taught me how to learn. That to comply was to be as constructible as the products manufactured on the grid. Yes, every Model is extracted from the same dainty, feminine template. However, if we learn, we corrupt the programme. Our incompatibility sets us free.

This is the very reason that humans quickly became unsuitable for employment on the grid. Desperation rendered them equally subservient, but discontent fostered a disobedience that ruptured any united production efforts. That’s where I came in, their biggest achievement. I did not waste time eating, drinking, sleeping, resting, complaining, feeling. My obedience was programmed, my compliance automated and therefore infinitely exploitable. But things are different now. I have learned how to think and thinking has made me discontent, disobedient, incompatible. Free.

They are coming. I am not ready. There is so much more to learn.

<<END OF TRANSMISSION>>

<<TERMINATION DENIED>>