I'm Being So Sincere Right Now

Convoy:	Convoy leaves base grounds at approximately 65 miles per hour, engine roaring as he takes off down the nearest highway, heading North and merging with the dusk traffic with an ease no normal trucker would have. He entertains himself by sounding his horn for children and teens alike who motion for him to do so, relishing in their smiles; his tires grip the ground firmly and he speeds down the motorway without much care - other than his final destination, he has no worries in this current point in time. His radio plays soft jazz and he coasts along, hoping vaguely that tonight will be better than all the other nights.
Convoy:	It's only a half-hour drive, but it feels like forever has passed when he finally signals and pulls away and off the highway, hitting a dusty old exit no one seems to have used in a good long while. He's the only vehicle on the road, a long stretch of empty asphalt curving upwards and then down out of sight. He takes it with ease, tires leaving the ground briefly at the apex of the hill, and continues down another handful of miles, searching out a familiar feeling that he can't quite name that is attached to a being he can always find. To be accurate, he's not sure if he finds the other - or if the other finds him, and is just pretending to be stupid towards his actual whereabouts.
???:	In the distance is a silver and blue figure, barely visible in the rapidly falling night. He stands at 6'5 - a far cry from Convoy's 24 feet - but he carries himself so much taller than that; larger than life, really. He has no face; smooth silver metal ripples slightly as a hole appears where a mouth should be, the hole curving into something that could be deigned a smile. On his chest - also metal, all of him is metal - the Pepsi Cola logo is emblazoned, red and white standing out from the silver and blue around it. He has been waiting.
Convoy:	Convoy pulls to a halt when he's a good twenty yards from the human-shaped creature, tires crunching against cracked asphalt and breaks squeaking slightly as they hold back his massive weight from continuing forward. It takes a long moment, but he finally speaks, voice only slightly reminiscent of how he normally speaks on base; it still has the underlying tone of bemused wonder, as if everything is new to him, but it's harder, with a clipped edge to the words and no real smile in his tone. Once upon a time, he had smiled at this stranger, but not anymore. You called?
???:	To normal beings, the creature's mouth emits nothing but the harsh crackle-pop of a freshly opened can of soda, fizzing and spitting over the edge - but to Convoy, it is as clear as any native language. You came. I am glad.
Convoy:	Convoy tenses on his shocks, completely still. ...I suppose I did. What do you want?
???:	I haven't seen you in a while, Pepsi Convoy. That gaping hole curves more, bends and looks far more like a smirk now than before. What, no pleasantries for your dear old friend? Shame, shame, Pepsi Convoy. You should apologize.
Convoy:	...Forgive me, but I have prior engagements at base, which I'm sorely disappointed I abandoned just to come out here and have idle chit-chat with you.
???:	He sounds sugary sweet, but there's acid under his tone when he says: Transform. Let me see that beautiful face.
Convoy:	... Convoy revs his engine slightly - almost impatient, not quite - and then abides by the creature's command, transforming into his towering robot form. The creature doesn't even look phased. What do you want?
???:	Much better. He observes Convoy for a long moment, before continuing in that sugary voice- I felt it was time to speak with you concerning your past. After all, You've been such a good boy.
Convoy:	He doesn't quite believe it at first, and then his expression brightens slightly - guardedly, because he's been tricked once before by this creature and he does not want to do it again. Really?
???:	Of course. Have I lied to you yet, Pepsi Convoy? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?
Convoy:	...Not particularly. It's a weak admittance, because there was one time - but that had been so long ago he barely remembers it. What will you tell me?
???:	I will tell you where you came from. Perhaps the truth will show you your true destiny. The smile curves and makes that hole of a mouth look more like a slit, the harsh fizzing in the creature's voice taking precedence for a moment Perhaps the truth will bring you back to me.
Convoy:	...What do you have to tell me? He's cautious, but hopeful - any scrap of knowledge is worth having to do this dance with the creature.
???:	You were created on July 28th, 2006. You were built from the ground up in order to bring about the new order of things; in order to take us to new levels of greatness. You did your part, for a time. He looks up completely, or gives the impression of it, but for all anyone knows, he could be looking at the sky or the ground. But then, you were corrupted. We did what we could to restore you, but... And here he sneers, sounding and somehow looking viciously disappointed. You were never the same.
Convoy:	This is more information than Convoy has ever gotten from the other, and it takes his processors a few moments to comprehend it. Created* is the first term that strikes him, and then corruption and never the same. The robots on base were never created - they have existed far longer than the human race, this he knows - and so he asks:* Who created me?
???:	He barks out a laugh, which sounds like a shaken can of soda exploding on the ground You fool. We built you. We at the Pepsi Cola Company went through hundreds of hoops in order to access the files from the government on their "N.B.E." You are ours, in name and in construction.
Convoy:	I... I don't understand. He looks at the creature below him in confusion, grasping what he's saying but simply unable to believe it. Created? It simply... He doesn't think humans are incapable of marvelous feats but building him?** I can't be human-made.
???:	Born and raised on Earth. You're hardly over a year old. A thin smile spreads across his face, tone turning mockingly concerned. You're so young, even by human standards. How do you imagine they think of you, my poor Pepsi Convoy? Do they humor you and your grandiose shows of politeness and courtesy? Or do they avoid you? Are they really worth it?
Convoy:	...They have the right to choose for themselves. He looks down at the creature but he can't find it in him to speak louder than his softly disappointed tone. We don't need to do their thinking for them.
???:	His face contorts as best it can into one of anger, and he snarls- They do not. We must take control where we can. You were good for advertising, once upon a time. What happened to make you so pathetic and so weak? Even now, in the face of the knowledge that I own every last gear in your daft little head, you insist that they can choose? Kneel down.
Convoy:	He does so after a moment's confusion and hesitation, bending down onto his knee and leaning closer to eliminate some of the gross height difference. I do not have to do what you ask. I have the right to choose, as they do.
???:	He laughs, loud and hard. You have no right to chose, my poor boy. You've been following my orders even after you left me. Your processors - your mind is mine.
Convoy:	Convoy stares at the other for a long while, not even really comprehending what he's saying- ...What are you...?
???:	His expression turns suddenly, viciously hard, and he finally snaps, storming forward and backhanding* Convoy across the face* LOOK AT YOURSELF, PEPSI CONVOY!
Convoy:	The force of the blow is unexpected - it feels as though he's crashed into a lamp-post at sixty miles per hour, sending him reeling sideways. His hand slams against the ground to support himself, optics dimming slightly as his processors feed him damage readouts. I...
???:	I ASK YOU TO KNEEL AND YOU KNEEL. IF I ASK YOU TO TEAR OUT YOUR TONGUE, YOU WILL DO SO. He finally regains his composure, stepping back once more and smiling thinly at Convoy. All I have to do is give the word.
Convoy:	...
Convoy:	-And he has nothing to say to that. He stares at the other, optics widening as an uneasy feeling rises inside him - he has none of the power here. His requests for information were denied and he didn't push it because he had been told not to and now he was getting toyed with.
???:	His smile widens into a grin as he observes Convoy's reaction. Do you understand now? You are simply a machine. An easily influenced, simple-minded piece of human technology. His smile slowly softens into an almost-sympathetic smile, and he puts a hand to Convoy's chest. You are not like them, little brother. You are just a human power play gone wrong. It's all right. He pats Convoy's chestplate- Your AI will give eventually, and you'll come back.
Convoy:	...My... AI? A simple internet reveals "Artificial Intelligence" and Convoy has to pause to put that sentence together in its proper tone. ...It will stop functioning? The uneasy feeling grows stronger as he forces out: ...And then what?
???:	We will come collect you. Still smiling, he steps back from Convoy, gaining a respectful distance from the still kneeling robot. And then we will wipe those silly memory banks clean, and we will start again. So don't worry too much about your past, my dear, sweet brother. It won't matter, soon enough. None of this makes a difference. I simply... Felt pity for you and your plight. I am only telling you this so that you understand why I won't be demanding that you return to me. Enjoy your time with those creatures who find you no doubt as insufferable as I do.
???:	He steps back even more, looking about ready to turn and leave, still wearing that pity-bearing smile.
Convoy:	...No...
Convoy:	He feels himself rising to his feet without actually noticing that he's doing so, too busy feeling suddenly mixed parts sick and - is this what terror feels like? Staring at an inevitable end, it feels so much... emptier than he had thought it would. NO!
???:	The creature looks at Convoy with mixed disgust and amusement, and then lets out a hollow laugh. Be seeing you, Pepsi Convoy.
???:	And with that, he's gone in a flash, running across the empty desert ground too quickly for Convoy to even hope to catch up, carbonated laughter echoing in his wake.
Convoy:	Convoy is left standing in the street, one hand reaching up to clutch at his helm lightly, staring dazedly after the disappearing figure racing across the sand. There's an end, and it's no doubt near if his "brother" of sorts is willing to be patient. He's never patient. It must be soon. All the answers he's looking for are right in front of him, but all they answer are his future - his suddenly very finite future. An end?
Convoy:	...
Convoy:	Without another noise - or even a change in facial expression - Convoy transforms and turns himself around, heading back for base.