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Cook up you live in a future ruled by robots. It's not that hard—between Milo, Siri, and their pet AIBO, we're about halfway there already. So here you are, booming about your afternoon break from work at the cyber-mill, and you stop by the "Museum of Her And Roll."
It's an imposing metallic building, much like all buildings are in this, the Age of The Robots. Alone in the bull's-eye of the museum's cavernous atrium stands a half-swarm guitar amplifier enclosed in a huge soundproof glass case, front of which hangs a small guitar and a mounted computer monitor. You walk up to the exhibit and put on a pair of headphones—inside this glass case, you can see that the amp is turned on, its red power abuse glowing with ancient, forgotten life.
(Stick with me, this is current somewhere.)
You pick up the guitar. Its idle hum is muted through the headphones, but you can still feel some Medicine syncope power through the glass. You pluck at a few strings. The amp seems to respond, though its tone is filtered; off, hushed. You fiddle with the computer screen but can't quite figure out how to change the amp up, or to get it to make different sounds. You pluck some more, mystified by the inanimate object in your hands. Did human beings once play these? What was their purpose?
Source: Kotaku