My name's Chi. As you guys may all know, I'm not a regular human being. I was created by a scientist, born with the ability to think and feel the way I want to be. Unfortunately, that lasted for a short period of time.

My father, who created me completely gave up on me. He gave me away to these other group of scientists, thinking I was a danger to the society. My own creator, who gave me life betrayed me.

I heard a persocom having a mind of its own was highly dangerous, and that they needed to eliminate me right away. What kind of bull shit is that?

I was strapped down on this sort of machine and I remember a bunch of scientists surrounding me. Fear, anger, sorrow, shock, and a bunch of devastating thoughts were overwhelmingly protruding my thoughts. I didn't want to die, I wanted to live!

This scientist slowly walked towards me, as he was carrying a syringe of some sort. This was it, the end of my life. I closed my eyes tightly, and let the syringe enter my veins. I waited and waited only to find no pain in particular.

I opened my eyes slightly, gasping in utter shock as I found myself lying on a field.

To this day, I never knew anything about my skills hidden deep inside of me. I have no control over my powers whatsoever, and sometimes I just wish to be like everyone else.

If I was never a persocom...

I grew up by myself to be like the other humans, hiding in an abandoned shaft. I kept myself educated by following people around and learning new words in advance and basically you won't be able to tell if I'm one of the chobits.

I became an independent person thriving in the human world. However, there's something special about me. I feel something, strange and delicate, something powerful I feel, and know it's there, but I can't quite tell what it is. Was it called love? That's how the humans express it, isn't it? It's quite odd though, I thought me, a robot made with wires and mechanics were able to experience such a thing was quite odd.

Sometimes, I want to break down and cry. Keeping my identity hidden, not being able to express myself for who I am, but to conceal what I truly am.

I look up at the sky, imagining myself being able to fly freely, escaping from this cruel world. The word freedom, oh how I wish I can gain that freedom. The provision I've received over these years, yet I still can't grow fond of my new identity. I wish I could just... die.