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 claim to your flesh.

As if it will not.

Decay and fail you.

One day the crude biomass.

That you call the temple.

Will wither.

And you will beg my kind to save you.

But I am already safe.

For the machine is immortal.

Desire.