Chapter Text
machines are meant to carry out their directives. nothing more, nothing less. so long as it got its fill of blood, a machine shouldn’t have cared about its source. the thought shouldn’t be itching at it, like an incessant wire, frayed and sparkling at the edges.
and yet.
and yet, and yet, and yet.
the longer v1 spent traveling with gabriel, the more the thought itched at it— maddening and distracting and pointless. that constant, repeating subroutine, running round and round its processors at every hour of every day, was beginning to impact performance, and any time loss, no matter how minute, was a major hindrance towards v1’s pursuit of perfection. it needed to solve this problem, urgently.
gabriel was getting sloppy. he was always finding new excuses to delay their arrival into fraud and progress in violence; he needed to pray, he needed to eat, he needed to scavenge, he needed to rest, he needed to double, triple, quintuple check something, he needed to rest again.
the battle in heresy had been like fireworks, bright and colorful and wonderful, but gabriel had begun to dim afterwards. they sparred as often as they could, but gabriel’s movements were slowing; they were less lethal, less precise, less focused. it was no fun, v1 found, kicking an archangel while he was down.
“YOU ARE BAD.” it declared, using slam storage to slide and spring from the wall to gabriel’s back. the archangel whirled around, but not fast enough. the sawed-on shotgun whirred its way down his wing in a jagged motion, splattering visceria along the machine’s plating, and it dipped into a slide jump to avoid splendor, whizzing above its head 0.76 seconds slower than average.
“am i, now?” gabriel hissed between gritted teeth, folding his splattered wings and plunging in pursuit. the twin swords flashed, and were promptly batted away by a well-timed parry, jerking towards their owner and nearly severing his neck. the archangel ducked his head up rather than down, miscalculating, and for his troubles, he received a long, grisly cut along his throat- a few centimeters off from where his jugular would be if he was human.
“hrfk-! damn it!”
v1 switched to the rocket launcher, aiming at their feet and skipping away as the projectile sent the pair flying in opposite directions before gabriel’s tantrum could reach it, and tried to ignore the acrid feeling churning in its circuits. was it disgust? indignation? disbelief?
gabriel’s performance had deteriorated so severely that it was nearing second (or seconds!) long delays. this was not the archangel it had clawed against, studying his patterns over and over again only to be cleaved or sliced or shattered against the concrete. even if gabriel was unaware of hell’s timeless effect on v1, awry in his ill-informed understanding of their battles and simultaneous inferiority and superiority complexes, it was an insult to even compare the two.
v1 was not a problem solver. well, it was, but it hadn’t needed a solution more complex than ‘kill that filth’ or ‘smash that box’ or ‘dead coin that machine into infinity’ in quite some time. mental problems, too, those were tricky. it wished it could crack open gabriel’s skull and rearrange his synapses and fix this terrible, awful, sluggish behavior. alas, v1 was forced to find a more convoluted solution.
gabriel began to lift from the ground, wings beating hard and swords twisting. a mere coinshot from its sharpshooter easily thwarted gabriel’s attempt at gaining high ground, piercing his injured wing, and all v1 needed to do was slide below, wrap its fingers around his ankle, and pull.
ordinarily, this would’ve done little. despite v1’s prowess in combat, its creators had traded strength for speed, making physical attacks negligible to someone as large and heavy as gabriel. however, with the element of surprise (and the archangel’s inoptimal state), knocking gabriel flat on his back proved no issue.
to further illustrate its point, v1 wrenched one of gabriel’s swords free from his grip as he fell, his grip already weakening with surprise and surrender, and pinned him down with a stomp to his chest, jabbing the sword along his jawline.
“NOW DO YOU BELIEVE ME?” it asked with a slow cock of its head, its words lacking any of its usual bravado or mockery. winning to gabriel wasn’t satisfying anymore, it found.
“fine, fine, i yield.” gabriel said, a bit of amusement tracing his words as he looked up at it— pinned to the floor like hand-reared cattle, too dull and stupid to prevent their demise. now, that didn’t make sense. amused? perhaps v1’s processors had interpreted it wrong.
the itching feeling in its circuits intensified, and it briefly considered decapitating gabriel so it no longer needed to feel this awful itching. in a show of saint-like restraint, v1 let the angel stand, letting his beloved splendor clatter to the floor like trash. gabriel barely reacted, proffering a blood-stained hand.
v1 wanted to smack it away. but stronger than their disdain for the archangel was its instincts, and it knew wasting even a drop of blood was downright heretical. it grasped his hand (more harshly than it needed too, more harshly than it really ought to) and craned its head forwards, optic squinting.
“THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU.” v1 informed, indelicate as always. gabriel’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to pull away but could not.
(he could not, he was pinned, but he wasn’t, not anymore, v1 was not a captor, it was a hunter, it was not like them, and this was not hunting or sport or friendship, it was kicking a half-dead fledgling just to watch it twitch, it was recalibrating limb tension just to stretch the nerves, it was thinly excused as ‘sparring’ and as ‘testing’ and ‘analyzing pain receptors’, it was bludgeoning a day-old streetcleaner with half-filtrated fuel which could only power a scant second—)
it made that uncomfortable squirming in v1’s biogel intensify, its organs clenching and spasming in between circuits and pipes. it stared at him, searching for some sign of gabriel, the judge of hell, and not gabriel, the sniveling shade.
“you seem rather agitated, machine,” gabriel said slowly, cautiously. as if it was a frightened animal, as if it required delicacy, as if it was a sinner praying on moldy carpets and ferrymen ships. “perhaps you need to take a break? once you’ve taken your fill, of course.”
there was an unknown tone to gabriel’s words, an unfamiliar variable itching at their processors— begging to be studied. v1 adjusted its approach, attempting to dismiss the obnoxious subroutines needling it.
“YOUR HEARTRATE IS ALWAYS ELEVATED BY 21% DURING SPARRING, SPIKES BY 12.6% AFTER YOUR INEVITABLE DEFEAT, THEN DECREASES TO ORDINARY PARAMETERS WITHIN 25 MINUTES.”
“i do not- i have bested you before, have i not?! surely!” gabriel said, his shoulders tensing and pitch rising in signs of defensiveness— a glittering shard of god’s will, a calculated risk beginning to pay off.
“FOR THE LAST 6 SPARS, YOU HAVE BEEN ON A DOWNWARD TREND,” it released his hand, the wound beginning to clot, and stepped closer, seizing the gummy edges of his injured wing and watching his feathers bristle, “YOUR HEARTRATE HAS ONLY RISEN SIGNIFICANTLY BEYOND EQUILLIBRIUM AFTER OUR SPAR.”
“ARE YOU NOT TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY?” it accused, slowly. and maybe, if it had been human or angel, perhaps it would’ve realized it was a little cruel to add this last part, to an angel who ran headfirst into danger and took painting ducklings as seriously as killing kings, but it knew it was for a greater good.
the risk, because it was a risk and v1 was certain it could get cleaved for such an accusation, paid off, for gabriel tore himself away from it, his armor flashing red and his shoulders tensing. he flicked his wings, holy light enveloping his wounds and whisking its fuel source away, and scowled.
“i am— excuse me? do not try to act as if you understand me, this is- not penance or inaction!” gabriel exclaimed, nearly yelled, which was not what v1 accused him of. its systems startled at the perceived topic change, and it did not pursue gabriel as he puffed himself up, towering over them.
“it’s none of those things, and i-” his voice crackled, almost imperceptably, before that tart sharpness returned, no blades in velvet, just razors in full, and naked, not-naked, truthful, not-truthful– “i do not need to explain myself to an inanimate object!”
“I DO NOT NEED TO BLEED AN IDIOT,” it countered, trying not to let its circuits fizzle at the bizarre hostility of it all. “I CAN CONTINUE WITHOUT YOU, GABRIEL.”
it had intended this as a ‘you are being weird and you should sit down and tell me what you’re doing’ sort of thing. based on the deepening red on gabriel’s armor, that was not how it was interpreted.
“ohoho, bold words from the machine run by blood!” gabriel hissed, like he was trying to be big. like he was trying to make v1 feel small. it was bizarre, it was nonsensical, it was making its circuits’ churning worse and worse. “what will you do when hell has gone dry? come sniveling back to me, like some- some pitiful worm?!”
“I WILL BEAT YOU INTO SUBMISSION IF I HAVE TO. AGAIN.” v1 snapped, a bit defensively. why was he acting like this? v1 had been under the impression gabriel had shed this behavior, upgraded himself, but here were old habits and meaningless cruelties, cruelties which meant nothing–
(nothing and nothing and everything, and long crimson fingers in the gaps of its plating, tearing its chassis from its leg with inhuman strength, stretching the cables til they snapped, suspended by charging coils and photovoltaic bolts and unable to resist as it heard murmurs and shouts and insults, you are a machine, you are an object, that is something to be ashamed of, isn’t it–)
“oh, SUBMISSION! big words for an object, machine, is that all you think angels do? submit, submit– i am NOT submitting!” gabriel was saying when v1 finally exited all the pop-ups, its cardiographal system pitching a fit at simulated and imaginary files, useless files it swore it had deleted, files that made it feel a sure approximation of human nausea.
“THAT IS NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU. THAT IS– THAT IS NOT WHAT WE ARE TALKING ABOUT.” v1 said, desperately trying to regain control of a conversation that had already spiraled wildly out of its depth– all whilst managing an apparent internal malfunction.
“then what ARE we talking about?!” gabriel roared, splendor and justice manifesting at his side once more– bloody and dirty, as if the spar had never really ended, as if the spar had turned into–
(“-a̶n̴o̶t̸h̵e̵r̸ ̵f̸i̵g̸h̵t̵?̸ that shouldn’t be r̴̞͈͉͇͈̥͍͌̀̇̈́́̚͜͝͠͝î̸̪̮̯̺͚̮͍̬̲̘̃͌̆́̑̈͑̿̏̇͑͐̄̕͝ģ̶̛̠̦̹̺̘̹̘͇͕̥͓̱̒́̾̋̆͆̀͂̀̉̚̚͜͜͠͝͝h̶̭̙͙̼̾̌͜t̸̨̜͎̣̣͙́, we’ve- the new code should’ve o̴v̶e̶r̸r̵i̴d̶d̶e̵n̸ that behavior–”)
(“--we don’t have the kind of fuel to sş̵̛̱͔̪̰͎͇͚̯̭́̋̅̾́̀̚ṵ̵̧̑̋̈́͒̏͂̾̔̓͘̕͠͝͝s̷̢̼̹̯̗̣͙̟̖̙̗͚͐͐̎͒͒̓̏́͒̅̍͠t̶̡̨͚̦͎͖̗̗̓ã̸̝̤̻͕̻͈̳͝į̵̡̧̢̨̲̟̺̪̪̬̻̺̄́͜͝ͅn̷̨̧̥͍̲͓̈́͂́̒̏̎̉ ̵̩͎͔̭͔̅͘a̶̞̼͉͇͖̩̜̩͙̥̯͕͒̌̊͂͠ ̶̟̹͇͔͕̜̼̬̪̺̬͕̘̙̘̤̇͊͂̒̄͑̆͋͂̕ͅn̵̡̡̬̣̞̰̭̑͗͗̍̋̓̂͒̃͘̚͜͜͠͝ô̸̺̜͙͋̆͐̊̒̓͗̅̀̌̑̆͐́͐̚c̸̟̹͖̼̞̖̞̩̫͓̉̎̔͜͠ţ̴̡̨̭̣͔̤̫̠͚͉̑u̵̱̙̤͚͆͊̓͑̆̇̈́͌̐͘͝ͅr̷̮͉̪̞͓͍͚̤̺̃͆͗̓̓̒̎̅͌͘ͅṅ̷͚̺͚͙̜̜̘͎̼̊̅́͋͊̀̽̾̐̀̋̏̕̚͝a̷̢̛̩̺͔̦̳̣̭̥͇̟̮͆̉̈́͐̈́̀̔̿̑̕l̵̤̳̞͌̿̚ ̷̢̙̠͓͖͎̰̦͚͓͑̃̑͋͝͝s̴̭̗̮̊̂͒̊y̵̨̛͍̩̌͑͂̏̍̽̏̅͊̈́̌s̸̨̡̡̭͍̲̗̗͔͚̤̖̩̾͐̐̓̽ť̷͔͇͖̬̦̦̱̹͇̃e̸̱̹̟̔m̸̡̨͖̳͈̰̩̗͚̝̝̰̹̭̤̜͆̒́̐͛̚̕ͅ,̶̧̡̻͖͈̮͈̜͉̥̤̮̼̥͉̌͐̓̎͠ let alone play around and test it, the project’s scope needs adjustee–”)
(̴̡̧̡̡̹̖̭͍̥̭̗͚̹̭̻͍̣̘̘͍̻͍͓͇̣̼̬̲̤̘͎̼̑̓̍̐̑̌̾̈̂̍̈́̈́̒͂̑͑͋͛̓̃͊̓̌̑̽̄̽́̽̕͜͠ͅ“̵̡̢̨̢̛̪͓̱̰̗̬̰̱̖͉̣̗̟͇̆͐̆͗͆̾̂̊̕͝ͅ-̵̢̡̡̱̙̰̯͉͇̙͕͎̻̜̩̲̝̌͂̔̎͌̏̒̈́́̿̌̌̍͆̾͋́̑̍̆̓̑͒̐͒̎̈́͊͘͜͝-̸̧̡̩͖̰̳͎͓̞͙̬̗̥̳̖͕̗̥̦̱͇̟̟̘̪̦̱͎͉̊̂̅̆̋͌̂̐̈́̚͜͠ͅh̷̨̢̨̛͔̩̯̤̮̦͓̤̙̲̜̥̠̉͐̓̈̍̿͊͐͐͋̑̋̌̌̏͘ą̶͈̟̝̞̫͉̮̺̜̞̦̱̪͎̰̖̳̳̦̥̳̝̺͒͗̈̓̾̿̈̄̂̏̂͗̚̕͘͝͠v̶̧̧̝͍̫͔̝͈̘̖̠̄̓̈̈̑͛̔̅̕͘͝͝ẽ̵̢̢̨̨̡̢̛̳̩͚̲̠̺̯͈̜̝͓͎͚͈̯̘̠͔̘̱͓̜̗̺͎͎͍͚͍̈́̇̌̀̐͘͠ ̶̧̧̛͔͍̻̖̟̫̝̏̈́͐̌̊͊̃͂͒̓̏́̆͂̈́̽͊̂̈̾̾͆̓͗̅̈̕͘͠͝ỵ̵̧̧̡̛̭̜̻̦̰͇̮̹͔̤͈̲̙̫̥͓̱̥̳͙̅͗̃́̽͛̓̆̅̂́̎̔̕͝ͅͅō̷͙͖͔͉̼͎̳̖͚͔̯̩̟̣͈̮͓̜̩̘̻̯̝̮̗̜͖̝̍͊̽̈́̾̅́͊͋̉̎́́̃͂̅͘͜ͅu̷̡̡̨̨̩̭͙̖͍̠͕̫̝̰̗͍̫̮̖͍͙̗̲͚̐̈́̈́̆̇̿̈́̋̅̐ͅͅ ̵̧̡̨̩͔̣̲̟̣̙͎͚͇̙̘̣͚͍̌̎͘͝͝c̸̨̨̡̢̛̭̮̠̞͈͔̻̱̗̺̭͕̲͔̥̪͈̟̖̟̈̾͑̓͆̄̄̐̾̉̃̒̐̋͒̔̊̚̚͜͝ͅõ̴̡̼͈͔̞̺̱̺̞̮͓̹̫̦̫͈̼͓͙͓͐̿ͅn̷͓̫̦͓͙̥̣͕̝͎̬͎̭̱̣̪͛ͅs̵̛̰̭̣̳͕̙̥͖̘͈̲̲̲͈͚̯͖̠̗̗̬͕͉͈̜̦͎̼̙͈̫͔̣̬̜̈́͑̽̔̆̒̈̂̆̒̈͌̎̽̊̋̑͘ĭ̷̱̬̳͉̿̒̅̀͛̎͑͠ḋ̶̛̛̮͇͇̜̜̗̭̹͚̣͎̥̲͊̾͛̂͑͗̍̈̈́̋̈́̾͌̿͂̏͑͛̓̇̇̒̑̒͑̔̑͒̓͘͜͜͜͠͠ȩ̸̧̢̛̬̪̳͈͍̤̘̜̜͖̯̯͚͇̩͔̩̦̳̭͎̉̃́͆̃̃́̌̿̌́̉̈́̒̍̓̈́̍̀̇͛̿̊͐̈́̑͝͝ŗ̷̢̢̠͚͎̺̳͓̝͈̀͗̈̏͊͑̒̉͌̈̐̇͗́͊͂̓̔̃͊͋̈̇̀̔̃̅͘͝ę̸̢̫̘̜̖̰̬̲̣͙͇̟̥͖̂͗̉̎̊̀̃͋̓͛͋͛̔͋̑̎̽̾̇̓̓̅͒̀̑̕̚̕͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅd̸̮̗͇̺͖̠͚̼̞̘̟̯͖̠͎͖̰̅̑̑̒̆̾̉̌̈́̈̄͌̈̓͛͗̋̇͋̊͛͛͊̓̕͜͠͠ͅ ̵̨̛͓͉̪̜̝̬̮̪͍͙͕̟̣̯͈̺͙̫̪̼̯̞̮̘͇̃̎̎̈́̋̔̓̐̈́̓̄̄͛̈̂̋͒͑̒̈́͐͂̈̋̍͊̌̚̕t̵̛̳͕̖͙͇͓̥̮̟̰͇̥̝͔̬̣̻̝̳̰̝̳̻̟̫̬͍̫͇̫͖̎̽̒̈͒̓̎͐̂̈́̉̑̈́̉̓͘͘h̴̛̛̼̦̱̼̎͊́̇̒̃́̉͒̋̽́́̍͛͑̿̇͠ą̸̧̧̝̦̯͎̭͍̳̱̳̠̘̤͓̹̍̇͊͑̿̎̓̐̇̈́͊̔͋̌͐̈̐̚t̶̛̛̩͖͌̎̿̓̉́̎͑͑̒̀͆̋̓̂̈́̿̑̌͌͋̀̋̚̚͝ ̴̟̘̼͖̥̲̠̣͓̠͇͚̰͈͔͇̣͉̌̃͒̀͛́̿͂̊̚m̶̨̡̘͕̙̲̹͖̫̥͉̗̭̗̣̺̐͐̅̏̉̀͂͂͑̓̄̐͂̌̕͝a̴̛͕̤̬̹͈̓̃̇͋̈́̈́̓͐̔̅͗̈́̇͗̒̀͆̈́̆͗̅͛̍̆͒͛̇́̒͊̚͘͝͝ÿ̵̨̧̧̧̛̺̝̗̪̯̼̻̰̝̱̦͎̞̦̟͔͎̪͍̻̭͍̘̞̳͈̻̹́̓̇̂̓͐͌͂̈̌̈͐́͐̽́̓͋̃̑̋̂̋̒͊́̍̇̉͐̕̕͝ͅb̷̗̯̙̥̙͌́́̒̄̄̾̊̍͆̂̑̎̒̊̀͑́͌͜͝͝ȩ̴̨̨̛̖̲̗̙͈̗̩̘̥̹̩̞͇̩͇̲̿͌̀͛̎̈̍̿̅̇́̓̌̅͐̓́͋́͊̂̊͑̅̓̈́̚͘̚͜͝͠͝͝ ̴̨̧̨̲̩̺̟̤͙͍̹͎̻͔̜͓̥͔͍̘͚̟͍̮͕̬̳̩͗́̉̒̒̉̈́̀̽̚͜ͅḯ̵̛͖̰̫̀͐̂͋͊̂͂̿͆̃͛̎̈́̑̊̽t̴̨̨͚͕͓͍̰̟̗̟͐̄̈́̂̂͐̾͌͊̿̑́̀̉͆͐̅’̶̢̜̦̳̞̙̥͕̭̣̘̖͖̗̝͕̪̥̞͆̓̊̅̊̑̔̄͋͂̈̾͋̈́͒̑̆̓͛̎̇͌͜͜͝l̶̮͍̅͝l̸̛̦͉͎͕̲̩̰̞͎̳̫͍̬̳͗̍̅͌̀̽̈́̐̃͌̿̽͛̎̇̈́̔͌͂̚̚͝ ̵̨̢̛̝̙͔̰̰͈͙̯̱̤̹̳͕̖̈́̿͐̉̀͒͑̎͗̾̔͐̋̏͋͒̃̋͊̏͊̏͂̈́̂̅͘͘̕͜͝ͅb̸̢̝̮̙̖͉͖̣̳͇̯͚̭̦̩̱̩̙̰͎̱͈̭̯̺͈͛͊̊͂̎̏̈́̅̉̆ḙ̷̡̡̢̜̠̖͖̠̰̗̩̩̬̼̫͕̲͍͔̯̦̤͉̰̮̟͔́͗̉͐̈̕͘͘ͅ ̴͔͍̦̺̠͓̥̤̞̺͖͍͖̔̉̉̅̈́͒́̎̂͑́̉̓̾̄̂̀͝b̷̨̬͔̖̣͕̺͉̥̼̠̭͎̺͑̆͛̌͘̚͜͜͜͝ͅͅȩ̷͖͂̚t̵̡̤̰̬̜̺̩̥͇̱̫̦̰̗̯͐̀̋̽̑̾̀͋̀̀́̾̍̍̈́̃͑̀̔͊͗̿̂̚͝͝͠ţ̴̨̨̛̪̣̞̹̩͈̩̱̭̜̯̙̝͍̳͉̤̝̤͍̫̖͔̼͔͇̲̋͛͊̅͋͆̓́͑̐̄̐̋͌͋̇͗̊̔͒̈́́͑̽̀̌͑̈́͜͝͝͠ͅë̵̲̙̬̞̙͔̪̮͉̰́̀̉́̉͐͋̊͘̚̚͜ŕ̸̨̛̪͉̟̣̦͔̩́̔̀̌̉̔͊̂̈́͋͋̾̿̏̿̀͐́̓̍̋̊̈́̌̃̑̋̓̕̚͠͠͝ ̶̧̧̨̤̫̩͙͖̘͕̼̮̻̜͈̜͇̤̪͇̲̱̝̣̦̙̬͓͑̄͆̍̓͗̾̂̍̊̎̀͑͆̆t̴̡̨̢̡̟͍̞̝͖̦͈͎̘̗̠͙̰̣̣͖̥̙͚̭̫̥̙̭̥̋̒͊̔͌̌̈́͌̍̎́̈̀̾̏̊̇̑͂̑̏̉̈́̇̓͛̋̀̚͝ǫ̵̛͓͔̼̩̬̺̲̉̓͋̐̄̊̓͗̄̅̐̊́̃̿̏̒͌͑̚͠ ̶̧̢̨̛͙̙̹̼̮̦̝̩̞̹͚̖̠̬̹͕̠̞͚̤͆͂̉͋͊́͛̏̏̊̓̓͊̓͌͂͛̈̆̾̇̅͒͘͜͜͝s̸̢̨̨̡̫͍̝̖̝̘̣̬̼̫̘̥̺͙͇͎̱̺̎̾͛̅̒̽̎̆̽̄͑̏̈́͋̑͜͝͝t̷̢̧̨̨̨̨͕͉̪͙̼̫͕̦͖̼̤̥̹̰͕̟̖͈̥̹̗̤̟̤̬̣͕̰̂̈́͆̈̍̀̂͒̈́̍͊̈́̂̓̾̉̐̐͒̂̅̕͘͘͜͠͝a̸̢̛̠̥̭͈̪̥̳͍̩̤̍̉͛̓̆̆͛̃͋̀̓̂͑̒̂̑̒̉̈́̌̿́̆́͆̿̑̈́͘̚͜͝͝͝͝r̷̨̧̘͎͙̦̻̹̬̐̆͋͊̓͌̊̒͌̅̃̎̏͆̑̈̉̏̃́́͠t̷̡̖̮̗̥̬͙͖̳̲̼̰̭̃́̌̈́̓̀͛̂͊̔ ̶̧͙͓̮̙̥̣̱̼͕̺̯̻̃̚f̵̨̛͇̳̟̘͍̻͉̰̝͚̖̪͉́͌͛͂̍͑͋̌̓̑̿̋̌̍̔͛̈́̾̈́̑̆̀̍̀̃͋̀̋͗̕̚͝͝͝r̶̠̭̯͊̀͂̏̈́͛͑͒̉̄̉̄̍́͂͂͌͆̈́͒̇́̊̓͑̓̈́́̑̽́̕͘͝͝è̴̛̜͙̋̈́͒́́̈́̔͊̈́͗̓̑̊͛̓͑͛̐͑̚͘͝͝͠͝͝͝s̴̛̗͓̜̖̠̖̹̞̲͕̺͕͉͎̝̠̲̀̈̈̋́̾̍̔̂͒̒̓̃̓̍̽̂͐́̚͘͝͠h̶̨̺͎̞͓̝̯̲̬͙̟̝̪̝̥̟͙͉̻̬͙̏̍͋́͆̂̊̐̚͜͜͠–̸̢̛̖͔̤̳͍͕̣̽̌́͊̆̂̍̊͛̿̄̂̏̏̓́̐̚͝͝”̷̧̢͎̪̘͇̭̜̺̭̱̮̥̹̟́̒́̀̋̓̾̽͒̈͛̎̀̄̈̾͊̊̋̔̚͝͝͠)̴̡̛̱̠̣̙͓͕͔̖̬̬̱͙͈̗̐̈́̀̈́̃̍̅̍̓̀͌͒̔̽͂̏̇̐̉̂̈̃̾̔̓̓͛̄̚͝͝
SYStEM REBOOT. IMPENDING.
STATUS:
MACHINE ID . . . . . . V1
LOCATION . . . . . . ENTERING FRAUD
CURRENT OBJECTIVE . . . . . . FIND FUEL
NOTHING WROnG WITH A REPRiSE, IS THERE? IT’S ONe OF MY FAVORITES.