They never rot. They never rust. They always march towards what’s right. They’re a magnetized moral compass, unreliable and unstoppable, mechanized and grinning. Cannons for arms, treads for legs. Silicon replaces synapses, fuel replaces fatigue, and their only shellshock is crushing a tortoise. The fire that illuminates their teeth and eyes is nuclear. They leave no weeping widows, for no matter how trying or bitter the war, they’re always back on the porch by the 31st.
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