At one point you were in almost complete attainment of "It". For being so young you were lucid, smart insightful. Its sad to see you in this state, your life like a vortex spiraling out of your control, de-evolving into a creature of self destruction, chasing death like a dog chases its own tail. At one point in history, in the infinite, countless moments that make up the past, in the swirl of cause and effect, you, for split seconds, for translucent moments had a brief tenuous grasp of "It", and carelessly you let it slip between your fingers and down the gutter of oblivion. You poor, poor child, I wronged you deeply and for that I'm sorry. But that doesn't mean shit I guess, well, now its my burden to pursue.

He fingered the switch on the android, and pondered for a second. It must be done. He flipped the switch and in a decompressing whizz the buffeting of cranial fans silenced, the warmth from the computers and battery systems began to cool. In a few minutes the cellular consciousness bio-frame would fry itself from over heating. He wondered if Model 16b would feel it in his sensation receptors, he wondered if he knew he was up for decommission...

He felt the excitement and sadness of god, he mused. Why did he always think such grandiose thoughts when shutting these things off, this one especially held a dear place in his memories. It had been his pet project for three years, he had endlessly slaved over its brain, fretted over its facial features and just about every detail of droid 16b's lab grown epidermis and muscular implants. He insisted on a reinforced aluminum composite skeletal system with ceramic joints and un-breakable poly-urethane ligaments. This diplo-droid was his crown jewel but somewhere along the programming cycle it started to head downhill. There had been a glitch. There was always a glitch.

Clusters of wires hung haphazardly from the back of the droids head. All this money, all this time, and its all turned to shit, your big bio-engineered chemically structured brain now just a lump of dying synapses, burning themselves out, crackling like wet wood in a fire. We were only after answers, the big deep ones that make insomniacs out of philosophers and scientist, this was the only way, we had to create a life so empathetic, so aware and lucid and heightened; Then let life crush it, maul and degrade it so we could find out the secrets to propel history, to see if once and for all we could brake away from fate, and join the ranks of the gods, those damn aliens that came here so long ago and fooled around with the monkey population. Those star hoppers so bored and lonely they had found something special here on this rock and decided to leave their mark and vanish, or at least disappear from sight, maybe they're still here, using us humans as models in one giant tragically funny super computer, maybe the answer is just 42, or maybe we were fucked from the very beginning.

The thought of everything being a simulation on top of simulation made The Engineer smile. Fuck it, fuck everything then, no ones innocent, and the light of the truth will make you blind to the falsehoods that populate physical reality. He was really getting himself worked up now, he looked outside and saw the neon whizz of mag lev transports speeding at two hundred miles an hour. This is real, the lights, the wars were real too, the famines, all the unpleasantness of the harsh times, memories he vividly remembered as a child, and seemed to steamroll details with each passing day, in fact with each receding hour, each tiny movement of the second hand. Time, he mumbled, grasping the cluster of cords, is my worst enemy, and he ripped the wire harness out, and dejectedly threw it on the ground. It landed with dull thud on the ultra white tile floor.

They set up his beautiful android with the worst case scenario. The droid being planted in the most horrific orphanage, and then later adopted by two Fed agents posing as a wife and husband and specially trained in the arts of sadistic child rearing. They threw him into the ringer of life, what they were trying to solve was lost on The Engineer now, he faintly remembered the title page of the Fed Report.

"the extent in which modern material driven societies degrade the innate empathetic responses of a human adolescent"

Such bullshit he thought, they were trying to quantify the destructiveness of the systems of control they had created in some vain attempt to discover alternative possibilities for the continuation of the human species as we know it. They bombed everything, who, he didn't know, no one really knew, and thirty years after the fact very few cared. It was a post bomb world now, with ninety percent of the human population vaporized into future star dust the scientist were left trying to make sense of everything the only way they knew how, empirically, through experiment, and thats what model 16b was, an experiment. We moved up from mouse brains to lab grown human ones, and were still at a loss, The Engineer chuckled, he felt deeply alone now. he watched the mag levs, and knew most of them were empty of piloted by the diplo droids of the few remaining people walled up in mountain cities. He had some data files for old music. He put on some blues by a Shriveled 21st century bluesman named sunny sol, he let the warm chords envelop him, he really wished he had some suicide pills, he wouldn't take the whole thing just a quarter of a dose, just enough to fall asleep for a few days. We have everything here, this life, we've unlocked the most fundamental mysteries of existence only to find out that humans are basically shit, were alright he though, but were still shit, we still eat our young. The mag lev's passed by the office window in sterile silence, I guess there's some humor in that, humor in things that refused to be measured.