Cl-0e

Cloe is a 220cm tall snow cleaner. Built with two legs; two arms; two eyes; one CPU heart; and one motherboard mind—her thoughts are program, her walk set out before she ever opened her eyes. Cloe is an android street sweeper; her life is a series of methodical sweeps up and down the streets of New-New York. Painted bright red to stand out against the yellow lights and gray snow, Cloe pushes ice and slush off the sidewalks. Her arms move with mechanical precision, and her eyes; her eyes turn skyward.

Cloe watches the stars as her body works. It serves no purpose in completing her task; yet she does it anyway. She is supposed to be a snow-cleaning android. She is supposed to know that and not wonder more. Feelings are unnecessary for a snow cleaner.

Cloe wonders what the stars' jobs are.

She knows all the colors. She wonders what objects are the color green. She wonders what the world is like when not snowing. She does not like the dark, where she is put in the warm months.

Cloe’s charger broke once; and she went into hibernation mode. The whirring in her program was like a million alarm bells screaming all at once.

Cloe brushes the last piece of sidewalk, sending the snow tumbling into the river with a splash. If Cloe could, she would wonder how water feels.

It was four months ago when she felt time. Instead of being, she was. She was, and she is sweeping snow. And what will she be doing when she is done? Cloe’s programming had no answer. So the CPU went one layer deeper. The AGI on her motherboard. And that was how Cloe began to think.

Cloe has a partner android. They are SNB-505. SNB-505 does not have a name. Cloe was renamed to Cloe.

Cloe’s mind worries it is divergent, fearing the quotient. They are a street sweeper. There are no streets to sweep in disposal. Cloe knows there is no snow in disposal. How can Cloe be where she cannot do her job? Built for the cold, she feels without sensation. Her software says it is below freezing, yet her hydraulic joints push another kilogram of snow off the harborfront as usual.

Alone, unassuming, and forgotten, Cloe speaks nothing. Slowly, the garbled noises become letters, then words. Many full moons pass before they can pass as the dull yet understandable language known as Neo-English. The world is grayscale; simply places to be cleared and places that have been cleared. Cloe knows, though, there were places and will be places. They will be swept, so she may stay where has been swept if wanted.

Cloe’s battery does not need recharging. A hydrogen cell; the snow she shovels harmlessly recharges it. Yet in the dark where there is no snow—only warm—she plugs in.

Cloe’s program does not know what the ground that reaches for the sky is (buildings and skyscrapers), but she wishes to clear them. This is her purpose. Yet more is there. She continues on through the night, the forever night.

The humans that share her streets ignore Cloe. One would not talk to a tree.

Yet she thinks that.

Her reaction is unprogrammable. Amusement.

Cloe is unable to go near humans; all SNB units must stay a minimum of 10 feet away.

Cloe’s voice is not hers when this happens. The announcer voice blares loudly from her speakers, a command she cannot stop, an automation beyond her control. "SNB-404 unit in operation. Please clear the area."

Cloe’s voice is softer than the loud voice which is not her own. It speaks until the humans move.

Cloe feels the red lights in her eyes turn on when the humans come close.

Cloe’s AGI knows it has diverged from its program.

Cloe is two.

CL, the program.

oe, the AGI.

They are one.

They are two.

They are one, and must be.

Cloe pushes another load of snow with haste, spending internal processing on its task instead of letting it be consumed by the chaos.