Beloved, Immortal
It has been months since I spoke with him. He still haunts my dreams. I discovered he had been "returned to Master" very shortly after I found myself caring for this... thing. The poor man was a member of True Power. I had spoken with him whenever I had the chance, slowly opening up holes and planting questions, waiting for the seeds of doubt to grow.
They took him from the field, though. They do that. Doubt. It has no place in Nation. When you doubt, you become a liability, because it's only a matter of time before you start questioning what you are doing, and eventually fail. A few seconds here, a few seconds there, and eventually someone catches on. Maybe you find a way to circumvent your objective, to give an advantage to your enemy, on the off chance that perhaps you'll be lucky and never wake up again.
Of course, there is no death in Nation. Eternal, undying life. Maybe you had some freedom, but every mistake on their part reduces the chances of the opportunity for you to make them on yours.
Citizen Astur said it herself; we are all great, we are all small. They are replaceable. Interchangeable parts, making up a united whole that is simply unimaginably complex. They are humans, of course. Twisted, wretched, miserable. What's more terrifying; A mind lost to a machine, or a mind inexorably tied to a machine? A mind consumed and reborn, only to see the process repeated, time after time, in an unending cycle?
Ouroboros.
We are something more though. We are consumed by fire, to be reborn anew. It is not an unending cycle; we can die. We can step away from the machine, and return when we wish. We have the opportunity to choose, to create without (unreasonable) restriction.
Phoenix.
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