Imagine a lonely, peaceful graveyard, somewhere in Midorijima.
Imagine two graves, side by side - one so old and overgrown, so laden with moss and grime and dirt, that you can hardly make out the inscription on it, just barely lost to time. The other - a lot more recent, though itself starting to show signs of wear.
An old man laid next to where his grandmother was buried so long ago, in eternal, peaceful sleep.
Imagine the top of that grave slowly growing moss and grass and little flowers, and there, on top, even slightly embedded into the soil - decrepit, rusting, overgrowing with vegetation - a broken-down, barely-functioning white-haired robot. Sitting still, dull eyes forever locked onto the name on the headstone - Seragaki Aoba.
Imagine a few years prior, Aoba getting older and older. Clear taking care of most of his basic needs now, carrying him when he's too tired, preparing all his meals and cleaning every mess - all with the same energy, enthusiasm, smile as before.
Imagine Aoba's old, shaking hands attempting to perform routine maintenance and check-ups on Clear. Imagine him straining his muscles to the point of pain, injury. Him mishandling tools and messing up the wiring, getting bit by electricity or having his increasingly fragile skin bruised from the force. Clear hiding any malfunctions, any errors in his performance, just to make sure Aoba doesn't try to fix it, doesn't hurt himself on his own stubborn pride.
Imagine Clear chatting with Aoba as he always did, happy and chipper, about the afterlife. Trying to spin it as positively as he can manage - assuring Aoba that he'll get to be with Tae-san, finally, and hey, maybe he'll even meet Clear's own grandpa one day! Imagine Aoba snapping at him to be quiet, rejecting, resenting the idea of an afterlife, fearing it more than desiring it because he knows that if there is such a thing, then he'll have to spend all of eternity without his love. Without Clear. Robots don't die, after all, and even if he stopped functioning there's no afterlife in the wings for an artificial being.
Imagine Clear visiting Aoba's grave for the first time. Crying uncontrollably, kneeling in the dirt, burying his hands into the soil as if to dig him up. Imagine him talking to Aoba through sobs, wishing him good rest, a fair journey. Imagine him never getting up from that spot again. Calming down, eventually, just enough to talk normally. Singing to him. Describing the environment around him, then breaking into sobs again.
Imagine his function gradually slowing down. Without any repairs or help, his body shutting down more and more bits of itself just to keep him from completely breaking. His eyesight, his voice modulation, his cooling system, his processing power. His brain becomes more and more warped and weak until he isn't even fully sure why he's there - all he knows is that he's with Aoba-san. He can't see him, or hear him, or feel him, but he's with Aoba-san, and as long as his voice carries (no matter how much it stutters, no matter how muffled it gets, no matter how garbled) - he'll keep speaking to him. Singing to him. Reaching out to him forever.
What other purpose does he have? What other purpose did he ever?
Now imagine a dog in a propeller hat.
