There “Parsons” stood, caked in dust and engulfed by plumes of industrial smoke, which crawled upwards from amongst the thousands of workers on the metal grating below. My gaze continued past and beyond the weary worker, further into the machine.
“Progress.” I paid the guide and their elastic grin no notice, feeling my eyes soften, my lips moisten and my core flutter as Parsons once more passed into my vision. I grasped the guide’s arm roughly, cutting short their rehearsed words.
***
“The Intelligent Automaton Equal Rights Act (1969)”. My mouth curled into a smile as I snuggled myself into Parsons’ cool embrace and gazed at the metallic proof of everything I’d worked for, embedded like a square medallion in the brilliant white-washed wall.
Both cool that night, I pulled the covers over our bodies. My practiced hand passed the ever-untouched programmed role switch as I powered down my partner.
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