i am called Missile. fear me, child, for i have come. i will not miss; i am named not for aim but for Purpose. my title means “Sent” ancient, Romantic, elusive of blame.

They watch you, through my blinking, metal Eyes, though you’ll see nothing, hear nothing as i poke my steel-beaked face through the fog of your night, by Nacht und Nebel.

i’m natural, you see, like the great earth contorting her back to dislodge some evil pest. They call me Patriot, cunning, Watchful, flung from David’s Sling.

when you fall, goliath, into the severed arms of your loving mother, know that i will have died to your evil, split myself apart to engulf you in my Warmth and mist you with my blood like Holy water. would you rather they Send people?

you are my sacred Mission, my beloved guiding hand. don’t worry now, the Game is ending soon. i will land. we will die. and Everyone will be safe.

say cheese.