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 if 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.