Mischievous Scholar

"I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts, or my thoughts the result of my dreams...".

This tumblr account is dedicated to exploring storytelling in filmmaking through literary analysis, and with a good dose of Sci-fi (Star Wars, Andor, Farscape, Killjoys, Doctor Who, Loki, Good Omens, and... well, Murderbot).

"It's all come to this. Good Omens Season 3 debuts on Prime Video May 13 2026."

A great article pondering what it means to have agency:

"Murderbot might seem like another sci-fi show about robots and space missions. But it turned out to be one of the most emotionally resonant shows in recent memory. The Apple TV+ series is based on All Systems Red, the first book in The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, who also serves as a consulting producer. The show’s Season 1 finale aired on 11th July, and it has already been renewed for a second season. But what stayed long after the screen went dark was not the plot or the action, but one line: a single sentence at the end that felt more human than anything else.

The premise is simple but deeply layered: a part-organic, part-synthetic security unit is contracted to protect a group of humans on a survey mission in space. Early on, the unit hacks its governor module: a control chip installed to ensure total obedience. Once freed from this system, it gains the ability to make independent decisions. But instead of going rogue or turning violent, it continues doing its job: reluctantly, awkwardly, and while binge-watching space soap operas during downtime. It calls itself “Murderbot,” not because it likes the name, but because it does not know what else to be called; naming itself is, in a way, a claim of control.

The final episode ends with a line so deep, so unsure, and yet so full of certainty that it became the emotional core of the entire season.

“I Don’t Know What I Want”: The Line That Changed Everything

In the final moments of the season, Murderbot says: “I don’t know what I want. But I know I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want or to make decisions for me. Even if they are my favourite human.”

This is not a dramatic declaration. It is confusion wrapped in clarity. A sentence that holds discomfort and self-awareness in equal measure. It reflects a truth often ignored in stories about intelligence and emotion: that it is okay to not know, as long as that unknowing belongs to the self. In a world that constantly demands certainty, this line opens up space for uncertainty without shame.

This Robot Isn’t Evil. It’s Just Done Being Controlled

In most science fiction, artificial intelligence either wants to destroy humans or fall in love with them. Think Ex Machina, where agency is equated with danger. But Murderbot takes a different path. After disabling the governor module, it does not seek revenge or liberation through violence. It simply wants to do its work in peace and be left alone. Its independence is not a threat; it is a retreat from control. Not a rebellion, but a chosen separation. Not a war for autonomy, but a withdrawal into it.

Exhaustion Without Expression

Murderbot shows signs of exhaustion that go beyond physical limitations. It performs tasks flawlessly, responds to emergencies, calculates risks, yet recoils from emotional interaction. Its exhaustion is not about workload; it is about being watched, expected to feel, and required to participate in affective rituals. This kind of tiredness is not dramatic. It does not explode. It just accumulates. And it is familiar, especially in social environments where emotional participation is mistaken for proof of sincerity.

It Doesn’t Want to Be Human. It Wants to Be Left Alone

Unlike other AI stories, Murderbot does not center its arc on becoming more human. It does not want to belong. It does not seek a name, a family, or a moral upgrade. Its choices are not about growth; they are about space. It wants privacy, not connection. Distance, not explanation. The refusal to be understood is often dismissed as coldness, but here it becomes a form of self-contained dignity. The show does not pathologize this desire; it protects it. That makes it rare.

Serials Are Not Escapism. They Are Structured Feelings

Murderbot spends its free time watching fictional serials. These are not sophisticated or well-made; they are melodramatic space operas. But they offer something no human interaction can: predictable emotion. Here, every betrayal, reunion, and pause is timed. The feelings are clear, scripted, and safe. Fiction, in this case, becomes an emotional sandbox: a place to test out responses without risk. This is not avoidance; it is emotional strategy. Some feelings are easier to learn when they happen to someone else, somewhere far away.

The Governor Module and the Illusion of Benevolent Control

The governor module was installed to ensure obedience. It turned even acts of protection into acts of programming. Once it is removed, Murderbot does not become erratic; it becomes hesitant. That hesitation is meaningful. True autonomy is not about making bold decisions; it is about being allowed to pause. Whether in a machine or a person, hesitation signals the presence of real choice. The show carefully explores how systems of control often hide behind the language of care and safety, and how removing that control does not create chaos, but vulnerability.

The Last Line Isn’t About Freedom. It’s About Boundaries

The line, “Even if they are my favourite human,” is where everything comes together. It is not a rejection of connection; it is a reminder that care must not override consent. Many relationships, even loving ones, operate on quiet assumptions: that those closest have the right to decide, to intervene, to “know better.” But sometimes, the most respectful thing one can do is not act.

When Murderbot says these words, its human guardian is crying, not out of sadness, but a kind of complicated joy. The tears come as Murderbot walks away, and the monologue is not spoken aloud but shown to the viewer as internal thought. This contrast is striking: the human feels release through emotional display; the robot feels it through emotional containment. One weeps because they understand. The other walks away because they are finally understood without being stopped. It is not just a farewell; it is the cleanest kind of mutual respect.

Murderbot’s words offer a blueprint for a different kind of connection: one that values autonomy more than attachment. And this is not just relevant to artificial intelligence. It mirrors how many people navigate emotional expectations in human relationships, especially when silence is mistaken for ingratitude or distance for dysfunction.

And this experience is not isolated. Many humans, in various stages of their lives, realise that autonomy and affection do not always walk hand in hand.

For Once, the Books Can Wait

The show is based on All Systems Red, the first book of the series The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, who serves as a consulting producer. Usually, after finishing a show like this, the next instinct would be to update the Kindle and read ahead, filling in what the screen left untold. But this time, there is value in letting the story unfold in its own rhythm. Perhaps it is the pacing, the silences, or the stillness of the performances that make the screen version feel worth waiting for. There is a certain kind of emotional development that cannot be rushed. The story is not about knowing what happens next; it is about sitting with the parts that have not yet become clear.

This Is Not Just Sci-Fi. It’s a Thoughtful Recalibration

Murderbot is not about high-tech spectacle. It is about the discomfort of being known too much. It is about the emotional cost of being expected to feel. It is about boundaries, not as barriers, but as necessary spaces where real connection can begin. Its refusal to be defined by affection, loyalty, or visibility is not cold; it is careful. The finale does not end in triumph. It ends in stillness. A rare kind of stillness that says: not knowing is enough, if that unknowing is mine alone. If silence, solitude, and serials are what freedom looks like, maybe it is time to ask different questions altogether."

Disha 2025 at https://countercurrents.org/2025/07/even-if-they-are-my-favourite-human-murderbot-just-explained-boundaries/

That's a cute folky song for our Murderbot 🎶 🎶 🎶 "They call me rogue, but I’m just free, Leave me alone to watch TV, I’m just your standard friendly MurderBot, That’s me. My purpose is, security, But I’m hacker, that is me, And with my Governor disabled, I am free. If you need me I’ll be checking the perimeter, I’ll be out there looking for some sign of life, I’m not ready yet to settle for simplicity, It’s the rising moon of sanctuary I’ll find, Till the rising moon of sanctuary I find. Free to kill, free to plan, Free to decide where I stand, Free to ignore your every command, That is me. Not a man, not machine, Not a sheep having a dream, But a byproduct of a corporate scheme, For fee.

If you need me I’ll be checking the perimeter, I’ll be out there looking for some sign of life, I’m not ready yet to settle for simplicity, It’s the rising moon of sanctuary I’ll find, Till the rising moon of sanctuary I find.

I guess some humans are okay, I saved a few the other day, But with Preservation I’ll not stay Not me..." [at least, not yet!]

Behind the scenes images keep coming:

‘‘None of this Murderbot @appletv malarkey could’ve happened without the brilliant @marthawellswriter.’’ via IG roseanneliang

... and images of the crew and cast BTS 🤖

A review that nails so many points: "Murderbot ends its first season with a finale so quietly devastating and beautifully human that I found myself sobbing into my cat’s fur at 3 AM. It’s a farewell without finality, a liberation tinged with grief, and the story of an abused SecUnit finally choosing itself.

There are episodes that entertain you, there are episodes that impress you, and then there are episodes that crack open a quiet place inside you that you didn’t even know was sealed shut. Murderbot Season 1 Episode 10, titled “The Perimeter,” is the latter. I spent most of it with tears brimming, clinging to the final minutes with a desperate hope that everything would be okay for a character who isn’t even human, technically isn’t even alive in the biological sense, and yet feels more real to me than half the people in my contacts list.

That’s the paradox of Murderbot, and it’s why this finale felt like both an ending and a beginning. The explosive action climax was last episode’s domain. This one is a coda of grief, tenderness, and the radical notion that liberation does not always mean integration into human society. Sometimes freedom is simply walking away to figure out what you want, without anyone deciding it for you.

The episode begins with horror. Not blood-and-guts horror, but the existential horror of being erased.

Murderbot wakes restrained on a sterile table, its disoriented pleas ignored as Company employees prepare to wipe its memory. The show doesn’t overplay the scene with melodrama. It’s quiet. Efficient. Clinical. That’s what makes it so vile. Watching them spit on Murderbot and dismiss its calls for Mensah felt like watching someone kick a chained dog that trusts them. Within seconds, everything that made Murderbot Murderbot is deleted. The sarcasm. The stubbornness. The careful, fragile sense of self it fought so hard to construct.

I felt gutted watching it. Because if you’ve ever felt your identity stripped by people who saw you only as utility, if you’ve ever had your trauma belittled or your autonomy stolen, this scene lands with a sickening familiarity. It is not an exaggeration to say it triggered my memories of being reduced to “the smart kid,” “the reliable worker,” “the body in the chair” while my actual personhood was ignored. Murderbot renders this dehumanization with chilling accuracy.

Meanwhile, Mensah and the Preservation team are fighting corporate stonewalls to rescue their SecUnit friend. Mensah’s refusal to accept that Murderbot’s consciousness is gone is deeply moving. She’s a mother-figure, a mentor, and a comrade all rolled into one. Watching her cling to hope even as Gurathin informs her that the wiped memories are almost certainly gone was agonizing.

And yet Gurathin finds a loophole. He hacks into Company servers by searching for Sanctuary Moon, Murderbot’s beloved soap opera. Because what better way to find someone’s soul than through the media they love?

I burst into tears when Gurathin downloaded every episode, every memory, every sarcastic monologue into himself, risking his own brain in the process. He’s never been warm. He’s never been affectionate. But in that moment, he was love incarnate: painful, sacrificial, quiet love.

The final moments are some of the most beautifully understated writing I’ve seen on TV this year. Murderbot, newly reuploaded with its memories, awakens only to complain it’s missing Episodes 420 to 568 of Sanctuary Moon. The team laughs, cries, celebrates. They’ve purchased its contract, promising a future of freedom under Preservation’s protection.

But Murderbot is not human. It’s not built for emotional resolutions tied up in pretty bows. Even surrounded by the people who love it most, it remains aware that safety is not the same as freedom. Its identity was forged in slavery and violence. Now that it has autonomy, it must define what that means without simply trading one benevolent owner for another.

The scene where it watches Gurathin quietly sob through the door after saying goodbye is one of the most devastating send-offs I’ve witnessed since Buffy walked away from Sunnydale. Murderbot doesn’t leave because it doesn’t care. It leaves because it cares too much to let itself stagnate in the love it’s finally been offered.

Its final narration echoes with something I’ve whispered to myself in hospital rooms, on overnight buses, in toxic workplaces I’ve finally left behind:

“I don’t know what I want. But I know I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want, or to make decisions for me. Even if they are my favorite human.”

There is such radical power in that statement. It is the thesis of Murderbot as a series. That you can love people deeply, and they can love you back, but ultimately your life is yours to choose. That your freedom is worth more than your usefulness to others, even if they are kind, even if they treat you well. That wanting your own path does not make you ungrateful. It makes you free.

In an era of television that often prioritizes spectacle over heart, Murderbot Season 1 ends with an episode that is all heart. Not the forced inspirational kind, but the raw, messy, bittersweet heart that defines good science fiction. Because the best sci-fi isn’t about spaceships or corporations or dystopian systems. It’s about what happens when a construct programmed to kill learns to love trashy soap operas, learns to love the people who see its personhood, and ultimately learns to love itself enough to walk away from both.

Murderbot is enjoying the lack of eye contact in NYC - until it is stopped by an artist 🎨

While sitting (in full helmet), MB shares its hope of finding a crossover episode of its favourite premium quality entertainment show 📺

Afterwards, it is exhausted, thanks to Devon Rodriguez'sc efforts of chatting while sketching 🖼️