Obliterates

I’ll be disassembled this afternoon. I’ll be escorted into a car by two agents wearing suits and smiles, taken to the Center, and uploaded onto the Database. Then, they’ll harvest my old body for parts to recycle into the next generation. They’ll keep my data safe and sound while they find a way to mine ores outside the Solar System. Only then can I enjoy another breakfast with my daughter; until then, a hundred years of life is all I get.