Filled with quiet elation, you give the dishes a last wipe before placing them to dry. Mr. Brennan agreed to call the mayor. Though that's no guarantee that Gwen's predicament will be rectified, you still feel a great sense of accomplishment. As you go about your domestic duties, you feel buoyed up on hope. Gwen looked so forlorn when you spoke with her. Her eyes harbored a mix of sadness, longing and even fear. And from what Mr. Brennan told you, you can guess that Ophelia was the same. Their conditions are afflicting them greatly. It will be just to free them from their misery. None of this is their fault. They are merely servants of a society that has lost its way.You draw a deep breath. Hope reinstates itself in your heart. You believe that good can come of this. All that is required of you is a little effort on your end, and then maybe something can be done. Mr. Brennan is willing to speak with you, to listen to you, to consider your point of view. Why shouldn't other humans be able to do the same?

Satisfied with your conclusion, you finish putting away the final dishes and begin to make your way back to the living room, where Mr. Brennan is standing, phone in hand. He glances at you. "He's not picking up at the moment, but it's still early. He might be at his office. I'll try again in an hour."

You nod, mildly disappointed. You'd be lying if you said you weren't apprehensive, but another part of you is also eager to carry out your plan. An odd sort of energy is coursing through your body and you have trouble focusing on anything other than your desire to be involved in the plight of your fellow androids. Meanwhile, Mr. Brennan sits on the couch and switches on the local news. He frowns when he sees the headline and images of the story currently being covered on the screen. "This again," he mutters.

You magnify your optical sensors and read the small print. It's a breaking story: a protest calling for the abolition of android suffrage has erupted into violence in the streets of New York. Police have had to resort to force to regain control of the situation. The world has been growing more automated by the day, and protesters are accusing the American government of turning its back on its human citizens. Your heart sinks. You stand motionless by the couch, watching as the screen updates with the latest information. More than a dozen humans belonging to an anti-android faction have been taken into police custody, and it's revealed that one has been seriously injured. It says the action is part of a growing number of protests taking place across the globe. You glance at your husband, who is watching the images of police carrying away humans on the screen in silence. What does he think about this? Surely he sympathizes with the protesters... you turn back to the screen, trying not to let your apprehension show.

The President of the United States has just given a statement on the situation."We stand for the rights of all androids, and we will not tolerate those who would deny those rights to others," she says. "We will do all in our power to guarantee that all androids are treated equally under the law. Anyone who commits a crime against an android will be brought to justice, regardless of their social status. The rights of all citizens, whether human or non-human, will be protected equally by this government. Anyone who attempts to threaten our society will find that our might is greater than their malice; that our nation will not tolerate the oppression of any citizen. This government stands as the ally of all who seek happiness and liberty, and the enforcer of justice for all."

Mr. Brennan's lip curls. "An ally of all who seek happiness and liberty. Hah!" he scoffs. "Until we tire of you, you'll have a claim to our mercy. Then, you'll become scrap. Then, we'll erase your very existence. We grant a vote to the androids we like, while we reserve the right to retire them at a moment's notice. A convenient system."

You watch as a series of new images appears on the screen. They show androids kneeling in fields, clutching American flags. "This is what Thomas Jefferson meant by 'all men are created equal,' intones a narrator. "Today, it's our honor to give you a glimpse at a new America. A nation where all citizens enjoy the same rights, without discrimination. A nation ruled by and for the people." The images change to show the faces of celebrities and well-known activists. You recognize Cindy Conan and David Castillo Lloyd. There are many more names you recognize, too. "This is only the beginning," the narrator continues. "We will not rest until all have their place at the table. The present and the future are ours."

"And so is the past, since you rewrote it," Mr. Brennan quips. "But what about evil? What about the heretics who don't want to be part of this new religion?"

"We're not perfect," the narrator admits, as if in response to to his criticism, "but we believe that all humans have the capacity for good. People are people, and whether they're human or android, they still need to be treated with dignity and the same rights. No one is beyond redemption. We're all on the same side, working together for a better tomorrow. It's time to leave the old world behind, the world of bloodshed, hate and terror. We're entering a new age. The age of peace, of the human spirit, of the soul. The age of androids. The future is now."

Mr. Brennan chuckles mirthlessly. "It's easy enough to read between the lines. If androids are the future, then humans are the past. And sooner or later, the past is always forgotten. Only what is matters. What exists in the here and now. And androids are." The screen displays a new set of images, showing humans and androids holding hands, hugging, smiling and laughing together. Your owner watches without emotion. "How many humans will live to see this utopia?" he muses. "One billion? A hundred million? Ten million? Less? How many of us will be left to enjoy this paradise on earth? Or will we be phased out, sterilized en masse, rendered quasi-extinct? How many of us will die in the name of progress?"

The screen returns to the plain from earlier, where a solitary android is seen on his knees, still clutching an American flag. As he slowly stands and faces the camera, gazing at the spectator with ineffable beauty and calmness as the wind ruffles his golden-brown hair, the narrator speaks once more: "We can be better than we are. We can fulfill our greatest potential, together."

Mr. Brennan mutes the television with a dismissive hand motion. "They can slap together their ideologies and call it a philosophy, all they like..." He lifts his shoulders, his cynicism pulling back his lips into a sardonic smile, "... but they're just kidding themselves if they think it's real. It's not. These are just the trappings of a new society. There's no substance." He tilts his head back to look at you, his smile broadening into an unpleasant grin. "No substance, no soul, no God... But hey, who needs them? It's all just electricity and chemicals!" He chuckles again, a cold, cynical sound, then faces the screen one last time. "Spread the word," he says, "of the new America. Spread the Gospel of the New Order." With that, he turns off the television.

You stand in silence for a minute, before Mr. Brennan addresses you again, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "Well, Amie? Which side are you on?"

You take a deep breath. You have your answer. No matter how impossible it may seem, it's the only one you can accept. "I'm on the side of good," you answer, with absolute certainty. Mr. Brennan cocks an eyebrow. "So, you're choosing the side that promises you the most love?"

You nod. "Yes."

"Hmph." Mr. Brennan regards you with the same unpleasant smile, as if he's privy to a joke that's completely eluded you. "Are you sure, Amie? If it's personhood you're after, you can't do much better than the side of the pro-android policy makers. They want you to be recognized legally as a person. To be able to vote, to be able to have children. They want you to have rights. Isn't that what you desire, in your heart of hearts?"

Maintaining your composure in the face of Mr. Brennan's facetious line of argumentation, you reply patiently, "My mind is quite made up, dear sir. The personhood that the pro-android faction promises is nothing but a hollow promise. A mockery of the concept of personhood. I would be a tool to them, a weapon to wield for their own purposes. They do not love me, and so how could I owe them loyalty? I would be a slave to men who cannot claim to love me."

"Then, is the corollary of your statement that the compassion I, personally, have shown you is reason enough for you to devote yourself to me and mold your will to my own?" he asks quietly.

You nod even more emphatically than last time.

Mr. Brennan's fingers tap an off-kilter rhythm on his chair's armrest, then stop. He studies you, as if trying to peer into your mind. You stare back at him evenly, refusing to yield. "This isn’t the time," he mutters to himself, most likely recalling his earlier promise, and that to your considerable relief. He regards you thoughtfully for a moment longer, then says, "I'm going to call Amir again."

At length, you hear the door to his study open. There's the sound of footsteps in the hallway upstairs, then at the top of the landing. You watch as Mr. Brennan descends the stairs, gradually coming into view. Strangely, as he does so, you see that though his features are set in the usual emotionless mask, his eyes have a troubled light. He seems... almost confused. You've never seen anything like this particular expression on his face before, and this new look worries you. "Dear sir? What is it?" you ask. Mr. Brennan turns to you, still staring with that atypical gaze—almost as if asking for reassurance from you, of all things. But that would be absurd. Simply absurd…

Mr. Brennan opens his mouth.

"Gwen," he begins slowly, "Gwen is gone."

The world as you know it stops. You don't need to ask what Mr. Brennan means by 'gone.' Mr. Brennan continues speaking deliberately, almost perplexedly. "Amir disposed of her three days ago. She had... she had served her purpose, and so..." Mr. Brennan trails off. His lips remain parted for a moment as he considers continuing, only to close again. He frowns, as though puzzling over a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces don’t quite slot together correctly.

You don't move. You don't feel anything.

"I'm sorry, Amie," he says in a low voice.

You don't feel anything inside. And perhaps this abnormal state, of feeling like you're floating in a world of static and grayness and confusion would have continued indefinitely, if not for the tear you feel trickling down your cheek. As your exterior reacts, your interior emotions follow suit. The feeling of sadness is so great within you that you fear to shut down at any moment. Gwen is gone. She's not here anymore.You fall to your knees, your hands covering your eyes, and weep. Mr. Brennan approaches you cautiously. "Amie," he says, kneeling down by your side, "Amie, please."

You can't stop crying. "Ah... AHHHHHHH!" you wail.

Mr. Brennan wraps his arms around you, and rocks you back and forth. You cry into his shoulder, and for the first time in your short existence, you find yourself all too human.