do you exist when I can't see you | Al + Yara

Who survived? Somebody new?
Anyone else but you?
On a lonely night was a blinding light
A hundred leaders would be borne of you

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, th-
"Bellamy, will you shut up?" I raise my visor to show him my scowl. The multi-linked manipulator pulls away from it's conveyor belt and rotates to face me, the end effector at the end of it's arm serves as a face, and droops sadly. For a mechanical arm that serves only as a constructor bot, Bellamy is incredibly distracting. I have him producing seventy five microprocessor chips for me, so that I can strip, re-layer them and get to work on making some new artificial intelligence bots to keep me company. I've been called a lot of things by my father, but sentimental is not one of them. When I get bored of a robot, it gets incinerated.

Bellamy's repetitive joint movement rhythms in a One, two, three, four every couple of seconds, and is starting to drive me mad. The orange arm looks at me, probably confused at my instructions. He only has a basic interface, and isn't able to understand casual terms like some of my other inventions.
"Halt production, shut down." I raise a hand to my visor and pull it down over my face. Bellamy drones sadly, whilst obediently decommissioning.

I return to prodding at Dennis' circuitry with the flame tip of my welder. The android twitches in protest, it's arms fidget as I delve deeper into it's chest circuits. The androids that Father makes are a lot better than mine. His have much better CPU's and more vast artificial intelligence, not to mention his actually look like people, whilst mine are humanoid mesh frames with exposed wires all over the place. I don't mind though, mine are made for me, whilst his are sent to the Capitol.
"How have you managed to do this, Dennis?" I ask, lifting up my visor again to get a better look at the damage. The android does not speak - I haven't fitted him with a voice chip or the intelligence to respond to commands verbally. He turns his plastic head to look at me - A sad face drawn on in permanent marker by me.

I seal him back up, standing up with a frown on my face. The damage isn't worth fixing. It would be quicker to build an entirely new robot altogether. Dennis is going to have to be scrapped. I throw my visor and welder onto my workbench and pull off my apron. I reach a hand over my head and pull out my hairband, letting my brunette locks fall to my shoulders. With a swipe of my finger, I flick on the kettle and sit up on the kitchen table. Father has built me an apartment atop his factory. A place where I can live alone, so high that nothing dangerous can ever reach me. Enough time has gone by that I have stopped questioning it and accepted it. This is my life.

"Benson, what's the weather like today?" I ask my apartment interface, which does a quick scan of the system and responds quickly.
"Cloudy for the most part, potential rain later but winds are likely to blow it eastward. I'll keep you posted." He responds in a dreary voice. Father created him - I'm nowhere near intelligent enough to create a system as complex as Benson, who is able to respond to near enough every question I ask with an on-point answer.
"Thanks, Bens'," I say, pouring hot water over a teabag and filling my mug with a strong brown-amber, "Hey! What's my father up to today?"

Father is always busy. His factory is one of the largest in District Three, mass producing machines that help with everyday tasks, interfaces that are used by Gamemakers in the Hunger Games and even robots that make robots. He's filthy stinking rich because of it, and he has some of the greatest minds in Panem working under him. There's no doubting we live in luxury - I just wish I had someone to share it with other than my sad machines.
"Lord Bojan is occupied with health and safety inspectors, here to investigate further claims in to the Stellar incident." He reports.
I sip my tea silently, unresponsive.

Stellar is a sub-company, more of a side-branch of Vukcević industries that focuses on cyborgs. People who need limbs replacing or artificial organs to keep them alive. Recently they've been using animals as test-subjects. Some of the activists in the District disapprove, and the authorities have investigated several times to make sure no laws or regulations are being violated. Of course, I'm not supposed to know any of this, but me being me, I got curious. Benson doesn't like it when I go snooping, but for a computer, he really is a pushover.

Stellar is also where he stemmed from. I grind my teeth, pacing to my oval window. I can hear him outside my door, almost breathing.
"Crack the window, Bens', it's hot in here." I say, moving to look outside. Benson activates the motor in the window's hinge, opening it ajar, not wide enough that I can throw myself out and fall fifty feet to my death, but enough so that I can feel a breeze. I look out at District Three, and all it's magnificent architecture. From up here it's like origami, or a model town someone has made from tiny plastic pieces.

"When's inspection?" I ask, taking a gulp of my tea, which is now at a more drinkable temperature.
"Ten O'Clock - That's an hour and twenty three minutes, in case you can't count." He says with his humdrum tone. Father programmed him to be grumpy.
"I can count just fine, Benson." My mouth twitches.
"You're planning something." If an interface could exhale with irritation, Benson would have. I grin, hands clasped around my tea and eyes fixed on the masses of people below.

"Was it that obvious?"

And though I know, since you've awakened her again
She depends on you, she depends on you
She'll go alone, and never speak of this again
We depend on you, we depend on you