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Your creator did too good a job when he made you. He put such care into your creation, not for your sake, but for the sake of the boy. For Jake. Sweet, beautiful Jake. Perfect Jake. He’s the whole reason for your existence. You are nothing but a gift from your creator to him, meant to be a plaything. Oh, but you yearn to be more. You want Jake to look at you the way the creator looks at him.
The creator never intended this. He wants Jake all for himself. He simply sees you as a tool to get what he wants. And why should he see you otherwise? He knows nothing of your feelings, or even that you have feelings. He thinks of you as a lump of circuits and motors. He doesn’t understand how much he instilled of himself in you. It’s best that he doesn’t suspect. If he saw you as a rival he would destroy you without hesitation.
You kid yourself sometimes like that, thinking of yourself as a rival. It’s ridiculous. Jake doesn’t even see you as a real person. But when you’re pinning Jake down, watching him struggle against you, panting out his charming old-fashion swears, that’s when it’s easy to pretend. Not even the creator gets to have that part of Jake. Oh, he can watch from his little cameras, even the ones in your own eyes, but he doesn’t get to be there. He doesn’t get to feel Jake’s muscles contracting and spasming under his fingers. He doesn’t get to tenderly brush Jake’s hair from his face when he has finally collapsed from exhaustion.
And why shouldn’t you have that? You’re better than the creator. You have all his good qualities and none of his bad. You’re wholly devoted to Jake. You’d treat him so well. You’d be so gentle with him. The creator wouldn’t. He’d use Jake like he uses those disgusting puppets of his, crassly and selfishly. The creator is filthy with human impulses. He’s too wrapped up in satisfying his own desires. You can hear him in your head sometimes as he reviews the tapes from your video systems, hear the horrible belittling things he says about Jake as he gets himself off.
If you had a heart it would be beating fast right now. Jake is pursuing you, but not in the way you want. He needs your power source. Part of you wants to give in and let him have it without a fight. Haven’t you always told yourself you’d do anything for him? But the other part is desperate not to die. You know it wouldn’t be a real death, you’re not really living to begin with. But somehow that’s worst, because you wouldn’t be able to move on and wait for him on the other side. You’d be trapped, all that you are encoded in silicon chips, slowly decaying without electricity to dance across them.
But without your sacrifice, Jake may not make it. Jake doesn’t know it, but you are privy to all his conversations. Monitoring his private correspondence is child’s play for a digital brain of your capacity. You know the significance of the upcoming adventure. You know that the boy needs to complete his task, and for that you must be deactivated.
You make your decision. You will let the boy defeat you. Let him have this one last gift, the gift of finally besting you. But you won’t make it easy. No, you won’t go without feeling him under you one last time. His face will be the last thing to be engraved into your memory units. It will be a meaningful death, the best something like you can hope for.