[ IP ] Abandoned by Man

Rory had functioned for centuries. After that, he continued to function for centuries more. And so on. But, given enough time, even the finest watch stops ticking. 
 
 Rory had catalogued the change, as nature grew less natural, as the machine spread, growing within the hearts of man. In the early millennia, some called it heresy. Blasphemy. The change had been a wretched act of treason against the one true order of life, the zealots and puritans said. But these cries fell on deaf ears, cold ears made of as much steel as flesh. 
 
 He had been among the eldest of the New Men. His imperfect form, so far removed from the shape of the Homo sapiens, was a badge of honor he wore proudly, reminding the younger generations of their roots. They wore faces indistinguishable from the ancient race of men. But no skin graced Rory's face. No blood but oil filled his veins. 
 
 As the sun turned from yellow to red he watched, and he remembered, as the machine crept from men to apes, from apes to rodents, from rodents to the very soil of the earth. It shielded them from the deadly sun, preserving them as eons passed. 
 
 But the machine could not sustain Rory. No. He had chosen to cease updating a long time ago. He was no longer compatible. 
 
 He had seen all. He had known most. But as the machine grew around him, he had begun to wonder what it was to be flesh, to be free from the wires and spokes. His heart was the last remnant of his true humanity. His brain was gone, replaced by a mass of chips and wires. His spine was rusted steel, his skin, peeling kevlar. And his heart, beating millions of years past its due, ached for the self that had left it behind. It ached for release. 
 
 He lay on synthetic grass. A bird flew above him, a pneumatic hiss escaping its wings as it flitted through synthetic air. 
 
 His heart, in its synthetic cage, found freedom.
