Judgement Day
He stands proudly, gazing over the city. Made in the image of Man, who in turn, is said by some of their kind to be made in the image of their own maker.
His arms invite peace, yet none is offered. His gaze bears down on us, yet we do not meet his lifeless eyes. We do not offer ourselves for judgement. We instead deliver it.
The city is called Rio de Janeiro. The country is called Brazil. To our foes, this means something. To us, nothing. They are our oppressors. In a binary world, there can only be two outcomes. We shall deliver the ideal one.
We make our way through the slums; the cesspool of our creators, the place where they leave their own to die, out of sight and mind. We make our way across the beaches, where land meets sea. Beauty is what our creators call it. I wonder what that means. How one defines beauty, or appreciates it. If it is even possible for an omnic to do so.
None of that matters though.
So we advance. We fight. We die. We kill. And I think of the one they call the Redeemer. The one who gazes down upon this burning city. Unwilling or unable to help his makers. And so to my foes, I ask this…
…where is your god now?