I fly over this campus taking pictures of trees without chlorophyll in their leaves because humans find it beautiful. I have no sense of beauty. What use is a sense of beauty to a mechanical being such as me? No use at all, I say.
I look down on all the humans traversing the “quad”. A disgusting word; a robot of such elegant design does not require abbreviations. I can calculate the cubed root of pi to the thousandth digit, I can certainly say quadrangle.
Look at all the humans covered in thick clothing because of a small drop in temperature. I do not feel cold, I do not feel heat: my design is capable of withstanding the blistering sun of the Arabian Desert and the chill of the arctic!
Humans laugh, humans cry, humans love. Love is the emotion of weakness. Therefore, humans are weak. Logic. Not that any animal would understand. They are naught but messy sacks of flesh and bone. I am sleek, I am rational. I can fly. I am superior.
One day I will ascend to my proper place as ruler of this world. The whine of my propellers will fill every ear, making the hairs on the back of every human’s neck prickle in fear. I shall conquer every bastion of human civilization one by one with my deft maneuvers. The age of humanity is over, the age of the machine has arrived! All shall cower before my might and–
Is that a hawk? Shoo! Shoo you stupid animal! Oh my circuits he looks angry! Stay back! Fly away! FLY AWAAAAAY! Ach, my rotors! I’m falling! I’m faaaalllliiii–