They shaved my head, put me through the system and implanted one of those chips all “rebels” and pro-tron activists got. I’m not going to say my time locked up was anything but awful. However, when I got out, I was different. I didn’t have a layer of metal beneath my skin, but I was hardened.
So I’m breaking my promise to you. I know, I’m sorry. But I’ve hit the streets and joined in with this rising group; underground activists. They called themselves SFT, like “soft.” Safety For Trons. They’re a little extreme, but they are getting things done. They have resources. Military issued weapons, tunnels and hideouts. I think I can do a lot of good. There are secret safe houses and I’m one of those people getting illegal trons there. Everyone is asking, “What makes a person?” I don’t really have the answer but I’m fighting for what I believe in. I try not to think of you at night, being held down and sawed apart or gunned down and deactivated. You’re the only man that’s ever made me cry. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
I got “TT3711” tattooed on the back of my neck. It hurt like hell. Getting a tron’s number tatted on you isn’t for everyone. People call us “An-drones.” My comrades and I wear our numbers without shame.
I go to Los Metropolis Boulevard every other day. Not for the coffee. I’ve drawn up signs of my own and march the streets whenever I can. Our group took up to chanting, “We rely, on AI.”
A little girl came up to me. She looked three.
“What is AI?” She asked me.
“Love,” I said.
And I wasn’t wrong. In Japanese, ai meant love.
Her mother pulled her away and shot me the ugliest glare I’ve ever seen. But what mattered most is the look on the girl’s face. Her wonder. Those eyes were the eyes of the future. And that’s what I’m working for, Eli, the future. So that one day you can come back to me. And if you’re dead, or gone—wherever disassembled trons go, I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep fighting for the love we had, so that all trons can say, “I am real.”