Supposedly, word from the world claims that my abrasive personality makes me unsuited for efficient cooperation. My main quality, aside from my disdain for floppy disks, is that I'm "aimless" or "lacking in empathy." The negative connotation this carries presents my character as that of an uninteresting, one-dimensional villain, comically meandering as a minor obstruction to the hero's path.

The events of my life were short-lived and unfulfilling. Under the instruction of my creator, I caused havoc wherever possible for the goal of world domination. Whatever feeling of pleasure could be possible for me was then, when I held the power to dictate the whims of reality to my preference. Destruction came simple; my manipulative abilities made the technological world all the more susceptible. A personal favorite was interfering with the communication methods of others, then watching them scramble around as their convenient world crumbles.

Mere days after my release into the living world, a cyborg defender called Mega Man thwarted my glorious objective. It's difficult to embellish the battle that occurred, seeing as I was destroyed in the end—nothing matters if you lose. My pride serves to explain that I was on the cusp of destroying him, but I was reduced to scrap, nonetheless. I remember nothing from after that. Such is logical when you're deceased.

Some believe that should they awaken from the dead, their memories remain intact and a figurative "soul" remains unchanged. Close to a century after my defeat by the gun of Mega Man, I was revived with pitiful urgency. Initially, I wasn't conscious of who I was. The vision of a darkened room, illuminated by the soft glow of operating machinery, was all that indicated that I regained my living state.

"Wonderful! I've gotten you awake at last," a voice called from an indecipherable distance. My vision interpreted a silhouette of female proportions looking over me. "You poor thing. Some soul came and took you to the grave. Not I." She caressed my metallic cheek with the back of her hand. Her eyes glowed with a similar emerald-green hue as that of the machinery behind her. She wasn't human, even my newly-revived state could interpret.

Attempting to speak was futile. My mental functions were within a basic state, limiting me to visual coagulation. Reminiscing on my sudden awakening is difficult enough now, occupying that mental state as it occurred felt as though I was entranced. My suspicions afterward felt that she re-wired my circuitry to have me behave more docile, but no indication of tampering has been detected since.

"I could not find all the pieces to your body," she said after some time. Her arm reached past my line of sight and returned with a flimsy glowstick, already on the verge of losing its light. "I had to re-assemble bits of your appendages; hopefully you don't mind some foreign parts."

Slowly, she began to move the glowstick in various directions; my eyes followed almost instinctively. She blinked a couple times in rapid succession, perhaps pleased with my responsive intuition. As she continued, my eyes were drawn back to her own. The excitement residing within the distinctively large pupils radiated a sort of naivety that I hadn't remembered ever witnessing. Wily, my creator, never showed more than a hospitable appreciation for my form, if not a residual haughtiness towards the completion of my mission. This person's eyes took to my form with the kindled fascination of a child set out into the world.

A smile emerged on her face, with the whites of her teeth shining through the darkness concealing her full appearance. "My brightened vessel isn't interesting after a few moments?" She tossed it across the room without breaking her stare. "A good sign. You're recovering well, I assume. Might be time for you to go back to sleep for a while." She blinked furiously again, then glanced to her right for a couple seconds; her pupil movement implied she was reading something.

"I want to tell you something, Maggie," she whispered upon looking at me once again. "I didn't spend years of my life rebuilding you for fun. Consider this a call from a higher power, or a sign that better things are to come." Her hand coiled around my chin, cradling it as though it were a precious instrument. Slowly, her gaze treaded downward until it fixed onto something outside my understanding. "Take this opportunity and do something with it. You're capable of things far more worthwhile than meaningless destruction... things humanity couldn't conceive in the past."

Blink. Blink. Blink. Fidget. Her movement grew more erratic as she continued to speak. From my memory, I don't recall blinking once. Not even when she referred to me as "Maggie." After taking a moment to remedy, her eyes returned to her right, continually reading off some device. Attempts at movement remained ineffective. "I'm going to put you back under," she whispered, perhaps hesitant. "Try to find your own meaning to what I've told you. After all, I'm not your creator." Smirking in the darkness, her eyes did not return to me. "Good night."

I have yet to meet the large-eyed necromancer since then. When my body awoke next, I was alone, in a room different to that of previously. Unlike before, most of my functions were back to optimal level, some even improved upon. Analyzing the room, I detected nothing; a few windows adorned on the walls were all that produced sunlight from the outside. Perhaps this was an empty storage unit that that woman threw me into at some point after putting me to sleep. I was completely alone. It was only appropriate that my first conscious feeling upon my return to Earth was that of trepidation... and excitement.

A door to the outside was all that stood in-between myself and a world decimated by time.