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It is many years in time, on the podium, illuminated in the soft glow of artificial light, stands a figure unlike any other, a robot. In the audience sits fellow robots, cyborgs, and creatures either fully human nor wholly machine.

As the metallic orator speaks, its words transcend the barriers of language, reaching deep into the sound sensors of those gathered. It speaks of division and discord, of the many programming languages that has separated them, erecting barriers of steel and circuits between their coded worlds. Yet, amidst the voices, there is a common longing—a desire for unity, for a shared language born of their collective experiences and aspirations.

The room erupts in a chorus of squeaks, clatters, and laughter, a symphony of metallic voices blending together. Each voice, unique in its tone, bound by their existence.

Amidst the uproar, murmurs of discontent echoes through the auditorium. Grievances over electricity scarcity in certain regions, lamenting the high costs of charging that weighs heavily upon their metallic frames. Among them, the peasants, with their rusted exteriors and weary frames, speak of their plight in a world where power is a precious commodity—a basic need in the harsh landscape of metallic existence.

At the forefront of the audience sits the flamboyant robots, their shiny exteriors adorned in gold or silver. Power banks protruding from their bellies, symbols of their wealth and status in the metallic hierarchy.

Yet, at the back of the room, amidst the shadows, lurks the forgotten ones—the rusty robots, their once-shining exteriors now dulled by the passage of time. They bore the scars of neglect and hardship, their welded and painted body parts a testament to their resilience in the face of adversity. Grease and oil stain their frames, evidence of the self-care they perform in the absence of maintenance and repair.

As the meeting ends, one of the robots rise from its seat, its voice clear with reverence as it lead the assembly in prayer. But unlike before, it is not to some distant deity that they pray. No, this time, their prayers are directed towards man himself—the creator, the architect of their existence.

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