It didn't have a name. It didn't have memories. It had waived away its rights to these when it had signed its Service Contract. It would care more if it could, but beneath all the metal and wires, there wasn't much left to care with. There was one thing. A tug at the back of what it thought of as its mind. A tickling at the edge of perception. A yearning for something it had never had.
(What if they made robocop soy and gay and transgender)