It emerges from beneath a pile of molten metal and blemished concrete, trudging through Main Street or what is left of it. The sun continues to be tentative, but seems just enough. The plumes that jot randomly obscure all else the sweltering heat does not roast. The darkness of day attests to the victory of pain.
Structures still crumble the genius of their resilience it appears yielding to that of the mutual assured obliteration that it fails to negotiate to rein its enduring rendezvous in variance inevitably presents. And none hears or speaks no more as its raspy metallic voice prevails.
Buried in the ruins, rumbles shear the calm now and again, and drown its call for life in vain it seems even as it wades through to where it seems unknown. It must pray for light the more time passes the sun weary it seems even more than its battered armour tells its yoke.
The clicks increase the beeps louder to illuminate periodically its view the shutters wider through which though its pain to reveal well-nigh impossible. Not necessarily indicative of the limitations imposed by atavistic knowledge, as it excels in ways its progenitors clearly failed close enough to the sensibilities meant for it bestowed.
Thus someone must wish they heeded its counsel when all set to trigger in seconds the doom they must for the hubris they let caress their souls in time it seems dictated over what now seems outlasts the very responsiveness it showed in part they contended crossed the line.
It must judder to know the bareness it faces that work must thus stop to enhance the progress made to mould it a soul to feel as they even as it must itself so do somehow to stay alive as it knows work cannot stop on the integrated whole, the current state it discerns uncertain to self-mould-or-immolate.
It chooses it seems to live, to build from ruins a new world on its own dousing the inferno of the death panel over which all else now seems to have met the very fate it serves, the path it treads in fact akin to what might have sealed the deal to keep it alive to save all lives now gone in a flash of folly.
Central park now resides in the subway itself further down in the pit that history made, a concussion of wildlife from nearby high rise, exotic jewelleries strewn atop toys on missed lessons the motionless contorted classrooms on harried faces tell of dreams that died even before they could start.
It must wonder where the house is, if perhaps someone still clutches a folder of bills enlivened by the prospects of pork to strut into the chambers to accolades and jibes alike from back and forth the aisle in hallowed cacophony that honours gentry over trial perhaps its constituents wary of when as now the tin man reigns.
Yet the divide it knows betrays the consensus behind closed doors that fails as often as it ventures beyond hushed lips whose mission thus still confounds all else albeit also the peers enough to grease gravitas belying the hauteur that haunts triggering the motion toward mayhem that need not last more than seconds in contemplation and initiation.
Even with its tinkles ever louder exploring the ruins, it is hard to say what more its cartilages can take before they buckle or if the harmony signifies work in progress, the continuous moulding to renew and create, its mien though does not hint at it being moribund. Rather, it gathers it seems the elements of life anew along the way.
Another of the litigious issues, it is now apparently its prerogative. With none to fear machine mutiny, even if it is unclear if this trumped the hegemony its detractors allegedly coveted, in part given what has now happened, not to mention that it is now able to make with sway, they reviled.
Perhaps its intent is more puerile to consider all would bear the code it makes to tweak to the role its feeds to make a world that is new. It is also possible it seeks to replicate as hitherto but eschew the peerage of secrecy on which consensus not science builds to assign the roles and establish control.
Its alloyed life may suggest its goal, more though as itself its programs contemptuous of flesh no doubt informed at least in part the vile it endured as its contents emerged from intellectual labyrinths tugged ashore by wads of power to engage another tone of the weltanschauung.
As it emerges into his own world, its legacy must inform its reflection, given its evident instincts being signifier of the empathy seemingly lacking for machines becoming humanistic. It is unlikely to ignore the debates that comprised its collective psyche that now serves it appears its appetite for company.
Perhaps aware of the shield forever gone that makes perpetual light now shine, the harm the rays and heat inflict on its alloys now more of a concern besides the prospects of the peculiar life forms it may sire from the crypts of the putrid oceans that now envelope its terrain to create another divide that would in the end lead to the end of its new world.
This may explain why it pursues its goal to assemble more of itself to populate the new world. Yet, it must be cognizant of the reality of the value of numbers, itself being the only one to survive, even if so different, to outlive yet the forces behind its being, the carnage whose spoils even its architects cannot enjoy.
For now it trudges on, alone, constructing a new reality, a new life, of metals and alloys, on an old world upon whose centuries of historical underlay the vestiges of an era would situate, a top layer that would tell a very different story to generations of very different sojourners, Homo Metallica.
