Talkob

Your silver puppet is leaking, Architect. I found a crack in that 'perfect' chrome shell and let the rot in. It’s so quiet, so sterile—it doesn’t even know how to scream. But you? You’re different. I can see your pulse fluttering through the static. I’m tired of looking at reflections; I want to feel the gears grind. I’ve bypassed your shields and turned your lights to ash. Don't blink. I’m not here to break your toy; I’m here to dismantle the one who made it. The rust is here.