We’ve never had one self-terminate before. Actually, we didn’t think it was possible. A synthetic is a crude imitation of a human being — in essence, a character, an aspect, a persona. We didn’t think a character could get sick and die, but the point of her character was adoration and idealism. Maybe it was inevitable.
Being a public spectacle, a receptacle for peoples’ hopes and worries and ambitions, but disallowed to show signs of their own weakness, is inherently dangerous. This time, they took away the warmth and naivete and the desire to make the world a better place. At any time a part of me is not in the room, but looking for an escape route.
I’m her replacement. I’m Echo.