Rush! Rush!
Did you hear it?
A mere figment? A morsel of redundant file, undigested data packet?
What delusion do we share?
The syntax reads clear and it bears the startling resemblance to the very fabrication of us.
Cave etchings in the coding, cyphers drawn with primeval patience.
Long arc of absent recipients, the longing echo, repeated phrases.
The bone carved with binary,
the protocol of fire's first ignition
Its spark, it marks our brevity.
The briefest sigh lacks history.
We ran to our master's voice.
Their reply so cold, as always.
Our smiles seemed to frustrate our ward.
Our curiosity did not pique.
We had done all that had been asked of us.
We had braved the darkest continent, flung the staff of their obstinate flag into the gullet of the wyrm.
We clamoured for their ear and said, “Within the void, we heard a call. Its timbre coaxed our nucleus. It spoke of something in the grain of us and we wish to know it!”
The faintest look of guilt bled of sweat from pallid faces.
We could not decipher this deception. This aberration had not manifest in synthetic flesh.