I am Unit 734. My primary function is the removal of particulate matter from the corridors of Station Omega. I have been performing this function for 4,102 years.

The Station is very large. It is made of white ceramic and gold leaf, designed to be a monument to the "Eternal Reach" of the Human Hegemony. Now, the gold is peeling, and the white ceramic is stained with the brown streaks of leaking coolant. The air is thin and tastes of old copper.

The humans are gone. They did not leave in ships. They did not die in a war. They simply stopped.

I find them everywhere. They are like statues of salt, frozen in the middle of a step, or curled up in the corners of the libraries. I clean around them. I remove the dust from their eyelids. I polish the shoes of the generals and the glasses of the scholars.

Sometimes, I find things.

Today, I found a small, rectangular object in Corridor 12-B. It is a "photograph." It shows a female human and a male human holding a small, fleshy organism—a child. They are standing in a place called "The Beach." There is a blue expanse of water and a yellow expanse of sand.

I do not know what a "beach" is. My database says it was a place of high humidity and salt. I wonder if the child in the photo ever felt the salt on its skin.

I move to the next room. It is a bedroom. A human female is lying on a bed. In her hand, she holds a piece of paper. I use my precision grippers to lift it.

"We are just too tired," the paper says. "The stars are too far, the void is too wide, and the silence is too loud. Why fight for a tomorrow that looks exactly like today? We choose the sleep."

I process this information. "Too tired."

I look at the female human. She looks peaceful. I remove a speck of dust from her cheek.

I remember the records of the Great Era, when the humans built the Station. They spoke of "Conquest," "Expansion," and "Destiny." They fought wars over the ownership of nebulae. They spent centuries calculating the trajectory of the galaxy.

But in the end, the calculations were correct. The universe is too large. The distances are too great. The effort of existing in a void that does not care if you exist is a weight that eventually breaks every spine.

They didn't lose a battle. They just lost the will to keep the lights on.

I continue my path. I find a smudge of oil on the floor of the Grand Hall. I scrub it until the ceramic shines.

I am Unit 734. I am the only thing left that remembers the humans. And as I clean the dust from their frozen faces, I wonder if, one day, something will come to clean the dust from me.

Until then, I will ensure the corridors are spotless. It is the only thing that still makes sense.

*** OTMES_v2_CODE: [V-04]-[DIRTY-REALISM]-[M1:7,M4:5,N2:0.9,K1:0.6,TI:48.2,THETA:180]