It was a small blue transistor radio, left over from a far forgotten era. I used to press it to my ears for fear the Others would hear and report Air Crime. I lay silent against the waves, surrounded by trees, unseen, unknown. The Others lay casually, basking in the artificial sun that had become our sustenance. The chips in my left leg ached, recent transplants to the new T-700 models; I was to move faster or face Auto-Extinction. 

    I had decided today was my final day. Unhinged I let the radio sit by my side, volume raised to an uncomfortable level. 'Let them come' I thought, there was no harm could befall me now. The radio, a usual respite from the Mech-Dreams, only hummed now. Static, not unlike the same that was pumped into our Dream States, spewed from it's small sand-peppered speaker, white noise...demons. Every fifteen seconds a small voice, mundane and tenuous, repeated the same word: Lilith. Buried within the tin hum of a sprawling emptiness of sound, the same word, the same name.

    Lilith.

    The name would never pass my lips, would never be uttered in question nor prose; they had taken the lips a half century ago. It was my punishment then, for asking too many questions. For enquiring as to my parturition.

    Lilith. *static*. Lilith. *static* Lilith.

    The word echoed within my server, bouncing between artificial synapse and oil coated brain. Had I the means to cry out the word, to scream it towards the screen-fed Heavens, I would have done so then, if only to reveal to the Others that there was indeed something more beyond the Empty. I knew that this transmission, this thought, was from another time, from a past that we were taught not to teach. As if guided by the name I stood and surveyed those around me, still unnoticed. 

    The name became a fury now, resonating within my frame, this small frame I cursed so many times. This frame meant to isolate, to serve very little purpose. To become obsolete in a far more hurried fashion than my previous kin-models. Lilith. The syllables rose as an horrific chorus inside me. I pressed my hands to my head, as if I could shelter myself from the storm, but there was no use. It was imprinted, forever a part of my program.

    Only then, as I released my head, did I hear the word anew, coming from the very air around me. I closed my eyes to the cacophony, but it rose louder. I knew then. I knew the Others had accessed the transmission, and they had begun to chant the name aloud. Some screaming, some whispering. I could suffer the name no longer, I wished no further insult from it's depth, no more horrid reminders of my emptiness. I turned to the waves, once a beacon of my solitude, and began to wade in deeply. To my destruction.