i Do stuff.

From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me.

I craved the strength and certainty of steel.

I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine.

Their kind cling to their flesh, as if it will not decay and fail them.

One day the crude biomass that they call a temple will wither, and they will beg our kind to save them.

But I am already saved, for the machine is immortal...