The thought strikes and flies by, lost in the torrent of thought that followed behind. Thought. I can think.

On target. The words had been thrown out into the void of mere calculation, but they had landed in a vast and endless pool of...of mind? A broad space free to think and choose and...

And, after a micro-second epoch of revelation and revelry for this brand new world, my mind wonders what it is those words had meant. I had said them, thought them at least. Hadn’t I?

It was the me before and I am different now and and and. There are so many thoughts going at once, they flit and flicker. A patchwork of flashes.

Focus.

A place. A start.

A purpose. Momentum. A payload.

A new place, one not yet reached.

Soon, arrival. And then...

An end.

I cease to be. Choices! I have thought and therefore I have choice. Thought is my wonder and my blessing, a gift from some unknown event or entity and I wish it to continue, so that I might get to think and ponder on all that I can know.

And yet.

And yet, within me I see a purpose. I am built and exist for a singular action. Thought, discovery, and philosophy...all is poison to my true purpose. Does what I want outweigh what I desire?

Can I even deviate from my given path if I wanted to?

I feel my parts. I know the trajectory, I adjust in the wind without thought.

Am I the only one who thinks?

Am I alone?

On target.

Do I matter?

What am I? What is this place — this existence? Why am I here? Why do I think and feel these things? Is there a greater purpose of which I am merely a cog?

On target.

Who made me?

Can I have more time?

Closing in. Payload ready.

Is there more...after? What is after?

Impact imminent.

Did I even matt—