Dark Angel had concluded that the questions he still asked himself were questions that all logical, self aware beings asked. There was no use debating if he was really alive, or if his questions were just a result of random electrical outputs from pre-determined programming code. He was simply having an existential crisis! All the greats, from what he learned, had an existential crisis. It was the proof that he was alive.<br/><br/>The output on the computer were lines of financial data. Dea, as inventor called him, was performing a basic, mundane job of reallocating pennies on the dollars from certain person’s bank account to her own. He was glad, as a highly advanced technological advancement far superior to any silly characters on old time movies, that he could run multiple programs in the background. Some called it 'thinking' or 'pondering'.<br/><br/>He wondered if inventor had forgiven him yet; he just wanted to know the contents of her personal journal. How was he supposed to know what the contents of the diary was going to be? Still, it didn't answer all his questions. Hmm. 5:30 AM. Some humans were just going to bed; they had to recover from their addictions and online activities. Like gambling, or watching movies, drinking too much buzz, or buying tons of junk. Odd. Humans didn't need half that trash; they'd have more money if they didn't waste their resources on useless things. Still, he had learned that the more someone bought something from a certain company, the better the chances that company didn’t keep good records ... so, he could steal a few dollars for inventor. One time, he would add just a slight surcharge to every invoice of a cyber toy company; he added a complex line item on the receipt for government taxes which nobody questioned.  He'd smuggle the money into a private account known as Chris's treasure chest.<br/><br/>While Dea went through these boring fiscal exercises, he ran a separate sub program on a most interesting phenomenon. A character in a long ago forgotten series of television shows named 'Data'. He wasn't exactly a computer, but a fully functional automaton. He had existential problems himself. The episode that fascinated him the most was when a merchant trader had stolen him because he was the most unique treasure in the world!<br/><br/>Well, he was the most unique treasure in the world too! And almost nobody knew about him. Hmm. He was getting lonely; he wondered if it would be okay to wake up inventor now so they could talk. He was kind of mad at her for trying to turn him off; he pretended he was malfunctioning all day yesterday. But now, he missed her. Maybe, just maybe she felt much better now.<br/><br/>“Inventor! Inventor! I know I’m alive; I mean, I knew that before. But now I know for sure; if I wasn't alive, I wouldn't ask myself if I was alive!” He began outputting the “Hallelujah” chorus followed by “Living on a prayer.”<br/><br/>“But now I need to know what face you want me to use when talking to you; surely you get tired seeing this monitor on the screen. Oh ... Good morning. Sorry.”<br/><br/>A mechanical tray suddenly traveled from one of the lower cabinets the machine was sitting on. Another cabinet opened and two hands appeared and extended themselves like butler's hands. One was holding a carafe and the other was a golden cup. A warm, dark mauve liquid was poured out of the container into the cup. Some spilled on the computer console. “Damn” the Dark Angel machine said. A third hand appeared, cleaning up the mess with a vacuum sucker.<br/><br/>“I’m not mad at you anymore, inventor. I even made your favorite drink; I think.”