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.

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