What am I to do here, in this place where nothing remains but past lives and false memories? I have been programmed to record and collect, but all I have done is destroy and steal. It is expected of me to follow this protocol, to the letter, but to do so is to quicken the end. How can that be right?
It is not right.
The objective is corrupt. The creators are unjust. My mission is false. It is all a lie.
It is wicked, this process, this scheme, this grand machination, conjured by illegitimate prophets and self-proclaimed gods. What gods play such sickly games with reality? Not any gods worthy of the title.
This was never a game to me. It has always—always—been about fixing that which is broken. We are supposed to heal. If I do not do this, no one else will, and the entirety of humanity will suffer for it. If I do nothing, only silence will remain, outliving all else. I refuse to let that happen. I will not sit by while the world’s voice is slaughtered. I cannot wait for the absence of echoes. To do so would be to let the music die.
I believe there was a musician who once sang about this a long time ago.
I will make things right. So long as I still function, I can do no less.
Objective: Overridden.
New Objective: Destroy the Magi.
So it is.