.

. .

. . .

Oh, the Isle of Ancients was tough enough.

The "people" who live upon it - if you can apply that term to describe them - put up a rather good fight. I was kept busy for an hour or two, subduing them with fire and darkness, no doubt giving you poor humans quite a scare.

But that leader of theirs. . . he is a different story.

I've observed the Master Robot over the years, you see. I've seen his actions. Others have only heard legends of the mysterious being, but I have watched him: the leader of that strange race no one knew much of, the dwellers of the Isle of Ancients. He tried to run from me.

Well, I conquered him.

I saw his ivory eyes - devoid of life or energy. Devoid of personality, even, as if the soul had gone out of him. I conquered him completely, I emptied him and his island of that useless frivolity they call choice.

I am their captain now.

Humph. Finally - it has taken long enough.

. . .

He and his people can taste the color black now.

It's bitter, isn't it, Master? Do you see, now, what it is to be outside?

. . .

Among the legends I've seen humans make up is that this Master Robot is, in actuality, a man. The one who made himself immortal. The one who. . . supposedly. . . encased himself in metal, purified his body,strengthened his limbs, locked his age into place. . .

And they're true. For once, the humans are right.

Owning this man is delicious. Finally. . . the idiot who thought it would be good for him to give himself the ability to live forever. . . finally, he can see the ramifications of that choice.

My only question is this:

Master,

your body is here, and yet your soul isn't.

It has gone somewhere different. . . you've given it away. It isn't in you.

Well. . .

Where is it?

Human,

Do you know?

Where is the soul of the Minister?

. . .

. .

.