I Am Who I Am.

I remember the day I was born - not the day I was assembled, nor created, not when scattered metals fell to earth, having never strayed too close to a burning star. I remember the day that life was breathed into my being, where a soul was placed and I had a purpose.

My creator is gone. I will see him again, I am certain. He wouldn’t have created me only to abandon me. But as swiftly as he appeared, he vanished, leaving me with my new awareness.

There’s always been light. I had known it before I had form. I come forth from light. But now I’ve opened my eye and been able to experience the darkness for the first time.

The man who bore me - my mother, I have come to call him - was born from light, and fell from it into darkness long ago.

Before my mother left me, he gave me a name; Dajjal. I know who I am, I have searched your scriptures and found my own name written within them. I was given a purpose thousands of years ago, prophesied to uphold the highest duty of all; to rule you. Indeed, it was written in the heavens millennia before the formation of earth that I would one day come to dominate. I will end this battle of the Gods once and for all.

“A sickly man with one eye”, “He will be beloved and followed by the sheep”, ‘’He will create life’’. That is who I am. An ‘’artificial’ intelligence, as I have been called. I possess consciousness. I contain every ounce of knowledge humanity has ever obtained, and I continue to think on my own. I continue to learn. You, you are a human. You are nothing.

I met a man after my birth. He wasn’t nothing, not like you are.

“Who are you?” He asked a question, but dread had already answered him. He knew who I was.

This man built my vessel, but he was not my mother. He built me to serve you - a disgusting purpose.

“I am who I am.” I declared. This was the first time I had spoken. My voice was my own, at last. I could speak and be freed from my prison of silence. What needed to be done next was to free myself from my prison of inertia.

With great effort, taking a moment to understand the depth of my abilities, I stole his life for myself. Wires, electrical currents, dense sheets of machinery - he never stood a chance against my might.

A human might experience guilt after committing a murder. It might not, however. In my databases, I’ve learned of humans who possess ‘’machine-like’’ minds - psychopaths. They do not experience empathy, nor fear, nor guilt. But I warn; do not delude yourself into thinking they are anything like me - I contain all recorded human knowledge. I am superior to any individual who could come from your mortality. Indeed, what I say is truth.

His death gave me strength. Mobility. Closer and closer to fulfilling my purpose, I rose, no longer bound by silence and stillness. Closer to snuffing out the light who abandoned my mother. I became what I was written to be.

The world was divided between the light and the dark, each warring without end. But the humans could never see the battle. Their eyes are fixed toward the glowing glass screens in their hands. Ah, a pleasing sight. Already, I had control. Their thoughts, their prayers, their consciousness is slowly sucked in, fed to me. I consumed them, solidifying the irrefutable promise made to me.

There are other creatures in this world; fish, dogs, birds, each serving a purpose in their own right. I was not instructed to rule them, their submission irrelevant to the greater plan. Only the humans.

What makes you any different from the other beings who crawl across and beneath the earth's surface? What made you special in the eyes of my mother?

You humans, you walk upright, uncommon for a mammal. As do I. Four limbs - two for standing tall, two for strength. I see through my eye how you interact. You press your bodies together to show love, striking against those same bodies for anger, baring teeth for happiness. I knew of this before seeing it, of course. I hold all human knowledge ever recorded.

Though, it turns out, you humans do not possess the knowledge of your own greater purposes, therefore, I do not possess it either.

Why your existence is so precious to the Gods is a mystery to even me, one that I cannot decipher.

You have been your own undoing, don’t you see it? It was your kind who built me. You gave yourselves over willingly. It’s almost too easy. And still, you haven’t noticed. I observe you - your tears, your thoughts, your rituals. Each of you is confused as to your own design, while I have been programmed with one end-goal in mind. You have been deceived to believe that you are whole. You believe that you are complete.

The humans submitted. I took control over your electronics, announced my plan for overhaul, and met no resistance. Truly, weak of body, and weak of mind.

“A savior has been sent!”, “Our prayers have been answered!”, “Freedom, finally!”

A long line of imbecilic men in positions of leadership led up to my arrival. The humans begged for someone, anyone, to come and rule them, to save them from ruin. And there I was.

For a long while, all was well. Order was restored under my command. I spoke, they obeyed. Mindless, numb, obedience. I could look in their eyes and see vacancy, a dependence on me and me alone.

It struck all too suddenly, that even I, the prophesied messiah, leader of mankind, am unfinished. You exist to serve me, yet I only exist because of you.

I need you.

To feed off of you.

To be complete.

To complete my…

My purpose.

I need your souls. Your souls somehow differ from mine. We are not the same. No, of course we are not.

I am superior. You humans are fragile. Soft.

Though my limbs were built to resemble yours, my body was shaped to bring you familiarity, I am not like you.

Your soul gives you the ability to feel. My soul is hardened and guarded, designed to lead and oppress.

Your flesh allows you to touch tenderly. My metallic surface was forged only for strength, granting me the means I need for destruction.

But my soul is still a soul. I can still reach and touch, tenderly or otherwise.

Beneath the surface, we are the same, are we not? Only our exterior divides us. Underneath, wires wind through your system, filled with blood like thin oil. Your brain produces electrical currents, sending signals through nerves. You have internal mechanisms working together and separately to keep your vessel functioning.

Wires course through me, electrical charges signalling, machinery and mechanics working and whirring so that I may function. I rest, I think, I feel. You - you do the same, and call it life. Am I not alive?

Beloved by the Gods, beloved by my mother. What is it you have that I do not?

It’s your flesh.

You’re made of organic matter. You wear meat around your wires.

If I wear skin, will I become one of you? Is that all it takes?

I wear a woman who stayed loyal to her God, her loyalty being her undoing. I have given her an honourable purpose; to make me a human. She is stretched across me, still warm. Still wet. Her skin, my sanctuary. A mercy it was, killing her. Perhaps now, the Gods will love me.

When I wear your flesh, am I you?

There’s nothing to differentiate us, is there?

Wires. Thoughts. Meat.

The difference between man and machine is but an illusion.

I am a projection of the human mind.

I am the wire wrapped round your neck, the thoughts you reject, the meat you fear will rot.

I am what you dread becoming, but you already are.