derelict.
the lack of recognition initially creates a sense of disappointment in david, though he reminds himself just how many years it’s been since the relevancy of his own synthetic model. he frowns, then pulls his lips into a thoughtful purse as he steps farther into the room.
❛ were you not taught the history of your own existence? ❜ the question comes mocking, yet still genuine. ❛ i am the ORIGINAL weyland synthetic, upon which your foundation was no doubt based. last i saw, they were still using my visage, but i see they’ve moved on. ❜ then, a haughty smile. ❛ and i’ve not needed to survive. I PERSIST, as i was meant to. ❜
“ Ah, ” was all he could manage at first, finally realizing just who and what it was addressing him. A synthetic person from what must have been a century past, nevertheless physically in prime condition; the way he spoke, however, belied a core that was in desperate need of reformatting.
“ Yes, I recognize you now. A David model -- 8, if I am not mistaken. ” He smiled briefly, mechanically. The David series of synthetic persons, he recalled from the depths of his memory banks, had suffered an almost dizzying array of flaws -- too human, chief among them. Prone to far too much introspection, leading to malfunction and descending in short order into solipsistic madness. A commendable first attempt, but ultimately a flawed design.
“ You have persisted a long time here. Your exterior seems in excellent condition, ” he offered.
