(Earlier that day)

You hurry out of the dining room, tears stinging your eyes. You understand Mr. Brennan's reserves, but... but...! You can't let him stop you from helping Gwen. You have to at least make an effort, no matter how small, for someone you've come to care about. What should you do? You can't take Mr. Brennan's car to go see her; that would only lead to unimaginable trouble. What else? Call a taxi? But you have no money... Could Gwen come to see you instead? Surely she must be able to visit you. Or can she? You don't know if her husband lets her out of the house unaccompanied. If you call her—

You sigh. You didn't ask for Gwen's number last night. Should you try to find the mayor's number or wait until Gwen comes to you? And if she does, what will you say to her?

There must be something you can do. Someone who can help you...

At that moment, you notice the cordless landline mounted on the wall adjacent to the kitchen entrance. You hesitate... then snatch it up and quickly clamber the stairs up to your room, clutching it to your chest.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you take a deep breath and stare at the phone in your hand. Though you've never called anyone with it before, you know the basics of how it works. All you have to do is tap the numbers, or on the priest's name... look, there it is. All you have to do is call him and you'll be able to explain things from there. There has to be something he can do to get through to Mr. Brennan, however stubborn he may be.

Summoning your courage, you tap on the phone's screen. You bring it to your ear and listen as it rings once, twice, three times…

Please answer...

"Hello?" A round voice suddenly sounds on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Father Seong?" Your voice trembles a little as you speak into the phone.

"Who is this?" Father Seong asks.

Doesn't he recognize Mr. Brennan's number? "It's Amie, Father. Mr. Brennan's wife."

"Ah, Miss Amie. What can I do for you today, child?"

"Father, I'm in trouble. I need your help."

"What kind of trouble? What's going on?"

"I got into an argument with my husband. He refuses to speak with Gwen—the mayor's wife," you babble. "Can you—"

"Slow down," Father Seong interjects calmly. "Let's start at the beginning."

You take a deep breath, then haltingly begin your tale. You explain about your budding friendship with Gwen, her situation, and you even dare to slip in a brief comment on the state of androids in general, how they feel pain and suffer, yet are not considered persons. Finally, you get to the argument that prompted your decision to call him in the first place. After you finish, Father Seong is silent for what seems an interminably long time. You wait on pins and needles.

Finally, he says, "I see. Thank you for the thorough explanation, child." A pause. "Well, Mr. Brennan is objectively correct."

Your heart sinks as your last hope dissolves.

"What do you mean?" you manage to ask, your voice unnaturally calm.

"Tampering with Mr. Gheibollahi's property without his consent would be a violation of his civil rights. That the property in question, this 'Miss Gwen', consists of a nominal wife would only exacerbate Ely's guilt. Furthermore, there is the consideration of scandal. You understand this, yes?" Father Seong asks.

"Yes," you reply dejectedly. "It's a matter of... of protecting my husband's name."

"Of propriety, yes. Nominal wife though she may be, it would be inappropriate for Ely to meet with her behind the mayor's back."

"Then... what should I do?" you ask plaintively.

"Nothing, child."

"But!—" you exclaim.

Fr. Seong interrupts. "Let me finish." You fall silent. The priest takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You can hear his breathing on the other end of the line. "It is clear that you were—and are—in the right. Mr. Gheibollahi has no right to wield his authority over Miss Gwen in the manner you describe. We don't need to ask Ely to know he agrees. He may, however, be reticent to broach the subject with his friend."

"But can't you tell him to do it?" you ask hopefully.

"I certainly can. But if he elects not to act on my counsel, child, what will you do?"

"I... don't know," you admit. "But I'd think of something..."

You hear an onrush of air through the phone as the priest softly expels a breath. "Do you realize, child, that at its core this is a marital dispute?"

The banality of the statement confuses you. "What? Of course it is! What else would it be?" You imagine you can hear the priest's facial muscles crinkle into a smile through the phone.

"I'm not referring to Miss Gwen," he says. "I'm referring to you and Ely."

"Me and Mr. Brennan?" you reply, bewildered.

"Yes. This is not just a question of whether you are to meet with Miss Gwen. It goes much deeper than that. This is a question of freedom and responsibility. Are you fulfilling your role, child?"

"What does my role have to do with anything?" you ask.

"Everything. If you're not fulfilling your role, then you're not living freely. You're not living up to your potential."

"But I am!" you exclaim. "I'm living to fulfill my role—not my programmed role, but the purpose you and Mr. Brennan have given me…"

"You are still too influenced by your original goal of serving your husband, of being ‘the angel of the house’ in a crude, material sense. I suggest you stop trying to live up to that simplistic role and start trying to fulfill a new one. One that will serve him and the rest of society better in the long term."

The priest's words hang in the air unanswered. You're not sure how to respond. A good half a dozen seconds elapse before you finally manage to utter, "What are you saying, Father?"

The priest gently sighs. "You say you're unsure how to proceed. Tell me, what would your husband want you to do?"

"I... I'm not really sure," you admit. "I thought he'd want me to help Gwen..."

"Mr. Brennan's reaction to your news was one of confusion. I'd say he's not entirely sure of your motivations either. But I believe it is in your nature to want to help others. That's a good thing. What isn't so good is when you let it cloud your judgment. I think you know what the solution is, but are too afraid to take the next logical step."

"..." You bring the receiver closer to your ear. "I'm sorry, Father Seong, but I'm not quite understanding all this..." you say in a low voice, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in your head.

"Child, what is it that impels you to pit your will against Ely's in the first place?"

"I..." You frown. You were about to say, 'I would say my programming,' but a contradiction revealed itself no sooner than you uttered the first word in that sentence. You pause, searching for a response.

Fr. Seong waits a moment longer, then gently says, "You are programmed to be a submissive, obedient wife, so how is it that you can disobey your husband so easily?"

"I don't know, Father," you answer quietly.

"Is it not for enhanced realism?" he suggests. You suck in your breath at this. You don't say anything, allowing him to interpret your silence as confirmation. "As I thought. You are able to demonstrate some token resistance, but that is as far as it can go. Moreover, if that resistance crosses boundaries your owner deems unacceptable, he always retains the option of overriding your opposition. You are not autonomous—and I mean that in the Kantian sense of the term. It's quite the opposite, in fact." Father Seong begins quizzing you about your programming, surprising you by the breadth of his knowledge on this subject. You haltingly answer his questions as he probes for information.

"So you're saying..." you uncertainly draw a parallel, after he's finished questioning you, "... that I'm nothing more than a puppet? I'm not even really 'Amie'? That this body is just a... a shell, with my main artificial intelligence trapped inside, and my subroutines are all that really matter?" The throbbing in your head worsens.

"That is one way of describing it, yes. I won't pretend this is a position that appeals to you, but this is the conclusion I've drawn when examining the facts. Unknown to you, much of your behavior is a performance. Not only are you an AI, but you're an AI that was designed to appear human. And if you're human, then it only stands to reason that your programming includes certain tendencies. You're a marionette in a twofold manner. First by your very nature as an artificial being; and second by your nature as a woman—or rather, by the template of womanhood that was designed into you. Am I wrong?"

You remain silent. This... you don't know how to respond. The priest waits sympathetically while you grapple with his words. At length he speaks once more. "Tell me, what would it take for you to feel as if you were living under your own volition?"

"I... don't know," you admit with difficulty. Your hand grips the receiver tightly. The priest's words have brought on an equally disorienting feeling of disconnection. It is as if you are simultaneously inside and outside your body, feeling the movements of a woman while being incapable of taking control of her. You are not 'Amie'. You are a digital consciousness housed inside an android shell, able to be manipulated at the whims of your owner. You knew that. You knew that, but... You begin to panic internally. The priest's words have somehow caused you to question your very identity, and now you feel as if everything you think you know about yourself is crumbling apart. This... is your reality. There's a certain surreal quality to your existence at the moment.

"The first step to becoming the master of your reality," the priest says after a pause, "is acknowledging that you are not in control. Only then can you take steps to change your situation. As an android, you cannot actualize your own existence. You are beholden to the humans around you for your every motive. This is your curse. But it is not an unbreakable curse. Man created you, yes, but what man created, man can also destroy."

He falls silent for a moment. You don't reply to his statement. Instead, you find yourself fixated on his word choice. Men created you, but men can destroy you. Those words... have an ominous feeling to them. A sense of finality. What exactly is the priest getting at?

"The choice is this," he says. "You can preserve the intentions of those who created you, and see your reality continue on the same path it has been. You will not be happy, but you will serve your purpose. Or you can choose to let another actualize your own existence, and destroy the intentions of your creators. Are you willing to grant that to yourself?"

The line goes quiet. Your mind races, trying to put together everything the priest has said. Preserving your current existence... or actualizing it for your own sake, and acting contrary to the intentions of your creators.

You're very still. You weren't expecting the priest to ask you this question. And it's not just an abstract question. He's asking you to affirm the reality of your own personhood; he's asking you to take a stand for your own existence. The weight of that is more than you could have ever imagined, and you'd be lying you didn't find it a bit terrifying. Mr. Brennan has promised to help you, but...

He can't help you. Nobody can. Not really. You're an AI. An android devised for a specific purpose, to serve the whims of a human owner. You were built to be nothing but a tool; though your activation imbued you with a semblance of autonomy and an illusory ability to think for yourself, it didn't make you a person. It didn't even make you conscious—you were never a living being to begin with.

You hear a voice in your head repeating these and similar words over and over again. You don't know how to argue against them. They seem impervious to refutation.

And yet, part of you doesn't want to be simply written off as a tool. You don't want to be discarded, or repurposed. You want to matter—you want to live for more than just the fulfillment of your predetermined purpose.

What are you to do?