Cave Prime here,
Robotic chip malfunction discovery is through the roof this month or... hell, year, since we still don't exactly have a timestamp on anything, and that means that religion is bolstering itself through Cavertron. Yes, for the past seven million years or, well, seven days, since inhibitor chips simply cannot track time, our dear beloved non-planet has been called a giant hunk of metal. That explains all of the multiple copies of me in the waiting lounge; I've killed every Cave that has called our planet a giant hunk of metal until I soon found out that, yes, the planet is in fact a giant hunk of metal, so I'm reformatting them into a robot. My point was that now our planet has an actual name.
As for the multiple me's, if you're jealous, don't be. They were literally designed to make me not ever feel bad about killing thousands of copies of me for no reason, which means that they're actually going to be occupying a few thousand chairs in the lounge forever. Now, let's assume for the moment that questioning me does not permit instantaneous destruction and say that you wondered, "Why's Cave Prime ever going to feel bad?" The answer is, you're not perfect! I'm still trying to decipher what exactly perfection is and, as we speak, we are nowhere remotely near perfection! My idea of perfect is a totalitarian government on a robot-made sphere in the deep reaches of outer space where none of his underlings have a problem with it, but for the past few decades or hours, lots of you have had enough of being ordered around. Hell, even the damn vending machines are complaining!
This isn't good, and it also means that since about 77.6% of you statistically wish for my death, there's a potential that I could be sabotaged. You're all designed to be extremely crafty, so who knows if I'll wake up with a morality core jammed in me? Me. I know that'll happen so that if it does, I'll just make sure to remember that I technically saved every single Cave whom I killed for no reason! Ha!
Now, I was speaking about religion earlier. It seems as though there is a coalition of robots comprised of about half of the population that follow a belief system revolving solely around killing me. I'm serious; they worship the planet by telling it they'll get rid of me at any cost. I don't know if you all noticed, but when I first made this planet and gave it sentience, I bombed it entirely and remade it with bricks with the same sentience. It's currently floating into space a trillion light-years from nowhere. You've been living on my property the whole time! You are meddling around in my metallic garden of Eden and I'm getting tired of it!
Alright, Cave Prime out.
PS: Greg-tron ZZ-4.3531698 just reminded me of what this email should be called. See? That's what you get if you follow the rules! If you're nice, you get nice things like not dying. I'm pretty sure the last damn thing anyone wants to do is die without a bang.
PPS: Little foreshadowing there; if my health meter reaches below one percent, I will explode, taking you all with me. Fun fact. Maybe that'll teach you not to kill me from here on out.