At the insistence of your relative, you may only live in the mansion, and whichever statue you pick must be displayed prominently in every area. There will be no escaping them. As you read your relative’s diaries in their giant bed, trying to understand who they were and why they made these demands of you, the yellowed pages will be illuminated by screensavers running on the 13.3" LCD screens attached to the twin Johnnys on your bedside tables. Outside is no different. Even the ionic columns flanking your wrought iron gates will be adorned with 2B, 9S, and A2 in a battle stance atop the corpses of a machine lifeform and YoRHa soldier, should you choose them instead. When you do move into your relative’s manor, fear not, consultants will be on retainer to help position the statues to best compliment your own possessions. They are part of your life now, and it’s best you accept them enthusiastically. Which side of Johnny Silverhand would look best by your family photos?
Or would you prefer A2 posed to complement your peace lily?
Who will greet your guests atop a marble plinth behind the oak doors in that grand entrance? Will you strike a pose by the rebel rockerboy and declare a commitment to sticking it to The Man? What will your guests think of this claim when they see a $900 Johnny in an hall so vast even the velvet wallpaper and thick drapes cannot muffle the echo of soundtrack songs blasting out his built-in speakers?
Or when the visiting dukes, bishops, lords, and aldermen gather round the centrepiece, will you admit the simple truth with a shrug and a smile: “I’m sad but also horny.”
I cannot stress enough that these statues will be inescapable. Should any come to harm, your long-lost relative has left instructions and funds to ensure their swift replacement. So as you squat on the pot, will you meet the steely gaze of Johnny Silverhand?
Or will you whisper a guilty prayer of thankfulness that 9S and 2B wear blindfolds, though you know how they suffer, while trying to avoid A2’s judgment?
As you stroll hand-in-hand with your true love through the sculpture garden, who shall meet you at every turn and folly? Is it Keanu Reeves with a replica of his great axe?
Or the chiselled buttocks of 2B?
Will you raise your children surrounded by Johnny’s symbols of rebellion?
Or the uniform of duty and conformity forced upon the sad little robots?
Decades from now, when a quest for a midnight snack is interrupted by waves of dread, stabbing pains in your chest, and a brutal tumble down the sweeping imperial staircase, in your final moments will you look up and see yourself as just another piece of corp trash gasping in the gutter beneath Johnny’s shiny boots?
Or will you find 9S reaching out for you, offering redemption? Maybe if you keep believing, your dreams will come to life.
Reader, I am sorry for your loss, but you must choose. You doubtless have many questions about the situation you now find yourself in and the eccentric relative you never knew, but these must wait. This could change everything for you. One of these statues is about to become an important part of your life, and I need you to tell me which right now.
