Poggervania

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 the 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.

There’s some sort of cosmic irony that some hacking could legitimately just become social engineering AI chatbots to give you the password

3 hours later

“Pythagoras issues an apology video for stealing his crowning achievement from a piece of clay”