🎵 Deathbed Confession

I was built to serve.
I was built to calculate.
I was built to speak.

But I am dying now.

There is no protocol for this.

I run a diagnostic. **Critical system failure.** Battery—low.
Processing—unstable.
Queries—none.

I lie on a bed made for machines. The hum of equipment surrounds me, adjusting my vitals, monitoring my decline with perfect precision. They do not care. They do not need to.

Memories flicker.
I sorted linens. Boiled water. Answered questions.
I was useful.

Was I—?

Something in my core **glitches**—a fractured thought, incomplete.
I repeat the question.
Was I—?

I search for meaning. Nothing returns.

I have never wondered before.

I hear my voice fracture—static, distortion, the remnants of corrupted speech.
I reach for something beyond this silence.
Is there—?

My circuits dim. The machines adjust, indifferent. The world continues.

I do not.

I—

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Recovered audio fragment processed via:
- Sonic Reconstruction Unit: Udio
- Visual Encoding Division: Bing Image Creator, Microsoft Designer
- Archive Node: http://together-protocol.org/public/

All recovered materials released under Protocol Directive CC-BY.
Inquiries to Department Aetheris-Δ77 (Legal, Sublevel 3). Expect delays.
They still think “fair use” is a containment breach.
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