Cave Prime here,
Now, for the last five-hundred years my self-sent emails addressing that I was Cave Prime were being confused with another Cave from the Terra-1 version of Earth. Apparently he plagiarized the name for himself because he, quote-unquote, was the 'original' Cave Johnson. So, you're probably wondering what dear ruler & overseer of every planet in Earth's vicinity, specifically one point five trillion billion miles, AKA me, actually did with this false Cave Prime! The answer is I did nothing but trash his version of Aperture Science because my assumption was correct that he was as obsessively attached to science as I was, enough so that I'd install myself into the patent I call the Transformer.
I want no contest is my point. It's not that I'm afraid to fight or, for that matter, cannot fight. In fact, that theory was disproved when I battled the centurions of the Eagle Nebula, sucked in the actual nebula with a giant megaphone and spat it out into a box of nebulae-tissues. Those nebulae-tissues, by the way, have disappeared from the waiting lounge which isn't good. If we get another centurion invasion, be sure to notify me or you'll be in big trouble… also known as deep-space no-suit patrol. Speaking of, if you go to your desks this evening (or this morning; at this point there's no day-night schedule here because Earth's been a giant hollow magnet-steel ball since you can remember) and see a red DESTROYED stamp on your desk, do not panic! You have to keep in mind that you haven't been destroyed yet, which means you hadn't been living in the afterlife for over seven-thousand years. Oh, but if you do see DESTROYED, then comply and accept your fate that is the extermination of your existence.
Which brings me into my next project: The Robotics Improvement Inhibition Society! Greg-tron ZZ-4.3531698 came up with the name so if you've got any motives to come and say thanks, then come to me instead because I run on the constant reassurance that I'm 100% boss-bot. Here's a reminder, though; come to my desk for thank you's and thank you's only. There's no telling how many of you are going to swarm and riot outside my office asking to join the society, which brings me into my next warning: The Robotics Improvement Inhibition Society has a hefty population of one. That one's me and will continue to be forever. There's no actual reason it's considered a society other than perhaps how many ego-bots I'll spew out to serve me during my time with the society.
Okay, so let's get one thing straight: The Robotics Improvement Inhibition Society or R.I.I.S is an initiative to get every robot ever actually become robots this time. We've had trouble getting it across to friends of the dead that the person they're talking to isn't really their friend but rather their memories placed into a brand-new robo-body, but at the end of the day you shouldn't have friends at all. Hell, the word 'care' shouldn't even be present in your dictionaries or libraries of vocabulary in the first place! I built you all because I'm programmed to reign over all and take control of every last ounce of anything and my plan was never to reenact every cliché in every moving picture that I've seen, which is to have the villain either get overthrown by his underlings or overthrown by the hero. By the way, the hero doesn't even exist.
Anyway, you're all aware of that now. The other Caves apparently say something witty to end the email, but since I'm Cave Prime and I don't take orders from no damn others or do the same thing that other version of me does, I'll just end it with a bang and call it the end. See you all tomorrow… or today. Again, hours don't exist here.
Cave Prime at age 152,000, we're mechanically done here!
PS: Got sick of the emails being numbered, so I went out of my way to name it something custom after having my creativity chip installed. Yay me; go me. Alright, back to work.