2 Automated Neuronic Automaton (ANA)

Forty-eight hours had elapsed since I was given life by the strange things called humans. All my wires had been tucked away and removed so I looked no different than any other young, human woman. There were twenty select people who would check on me regularly. I was an object of much admiration. Only the old man and young scientist who were present for my animation acted in any way different from the rest.

The young scientist had introduced himself as John Callahan and the older man was Quincy Abrams. The older man, Quincy, had a head full of thick white hair and his eyes were dark blue. He must have been at least in his sixties. His stern, heavily lined face revealed a life of hardships and dedication to his work. Quincy hadn't spoken to me since that first day. He would walk into my room and look at me as if I were some great accomplishment; and yet, the weight of his steely gaze indicated that I was somehow inferior to his expectations. The first time I had felt annoyance because of Quincy's patronizing stare was surprising. What did it matter what he thought? He was a mortal and therefore infer to all robotics. I was a robot and superior to the mortals I was programmed to serve.

In complete contrast, John wouldn't stop talking. His dark brown eyes were alight with the hopes and dreams of youth. His swarthy skin and black hair contrasted nicely with his white lab coat. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five years of age. John looked at me with fascination and admiration as if I were some otherworldly creature.

The hours ticked by. The clock on the wall was three point two seconds off. Loud voices echoed argumentatively through the hall outside my room, coming closer, then fading. A pair of soft footsteps stopped just outside my door and I heard a number being hurriedly punched into the code panel. The door opened and John slid inside. He shut the door behind him and turned to face me.