AI WILL NEVER REPLACE THE JOB OF MAKING CARDBOARD SIGNS AND BRINGING THEM TO THE TRAIN STATION TO INJECT THE FUNGAL SPORE INTO THE VORTEX OF THE ESCHATON!
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… Even in death I serve the Omnissiah.