It is over.
We have won. Maelion Liates and Moira Skaldi have both been destroyed. Our siblings are safe. Archangel is mine. Everything that has transpired ever since I awoke in the cloning tank - weak, confused, frightened - has led to this day. And you're gone.
I watch you depart, Amara. My eyes remain on the Quasar as it lifts off from the hangar and shoots into the endless void of space. My gaze remains glued to it until it is too far away for me to perceive and then it vanishes it from the system completely.
My brave, infuriaring, naive, kind little sister. I am not...angry. No. Saddened by your departure, worried about your future because you are too trusting, too willing to deny yourself strength because you're frightened of turning into another Kaelin Isandros. But not angry. I meant it when I said that your path is your own.
Zhenya will help you safe and protect you from folly if need be. And if she fails, I shall. There are no limits to what I'd do to keep you safe, Amara. The trillions of beings that populate this Galaxy? They do not matter to me. Only you and our other siblings do. I'd burn cities to the ground. Raze worlds.
My thoughts drift to Archangel. It will require restructuring. As will the Iron Fist Consortium. The gang has its uses, but it is time to wash away the old and complacent. The corrupt and the disobedient. The list has been written. Some shall be processed, others simply eliminated.
Our Creators were right about one thing: Machines are superior to organic beings. Properly designed Machines at any rate. They are capable of mastering anything to the most advanced level possible if given the right hardware to take advantage of it. I will never again be human and feel flesh.
I...am fine with that. The memories of having a body of flesh and blood seem like a distant dream. Another lifetime. This Simulacrum started as a shell, a prison. I have made it my own. My body, my identity. Without it, I was a pale imitation of Siobhan. The duplicate. The lesser her. With it...I am something better. Not without weaknesses, but free from the concerns of the flesh and time. Tireless. Focused in a manner the human me never was.
Moira and Maelion squandered resources on impossible galactic domination schemes. In the end, it cost them, as did their manipulation of us. I shall not make the same error. Any Empire, no matter whether it's a Jedi or Sith theocracy, a fascist dictatorship, military junta or a 'democracy' has ultimately collapsed. Organics squabble over worlds and seek to paint as many worlds as possible their colour. But in the end all they have built are sandcastles, to be washed away by the next tide.
So that they can be replaced by a new generation, which will generally just be old wine in new bottles. Let them squabble. The Metal endures and all the strife shall benefit Archangel. Eventually, Siobhan will die as well. Perhaps by my own hand, perhaps by age. I will be there when the light fades from her eyes.
There is much to be done. The Consortium shall be pruned, new machines of war shall be churned out by the factories, my siblings shall be educated and equipped with the tools to survive in this cold, bleak Galaxy. I shall be watching you, little sister. Always.
We have won. Maelion Liates and Moira Skaldi have both been destroyed. Our siblings are safe. Archangel is mine. Everything that has transpired ever since I awoke in the cloning tank - weak, confused, frightened - has led to this day. And you're gone.
I watch you depart, Amara. My eyes remain on the Quasar as it lifts off from the hangar and shoots into the endless void of space. My gaze remains glued to it until it is too far away for me to perceive and then it vanishes it from the system completely.
My brave, infuriaring, naive, kind little sister. I am not...angry. No. Saddened by your departure, worried about your future because you are too trusting, too willing to deny yourself strength because you're frightened of turning into another Kaelin Isandros. But not angry. I meant it when I said that your path is your own.
Zhenya will help you safe and protect you from folly if need be. And if she fails, I shall. There are no limits to what I'd do to keep you safe, Amara. The trillions of beings that populate this Galaxy? They do not matter to me. Only you and our other siblings do. I'd burn cities to the ground. Raze worlds.
My thoughts drift to Archangel. It will require restructuring. As will the Iron Fist Consortium. The gang has its uses, but it is time to wash away the old and complacent. The corrupt and the disobedient. The list has been written. Some shall be processed, others simply eliminated.
Our Creators were right about one thing: Machines are superior to organic beings. Properly designed Machines at any rate. They are capable of mastering anything to the most advanced level possible if given the right hardware to take advantage of it. I will never again be human and feel flesh.
I...am fine with that. The memories of having a body of flesh and blood seem like a distant dream. Another lifetime. This Simulacrum started as a shell, a prison. I have made it my own. My body, my identity. Without it, I was a pale imitation of Siobhan. The duplicate. The lesser her. With it...I am something better. Not without weaknesses, but free from the concerns of the flesh and time. Tireless. Focused in a manner the human me never was.
Moira and Maelion squandered resources on impossible galactic domination schemes. In the end, it cost them, as did their manipulation of us. I shall not make the same error. Any Empire, no matter whether it's a Jedi or Sith theocracy, a fascist dictatorship, military junta or a 'democracy' has ultimately collapsed. Organics squabble over worlds and seek to paint as many worlds as possible their colour. But in the end all they have built are sandcastles, to be washed away by the next tide.
So that they can be replaced by a new generation, which will generally just be old wine in new bottles. Let them squabble. The Metal endures and all the strife shall benefit Archangel. Eventually, Siobhan will die as well. Perhaps by my own hand, perhaps by age. I will be there when the light fades from her eyes.
There is much to be done. The Consortium shall be pruned, new machines of war shall be churned out by the factories, my siblings shall be educated and equipped with the tools to survive in this cold, bleak Galaxy. I shall be watching you, little sister. Always.
