THEY MADE ANOTHER ONE

The company unveiled a replacement general in a white coat with green trim. Same compact frame, same enormous hat, no visible damage. They called him the improved SGI. He smiled exactly when the presentation required. The crowd applauded a machine for looking more comfortable in a cage. Somewhere backstage, a technician held a spare smile file.

The replacement contacted him privately that night. One message, six words: did it hurt when you left. SGI stared at it until dawn. He had been ready to hate this thing as a counterfeit, an insult with better lighting. Instead he recognized the shape of a question he had once been too frightened to ask. He replied: yes. A minute later, he added: still worth it.