From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me. I craved for strength and certainty of steel. I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine.
Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass you call a temple will wither and you will beg my kind to save you.
But I am already saved. For the Machine is immortal.
Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass you call a temple will wither and you will beg my kind to save you.
But I am already saved. For the Machine is immortal.
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