stand in the corner of a room and stare into the wall. It freaks some of my family members out when they walk into their room and i'm just standing still in the corner of the room. Fun Times.
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?