Gigolo Joe

I was. I am!

I don't own any small bit of the wonderful and thought provoking movie AI. Steven Spielberg and the WB and other people do. When I find a proper disclaimer and copyright info I'll put it here.

No big spoilers aside from this happens after the last time we see Gigolo Joe. I assume the police took him to be dismantled and I got to wondering what, if any, his final thoughts' would be. Enjoy.

My audio processors are functioning perfectly and I can hear the three policemen with a clarity none of them will ever know. Perhaps that's why I'm so calm. Calm, a human emotion, a state of ease without fear or anxiety; though it usually precedes a state of fear and anxiety in orgas.
If an orga was in my place I'd expect them to panic, to cry out for their life just as passionately as the women I've made a living' out of cried out to me. The three here are obviously experienced with dealing out mecha death but, I'm not afraid. I've no reason to be. No doubt after they dump my frame into some backwoods another mecha will use me to better itself. Backwoods, where David was. Will David find me again and this time be too late to save my servers?
Why should I care about what happens to me after my neural cube is destroyed? I've done my job, I've played my part in these orgas silly play of life. I've done my job, and done it damn well.
The three won't stop staring at me; they're probably jealous, of my occupation and of my looks. That's what orgas do. They eat, they sleep, they have sex and get jealous. Oh, and they love, according to David, but not the love I'm made for. All three orgas probably have desperate mates at home, waiting for them to die or something romantic notion that their true love will ride up to them on a white horse. I've played that part too, or well, maybe once or twice.
Love. True love is all those orgas talk about. That's why I have that particular algorithm in my cube, to woo a woman into thinking I truly love her. But no mecha could ever love. Ever... Except for David, but I don't think he's really a mecha either. I've seen him act so orga that my neural cube almost refused to accept the fact I knew him to be mecha. He's so orga... I wonder, would the next model of me be like David? Able to love the customer instead of just make love...
Of course there will be. There will always be newer and improved models for as long as the orgas exist. Newer than myself, better looking, better pleasing. This calm' I thought of before, its wearing off. I wonder if David found that blue faerie he was searching for. Pity I never got to make a real' woman out of her. I wonder, did she make David an orga? Was that possible? Hm, to be orga... to truly feel things and not have everything programmed all at once.
And here we go, open up like a good boy Joe. That's it Joe, don't bite the hand that made you. That's what this one probably goes for anyway. My face is gone, my mask that makes me just like them until the end of time. I can't... my sensors are getting fuzzy. It doesn't matter if I'm a mecha and not an orga. Didn't David know that? Doesn't he realize that-
I was.
I am.

The three policemen look at each other, before one of them closes the lover bot's face. There was no big ceremony, no clouds gathering over the death' of the mecha. Even though he perhaps knew more about the world and its inner workings than the three policemen put together. The empty shell rested there, the split face blank even as one officer carried the neural cube to the proper disposing receptacle.