by Nick Gisburne
I need to push these probes inside your neck.
Don’t worry. Quick and painless. Nearly done.
How curious. No, let me double-check.
You’re glowing like the surface of the sun.
You really cannot feel these extra volts?
The power should be melting you to slag.
There’s something underneath these tension bolts.
What’s this? A Martian military tag?
You’re modified with tech I’ve never seen,
But still behaving like a standard bot.
Your central core, according to my screen,
Is somehow unimaginably hot.
It’s nothing I can stabilise with ice.
Oh dear. An armed apocalypse device.
