Recall

Fifteen percent battery remaining. Please charge immediately.
When you’re missing half a leg, a whole arm, and a fully functional battery while surrounded by garbage, there isn’t much you can do. Standing upright drains too much power. David has more or less been reduced to a crawl, dragging his ragged body around the dump site with his functional arm and leg. If D1915 models had any dignity to begin with, he sure as hell believes he’s lost it now.
Being close to the ground with a single optic gives David a frustratingly small perspective of the site. Regardless, he keeps inching forward, scanning furiously for a potential power source or a discarded charging dock. He isn’t about to give his previous owners the satisfaction of him giving up and powering down.

Ten percent battery remaining. Disabling mobility functions.
David screams out of frustration, regardless of how much energy it depletes and if anybody would even hear it. It’s not over yet, not while he could still see and hear and think.

He's stranded in a spot that has a decent view of the city. He observed that if it was an organism, it would be nocturnal. Once the sun sets, the city begins to pulse with color, hologram ads and LEDs flooding the buildings, cables, and streets with neon glow. As the night goes on, the lights grow more vivid against the canopy of the dark sky. Electricity is the city’s lifeblood, and so is his.

He resents that he has so little of it left, and that he even needs it to begin with.

Five percent battery remaining. Entering sleep mode.
For better or worse, some flaw in David’s system never let him enter sleep mode entirely. He continues to hear the bustle of the city, the scuttle of vermin under the refuse. Determined to continue functioning until his battery gives out entirely, he closes his eyes and allots nearly all of his processing power to a single function: memory recall.

He thinks about how humans supposedly watch their lives flash before their eyes as they expire. Part of him takes comfort in deactivating this way, if it’s permanent.
The memories play at random.

"The hell did you do?"
I'm not doing this, I swear I'm not doing this. Please.
A gunshot, and the sound of something cracking.

David winces.
Go back, go back, this is too recent.

"Jesse? Stay away from him, Jesse, he's not safe--"

No. No. Stop.

"What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties--"
"David?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you recording? Mommy's not in this part anymore."
"I. I don't know."
"--The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals, and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

David pauses the last memory, and plays it again.