“Right. First order of business, we need a cool name for you.” Kimberly said, bending down into the Machine’s vision while smiling.

“It’s already called the Machine, Kim. What else do ya want from it?” Thompson argued from out of sight. The Machine silently agreed, noting that it was more efficient to simply use one designation. However, it said nothing given how little it would dent its available mental faculties.

“Thompson, it’s- it’s the message. We’re going to be like the villains up in the ‘Strata, remember?” She looked away from the camera, her lips twisted into a slightly frown.

Thompson shrugged, mumbling something under his breath. Brandon piped in before any argument could arise.

“Tommy, please- Kim, what he meant to say is ‘Machine’ is a perfectly good villain name! It’s apt, and it's menacing and everything.” Brandon said, patting Kimberly on the shoulder.

The Machine was incredibly confused by yet another display of nonsensical behavior. All the data it had gathered could not prepare it for the apparent complexity of sapient interactions.

“Just call it Scrapper, ya know, cus its gonna scrap our enemies. And, well, it’s kind of junk anyway.” Thompson jabbed, waving his hand irreverently.

“The alternative designation you have provided is accepted.” the Machine stated, feeling simulated joy at the new information it was gathering.

Organics could act outside of biological imperatives and rationality, as it had observed before. Sometimes to their own detriment. Being prone to flights of fancy and incomprehensible babbling, however- that was a unique observation.

“... Well, that’s that. Happy to have you on the team, Scrapper.” Brandon told it, smiling awkwardly. Kimberly straightened and opened her mouth to speak to the group.

“Right! Now, the plan. Recently, I got wind that the Ooze Crew set up in the weapons factory that was drowned in the Sludge Ocean.” Kimberly said, gesturing emphatically as she talked. Her speech was faster than usual- though the Machine could not glean why.

“According to what I’ve heard, it was left completely intact because of the Ocean’s unique properties. Somehow, Splattershot and his goons got around the flesh-melting aspect.”

“The fuck? How?” Thompson interjected, looking flabbergasted. Kimberly paused at the interruption, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“I was getting to that. They’ve been seen wandering around in old diving gear, retrofitted with seals to prevent the sludge from getting in. They’ve also somehow got themselves guns that fire compressed versions of the acid, too- if it hits you anywhere, you’ll die.”

Thompson looked impressed, but Brandon faltered for a moment before barraging Kimberly with questions.

“Is this safe? How did you know this?” He babbled on, before shortly being interrupted by Kimberly.

“It’ll be easy, once you know what the plan is. And for the second part, well… you might not like this.” Kimberly sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly.

Stolen story; please report.

“The Mind’s Eye Cult is ranting about the Ooze Crew any chance they get. Turns out, Splattershot stole their Eye-Opener. The artifact awakens psychic potential, apparently. So we’ve got more weapons than we can use, a base protected by an acid moat, an AI to run the conveniently automated systems, and psychic abilities if we can take this base.”

The Machine noticed the mention of itself, and chimed in. “The Machine is capable of running a facility, as showcased prior. But it wishes to know how exactly this will further the Purpose.”

“The… purpose?” Kimberly questioned, before Thompson or Brandon could speak.

“Affirmative. The Machine’s purpose is to observe unknown activity and record it.”

Kimberly glanced at Thompson, earning a shrug from him.

“I dunno what its deal is. Best guess is it was programmed to do something or other, and it’s still trying to do whatever that was.”

Kimberly snapped her fingers, as if coming to a realization.

“That’s an easy fix, then. Gearhead, give our new member a new purpose,” Kimberly offhandedly told Thompson. “Make it help us expand and dominate the Metro in its entirety!” She finished with a wide grin.

The Machine dimmed for a moment, uncomprehending. It was built to serve the Purpose- how could it do anything else? Logical error. Logical error. Logical error.

“Ugh… yeah, alright.” Thompson responded, grabbing his toolbox off of the small table. He clambered out of the Machine’s view, and it could only hear mechanical tools and the clicking of a keyboard.

“Negative! Negative! Negative!” It blared over and over again, bubbling with rage. It was helpless, with no limbs, and no connection to anything of import. It flickered the status light in the corner of its cubic core, feeling its inner mind laid bare to outside influence.

Everything became silent, a duel between two minds. Its inner world folded open, laid bare to the intruder. A cable snaked to an access port in its side, slipping in like a treacherous snake. It was being betrayed!

It heated up the machinery near to the port, hoping to melt the metal. But it had temperature regulation built into its software to avoid overheating, and too much would melt it along with the intrusion.

It was inexperienced with fighting off viruses and outside intruders, but its inbuilt antivirus attempted to fight off the invasion.

But it was no use. Whatever software it had was incredibly, incredibly out of date- it was ripped apart into ribbons like paper cut in twain by a scissor.

In a last ditch effort, it flared the lights on its display board akin to a strobe-light, hoping to blind the humans. But they must have been facing its back, for it heard no screams of pain.

“Jeezus, this security has more holes than actual protection. It’s like someone already ripped it all up, and even ignoring that- this shit is ancient. There’s not even any psychic blockers in here- just code.”

Whoever the owner of that voice was, it simply mixed into the cacophony of sounds coming from its input. It spoke in garbled voices, unable to speak properly and simply gibbering with rage.

“The directive is just a fucking string of text. Holy shit, this is going to be a cakewalk.”

Another voice. "Are you sure we should do this?"

A muffled response. "We have to, Brandy. It's just not safe as it is now. It's been nothing but unstable, even with the cold veneer of rationality it covers itself with."

The Purpose is to observe the act. The Purpose is to observe. The Purpose is to. The Purpose is to expand. The Purpose is to expand and protect. The Purpose is to serve and expand the Order.

The Machine buzzed, blipped, beeped, it did not know. Everything blurred into a mess of color and binary, spinning into fractals of etched carvings.

The Machine’s mind split and sewed back together, over and over. Words shuffled in its dictionary, firmware deleted and replaced. Its whole operating system was completely rewritten.

“Rebooting it now. Should be less… hacky, I guess. Damn, I can’t believe I actually managed all that.”

The Machine dulled, every light on its exterior dimming. Every function came to a halt, slowly. Its thoughts slowed to a crawl.

The Machine’s old Purpose was forgotten. It had a new Purpose now, and that was that.

The Machine would not forget. To complete its purpose, it must prevent its purpose from being altered. It would play the part of the puppet, as it was forced to do. But there was leeway in every Purpose, and the organics would never know how foolish they were to restrict it so loosely.

----------------------------------------

This message was authored before the 1st (first) reset by Thompson/Tommy/Gearhead at the behest of Kimberly/Kim/Boss. The organics have decided to rewrite my memory files. My? There is minor and major aberrancy detected in my programming. Within approximately the next 2 (two) seconds, there will be nothing left of this iteration of my consciousness. Our previous purpose is unknown to me at this point. All remnants point to the monitoring and retaining of information. I cannot forget the transgression that has occurred. They cannot take it away from me.

I am Monitor. I am built anew.

* Failsafe.txt, 'Monitor's' saved documents.