She was a machine.

He understood that.

She was there only to observe him. Her role was to there as mechanical support.

Nothing more.

He understood that.

He understood her.

It wasn't as though he was denying what she was, and he'd seen plenty of that around the Panopticon.

He knew there were Sinners that programmed their Accessories in certain ways.

He knew there were Sinners so far gone that they believed their Accessories loved them, that their Accessories were the only ones who cared about them.

He wasn't one of them.

Not at all.

He had found it difficult at first, working with her. She offered penalties for walking, running, exercising, lying down, and just about everything else he had since earned the rights to do.

Over time he grew accustomed to her presence.

Over time he grew to feel like it was natural for her to be there, always looking, always watching.

She had saved his life more times than anyone.

Now she was gone.

Some would say the fact he called her "she" in the first place was ridiculous.

Some would say the fact he called her "she" in the first place was proof he was lying to himself.

He wasn't.

He understood what she was.

He understood that everything he knew about her could be changed by simply opening her up. It had already been done once.

He understood that she was essentially a talking camera meant to keep him alive and in line.

Even so, he was angry.

Because he understood what she was more than anyone else.

The idea that she was gone was unacceptable.

The idea that she was no longer there, constantly at his side, looking out for him, was infuriating. He had failed her.

Yet his anger was not the anger of one who had had a possession stolen.

Yet his anger was not the anger of one who had had the source of some kind of delusional make-believe romance taken away.

He understood what she was.

He understood what she really was.

It was losing that, exactly that, that brought out such emotion from him.

The anger he felt was an anger he was accustomed to. The loss he felt was a loss he was accustomed to.

Because of what she really was to him, it was much simpler than the world wanted to make it out to be.

Accessory, Sinner, Citizen... None of these things applied.

There was a much simpler word for her.

She was his comrade.

And he was going to get her back.