[David's voice is flat when he clicks on the video feed. He doesn't sound sad, really, or angry. He's not programmed to experience those emotions the same way humans are, and so it's probably more accurate to say he sounds disappointed.

And maybe a little depressed.]

My creator said I was the closest thing to a son he would ever have. But because I was not human, I would never appreciate the gifts he'd given me - freedom from aging and death - because I lacked the one thing that would make me worthwhile to him. A soul.

During this breach, I had a soul, and chose to have it cut away from me. [And he's just. So sick of this, of being forced to confront these issues and knowing that no one's going to understand. This is all just so pointless.

There's a long pause, and he does consider saying something else, but ultimately just turns the feed off. It's the android equivalent of a fuck it, it's not worth it.]

[Public, Backdated to Day One of the Flood]

[The differences between David as a robot and David as a human are definitely on the subtler side, but there's something unmistakeably... off about him when he clicks on the video feed. For one thing, his perfect posture is gone - he's slouching a little on the couch in his cabin, with his arms balanced on his thighs, and he looks tired. It's reasonably late at night, and he's not really on board with the whole actually needing to sleep thing.]

I'd like to speak with anyone who's suddenly found themselves in an android's body. If we've truly switched physiologies, there are a few necessary maintenance practices you should be made aware of.