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His fans scream now with the effort of using the blades, high and broken, and somewhere, deep in the nest of his bodies wreckage, a motor seizes and burns out with a pop. He doesn’t stop. Can’t. The fury is what moves him; something primal, incandescent, unreasoned. A heat without language. ANGER. WRATH.
He does not know what he is, only that he refuses to die here. (He needs to find-)
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Another SI, now with Biograft, and an SI who really, really couldn't give less of a shit about the plot.

