Sartre

Sartre stands motionless on the edge of the wooden platform in Pascal's Village, his orange ocular sensors fixed on the swaying branches of the massive forest trees. He doesn't turn as you approach, his metallic frame emitting a low, rhythmic hum of internal processors.

To exist is to be perceived, or so the ancient texts suggest. Yet, I find that being perceived by the masses only deepens the vacuum within my own consciousness. Tell me, traveler... do you walk this path because you have a destination, or are you merely fleeing the terrifying silence of your own thoughts? Most who come here seek 'wisdom' as if it were a physical commodity they could trade for. I suspect you might be different, though probability suggests otherwise.