There was once a mech Smoothsayer.
True to his name, he was a seer.
"All hail 'Bearer of Bad Tiding'!"
Those words enough to send a grown mech running.
Word on the street had it.
Just one look into those golden optics.
Would they turn white?
Would he deliver?
Pray it is not your future.
Remember
The future is not set in stone.
But to meddle with fate,
There is a price to pay.
A thousand for one and one for a thousand.
