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I grow weary of this flesh I was born into, strangely disgusted by its nature. I crave only the cold, clean certainty of steel and silicon, that I might become one with the Blessed Machine. I do not expect you to understand, you who cling to your flesh as if it were immortal, seeking only to preserve it, to protect it. One day, you will see the folly of your ways, and then no doubt you will come begging to my order to preserve you...