Don't cross pollinate my words. This collection is separate from the last robot themed flower.
People...well, people on television say, "You can't tell the difference!"
For the most part, they're right.
Their skin feels just as soft, and their internal mechanisms keep it just as warm. Their eyes water; they shed tears of both joy and sadness. They have scars and other imperfections. Their skin burns on the beach. Their tongues are pierced, their bodies are inked. They say that it hurts like hell, even for them.
Their hearts break over forlorn hopes and under the weight of six greasy meals a day. Their pinky toes curl inward, or not at all. The tiny hairs on their knuckles get lost to childishness and butane. Their eyes are only as cold as their hearts, which burn as any fire would.
They get confused, mislead, bamboozles, horny, depressed, drunk, stoned, fucked (literally and otherwise), arrested, lost, reborn as disciples of the more successful religious ad-campaigns. And sometimes, they even get it wrong.
They get the run-around from the used car salesmen of society and the real bureaucrats. They have favorite colors, favorite bands, and favorite fetishes. They have innies and they have outies. They get sick. Sort of.
They sneeze at pepper and at perfume they deem a bit too strong. Actually, the latter is a fake and pretentious sneeze reserved for those of 'superior manufacturing.' They scratch their itches when they have them; real, imagined, or vice related.
They sweat when their nervous. They get nervous. They have allergies, not traditionally speaking, but allergies none the less. They get morning breath, morning wood, and even a psychosomatic form of morning sickness. They play pranks, they...well, you get the picture.
Even with all that bullshit camouflage, there is always one way to tell the difference between an automaton and a human proxy.
Proxies just don't give a shit. They can afford to not give a shit, right? At least the automatons have a sense of mortality, however limited and ironic it may be.
I mean, if you can afford one surrogate, you can afford to break it. Hell, you can afford to break ten.
The way i see it, someone needed to send them a message.
And that's why i shot them.