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