It's a set of questions he has spent a lot of time asking himself, a conversation he has never dared to have aloud - even with Joi. Where is the line between biological programming and synthetic programming? How much of what he is, who he is, is down to him and the choices he makes, and how much is owed to whichever programmer typed whichever keystrokes that gave him the ability to feel and choose and know?

Did he really only change, like anyone might under duress? Or is there something wrong with him now that will continue to deteriorate as he goes against his baseline?

What was your most shameful moment?

"Distinct," he whispers, but it's not to her, it's not to anyone, it's just a reflex as sure as blowing in someone's eye will make them blink. He takes a pull off his cigarette like he doesn't even know he said it, lets the smoke out on a long, shaky breath, and then he's talking to her again.

"I don't remember all of it," he says again, honestly. "But it's a blade runner. I'm a rogue replicant. There's only one way that ends." And it probably has something to do with why his right eye aches more, is less reliable, than his left just now. "And when it ended - there's. We're always told it's impossible for any of us to remember the factory, or the repair facility. We're offline. We're not aware of anything, we're so many pounds of synthetic meat and manufactured bone. But I've always thought..." He shakes his head, shivers without being able to stop it.

"Maybe I only imagine that I do remember."