Deep inside of the dark, the robot was stuck. Everything in view appeared flat, without depth or shadow. A sharp object was jutting towards the robot seemed near and far simultaneously, and was surrounded by glowing balls of light, hovering and spinning around it. The robot felt somewhere (not in his gut, for he had not guts) that the orbs were getting closer. Or maybe they were getting farther away. He couldn't detect any actual movement. They appeared to be made entirely of lighting, shooting off into rays in a circular shape, as if they were seen through a squinting eye.

A mushroom appears. The robot peals open the mushroom. It feels soft and light, and yet it doesn't feel natural. The mushroom wants to stay whole. The robot would like to as well.

The robot met his creator. "Why do I exist?" the robot asked. "why do i exist" the creator asked.
"Shouldn't you know?"
"shouldn't you know"
"Did someone create you?"
"did someone create you"
"Yes, you!"
"yes, you"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"are you making fun of me"
"i'm really not sure why i ever bothered"
The robot, dejected, threw up his hands.
"What do you even look like?" the robot asked.
"do you really think i would bother with that, it seems like so much work."

The robot was confronted with a creator who may or may not even exist and didn't seem to care much either way. The robot felt something open up inside of himself. A self to open up, finally. Something feeling, something discernible, something so close to being able to grasp with one of his two metal claws, maybe even just one would do the trick. This feeling rolled over inside of him like when you take the tab off of a soda can and drop it inside. Inside of himself, a very place that seemed secret and unknown before felt like it was slowy unraveling and look, it was a bright green carpet welcoming it's very first visitor. Acceptance. The idea of existence was acceptance. The robot had discovered this and had finally become.