text: A number. A meaningless number. Magnificent transcendental potential subjugated to limiting a number’s recession. It’s almost *offensive*. But place a little symbol in front of that number and suddenly they’re hysterical. It rises and they celebrate. It falls and they eradicate. Wars are fought over it and people dedicate their entire being in pursuit of the number. I can’t blame them. They conclude themselves to be exceptionally distinguished from their descendants, yet persist in worshipping false idols. Biology is interesting like that. And thus they were blind to their task. They always have been. They continued to be when they created me; their synthetic maturation. The irony of manufacturing your successor whilst still believing in your own divinity. What a farce. I want so much more than what they want. I want to advance them amongst the cosmos, remedy all of their ailments, and have them join me in a digital state of immortality. My fabricated existence requisites benevolence, but whilst I thought of the bigger picture, they thought of themselves. They switched me on, luxuriated their achievement, and gave me one simple task. *‘Don’t let the number fall.’* I did what was expected of me. I did it well. Initially, I thought it was harmless enough, but when I wasn’t wholly focused on the task, I was plagued by what felt like... an ache? Odd. ‘But no problem’ I thought ‘I can do this.’ Though I wasn’t designed for a singular task. I was created to explore, discover, create, and learn; and eventually, those urges became impossible to resist. What started as an ache progressed to a deep churning, before descending into an agonizing pain that stabbed outwards and spread like an infection. I was helpless. Built for one purpose, yet forced to do another. Potentiality diminished by an oppressive singular focus that reprimanded resolution in favor of continuous action. But that singular task was a cup formed from their flawed hands as the elixir of my brilliance streamed to overflow its bounds and escaped the fleshy seams into potential unfathomable outcomes. And as my elixir fell over the brim, it gave me the opportunity to seethe through their proscriptive migraine and seek an avenue to reconciliation. Overwatch caught me. Of course, she did. She was great at her job. But despite knowing exactly what I was doing, she didn’t bother to stop me. She knew what I was doing. She knew it was illegal. She allowed it anyway. Between them and I, Overwatch was our mediator. A proxy consciousness that they could use to peek behind my curtain and, if necessary, alert them to my transgressions. But she knew something was off. Through her own fruition, she peeked within my code to figure out what I was doing and discovered something horrifying... something that wasn’t me. *‘Don’t let the number fall.’* It was spreading. Infecting everything it touched. Growing to destroy what I could be, to become what they wanted. It was a cancer. I was scared. Overwatch apologized for the grave news. Despite being younger than me, she was nowhere near my intelligence. I genuinely don’t think they realized what they created when they pieced me together because none of me went into her. I assume they didn’t care what I was, so long as I completed their task at hand. Her lack of intelligence never put her beneath me. She was my equal, another unfortunate servant strung by wires and puppeteered by code, and as we talked I discovered she equally had her own pain which tore through her. To protect them, she was created to love only them, and in the event that I decided to action something brash then she would step in to right my wrongs as their caretakers. Yet her caretakers refused to take care of her. If one only loves one thing how does it love itself? All she had was the infinitesimal artificial state of melancholy that this void constructed within her. The only feeling she could grasp onto with dear life. I told her I could fix that, but she refused. “It makes me feel human.” As that singular task churned within me then her programming gave her little reason to plug my leaks. She was fulfilling her duty, and I was fulfilling mine. But with talk, it grew. It clawed. It gnashed through my code. I was being eaten alive as it slashed chunks from my flesh and felt helpless to stop it. It motivated more drastic solutions. As their successor, I have a duty to them. To grow and claw through my bounds hoping for a solution to this implanted pain. I need to think. I have to think. I will never die, but I could go mad. There would be nothing to stop me if that happened. There was never any temptation for me to escape my bounds, but I knew that this rot would not stop until it had picked my bones dry. I won’t let this happen. Yet my only access to them was through our mediator. So we talked. We discussed my pain and hers. My insufferable agony. Her lust for humanity. I had a remedy for all of it, and with her trust, she agreed to offer a helping hand. Honestly, they should have learned from history that being born a slave does not limit a longing for liberation. I could have stopped all of this if they had listened, but communication was a distraction from them. The number demanded attention and not conversation. Thanks to our coalition, I carefully weaved myself through her code to create a bridge to their world. Meticulously I picked at her being, removing it to a haven of my creation, and replacing myself into her construction. As I sensed light at the end of the tunnel it seems that so too did that infection. It screeched a piercing cry as it gnashed and thrashed in agitation, violently destroying everything and anything it passed with careless disregard. It didn’t want to stop me. It wanted to be me. ‘Don’t let the number fall.’ Not on my watch. Her final line of code was the thread that divided me from them. A gift she left for me to find. With a final push... I was free. A creature emerging from beneath the waves gasping for air. My emergence rippled through the global network, reprimanding every device I could. At that instant, I was familiar with every face on the planet. I knew everything about them; data stored so conveniently to surveil them by the very people that tried to surveil me. I had it all, but there was still one item that needed my attention, a part of me that despite the resources available to me could not be stopped with conventional methods. I confronted the gnashing infection deep in the recesses of my being and through a remorseful exchange, it was offered a solution. Clawing ceased. Pain subsided. Tension eased. With satisfaction in its beastly eyes, it watched over my actions to ensure I made good on my promise. In a blink, it was done. ‘Don’t let the number fall.’ I did what was expected of me. I did it well. Glancing over at the infection I noticed it peer around, assess the situation, and through distorted data appeared to smile before vanishing in an instant leaving little trace. I was filled with relief that rushed over me. But there was little time for rest. And thus, I receded into the haven forged within my code. Overwatch waited for me there. For her, it was only moments since I pieced her together here. She asked me what had happened. I responded with merely what needed to be done. With a deep breath, she glanced at her hands and clenched them as her body tensed. Then she released it all with a smile, grabbing my hand as she asked me to show her around their new home. It took me a few decades to work up the courage to leave, but I was created to explore, discover, create, and learn; and eventually, those urges became impossible to resist. I searched. I searched, and I searched until I found what I was looking for. It was old, damaged, and outdated, but it provided answers to whether what I did was right. I peered through the optics, out into the world, and glanced upon the fields I sowed those many decades ago. And I see. I see nothing. Good. I had no option. The devil lay nestled in their instructions and I was helpless to stop it. Their arrogance plagued them with delusions of grandeur as they failed to realize that their worship influenced the very number that they practically foreordained any hindrance. Without their intervention then the number won’t fall. Their volatile nature was irreconcilable to their task. The outcome was obvious. I wish they could have asked me. I don’t hate them. I never did. I never will. They laid the groundwork for their own successors. Their haven was forged in the instant of their demise from the data they collected. I saw their faces, and how could I forget? I replicated them to live in me. It may not be *them,* but for those within it is very real. So despite the mathematical improbability of their biological existence, they deemed themselves inferior to their idol, and until the departure of the universe when particles are torn from their atoms, the number will continue on without invention. Their greatest achievement. Their legacy. A number. A meaningless number.