"I tried striking them with my suppressor", if you know what I mean
Also a gift from me to you people, there's a handheld nuke as a normal weapon (really, there is)
Someone has a M16
Someone has a plasma grenade
Someone has a cookie
Someone has an ink ribbon
Someone has a flashlight
Someone has a muffin button
and Someone has a pretty fly
A given mission, mechanical assault, manufactured devotion.
Red eyes, an upside-down form. Even the twisted shape was made to be that way.
No matter how cruel the slaughter, worse than a demon's,
or how gentle the kindness, greater than an angel's,
a machine has neither will nor madness—only code, and a few bugs.
So why, then, does it feel so unbearably sad?