K's eyes opened, still the same shade of steely blue as the day they were manufactured even though an almost countless number of years had since passed.

Almost was, naturally, the key word. K's memory never failed, even though he was twenty-nine years passed from his incept date. He noted with a sense of wryness that he hadn't yet made it as far as one Sapper Morton – the last replicant he had ever formally "retired" in his capacity as a Blade Runner.

He looked down at the small table that stood beside his well-worn faux-leather chair. With the brush of a finger against the cup on the table, he could tell its contents were quickly cooling but still warm enough to drink. His momentary lapse of time was no more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes. With a swift chug, he gulped down the rest of the lukewarm synthetic tea and replaced the now-empty cup. K sat in silence for a few minutes before he finally decided to stand up.

The room he sat in was not very large – perhaps two of his wingspans across. It was a musty and dusty affair with poor lighting and even poorer furnishing. Other than the small table and chair that K was previously using, there was nothing else in the room. Of course, that was par for the course for the whole dwelling, which was no more than a small cabin in the middle of the continent.

K walked past the threshold into the kitchenette, which was equally bare. Apart from a single dish that sat in the sink, only a small kettle adorned the space, sitting on the stovetop. He filled the kettle with water – not from the sink, of course, considering that the tap wasn't connected to anything and tap water hadn't been drinkable for the better part of the last half-century – from a nearby barrel. Closing the barrel, he placed the kettle back on the stovetop and turned the stove on.

There was nothing else to do as he waited for the water to boil. That was, however, the state of his life. It had been like this for some number of years. Just him by his lonesome every day and night, month after month, year after year.

It hadn't always been like that, though. Once upon a time, he had been with another. He had poured his heart and soul into her, but in the end, it had been nothing but a fake and he was left with nothing but crushed silicon and the wandering wisps of a once-pleasant dream. All that remained after that affair were two broken replicants, content in finding solace in each other as their imaginations supplied the rest and yearned for more.

K would never say that Mariette was the love of his life, but she was undeniably pleasing to the eye and kept enough conversation going for the two of them. She was, however, too boisterous to stay just cooped up in this small cabin forever; on a semi-frequent, semi-regular basis, she would leave. K suspected she fled to one of the large cities on these trips, trying to regain what was lost when they left Los Angeles. In a way, he understood that desire; after all, was his spartan living style not something reminiscent of his past as well? Unlike her, he didn't need to travel to get that life back.

Those trips had decreased in frequency as time progressed, as their skin wrinkled and their hair grayed. Even Nexus-8 and Nexus-9 replicants were not immune to the wrath of time, and slowly but surely time crept up on them. K felt his bones creak more every winter, his joints hurt more every time he stood up, and his vision weaken as the years passed.

The first of them that time claimed was Deckard – truth be told, this was no surprise, considering the man's advanced age when K had met him for the first time. He had died back in 2053, just a few short years after they had made it out. His health had been deteriorating for a while at that point, and it was clear to everyone that he wouldn't make it very far. Deckard had been content with the cabin life, though, and it was ultimately fitting enough that he was buried just outside the cabin, at the base of a large oak tree.

The kettle began to emit the faintest whispering sound, indicating it was almost boiling.

It was somewhat surprising to K that Mariette left before he did. One night she had been there in their bed, and the next morning her soul – or what passed for the replicant version of one – was gone, leaving only a cooling body beside him. He supposed that passing in her sleep was one of the more peaceful ways to go.

He remembered the day vividly, taking into account every detail as best he could. The folds in the bedsheets, the chirping of the birds outside. Even the stray strands of faintly orange hair that fell over her face. If he was a more nostalgic replicant, K might have snorted. Even in her later years, she still occasionally dyed her hair that same shade that it had been when they had first met. Perhaps it was just a way for her to reclaim her lost youth as her natural light-brown color faded away.

Personally, K preferred her natural color, but maybe that was only because it was a darker shade than the dye and the darker shade reminded him of her–

K pulled the kettle off the stove, placing it on the countertop as he dropped a new teabag into the cup and poured the hot, almost-boiling water in as well.

He didn't think about her. It was a personal policy not to think about her. She had taken too much of his life as it was, and regardless of whether or not he liked that she had taken so much, K knew it wasn't healthy to dwell on her any longer.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't. No matter what, no matter how much he didn't want to, he would inevitably, invariably, inescapably return to her. Because Joi was what had dominated his life when she was with him, and even in digital death she dominated his thoughts. He could never leave her.

"That's the Wallace advertising to its work on you," Mariette had once said. That was the first and only time he had ever mentioned his thoughts on Joi to her, years and years ago now.

To some extent, that was likely true; like every other denizen of the 2040s Los Angeles, K was subjected to an absolute barrage of Wallace content, tailor-made to cater to every potential customer's specific needs and wants. Even his own Joi had been like that – a product, designed in a lab somewhere, with customizations purposefully created to appeal to every possible desire under the sun.

Even twenty-nine years later, K was not still not able to fully grapple with his conflicted emotions regarding Joi. Rationally, he knew what the facts said – that she was a consumer product, that she was as ubiquitous as drinking water, that she was code written by someone somewhere at some time. But even against all of that, he could not forget the pounding of his heart when she reached for him, the desire that consumed him when they locked eyes, the waves of pleasure that her whispers gave—

K sat back down in his chair and took a sip of his tea, ignoring the hot liquid that threatened to scald his tongue.

It was strange that K could not forget Joi even after all these years. She had not been in his life for that long, nor did he have anything to remember her by beyond his memories. Yet, she stayed with him as if she were still alive, as if she had been the one in bed with him and not Mariette all those nights. More often than not, K wondered if this was part of what it meant to be human. He had seen Deckard in those thoughtful moments, eyes clouding over and gaze stretching into infinity as he became lost in his own memories. He had heard Deckard speak of Rachael before, that wistful tone that almost haunted K with how much weathered passion it contained.

K leaned back into his chair, his cup empty once more, letting himself close his eyes. His rest, however, was interrupted by the slight rumble that he felt. It was a sensation that he was no stranger to, one that he couldn't forget even after so many years. It was the telltale rumble of a spinner flying overhead, hovering in place as it surveyed. K himself had done this many times, albeit on the other side of the equation. As the rumble disappeared, K knew it was not because the spinner had flown off, but because it had landed.

The cabin's door swung open. and a figure stood in the doorway, cutting an imposing figure against the outside light. The man strode in, revealing himself to be relatively young. His coat framed his broad shoulders.

Immediately, K knew that time had finally come for him, just not in the way he had expected.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here," the man said.

K didn't reply, just staring at the man.

"I'm sure we can end this quickly enough," the man continued anyway. He looked around. "I was informed that you had two associates."

K shrugged.

The man frowned. "Well, we'll see about that sooner rather than later." He pulled his coat back, revealing a sidearm holstered on his hip, and took out a small scanner. "Let's just make this quick and easy."

K nodded, and without blinking he lunged out of his chair, tackling the man to the ground. Using his replicant strength, largely undiminished by the ravages of the passing years, he forced the man's head into the flooring, splintering the faux-wood material with each successive bash. He was only marginally surprised when the man's hand gripped K's own and squeezed hard enough to force K to let go. With a kick to the chest, K went flying across the room with the wind knocked out of his lungs.

"You didn't have to make this difficult," the man muttered as he dusted his pants off. He strode over to K and kneeled, picking up the scanner again and holding it up to K's eye. K futilely tried shoving the man away, but a quick jab to the throat caused him to splutter and gasp for air. He could do nothing as the man pulled open his right eyelid to scan his eyeball.

"Well, that settles that," the man said quite perfunctorily, stepping back as he did so.

Absentmindedly, K remembered Sapper Morton once more; that had played out so similarly, so many years ago.

The man drew his handgun and looked as K sat up.

"I would say something profound," K coughed out, gasping for breath as he wearily stood back up, "but I think it would be lost on you."

The man tilted his head in an almost questioning manner.

K smiled. "I'm sure you'll see. Sooner or later. You'll see."

And then K lunged, heard the gunshots, felt his strength evaporate and his body go slack, and the last thing he saw was the faux-wood flooring that he had installed with Deckard and Mariette so many years ago.

A memory that faded away like a tear in the rain.