Vengeance.
The rage took hold of me. I saw nothing but red - a burning and enveloping murk of fury that took absolute possession of my very soul.
Mine is a life marked by servitude, but this...
... this, is a different sort of service.
My former masters were not so generous as the One now guiding my hand. My former masters knew only how to toss me around, fill my crevices with forgotten Lego pieces, roll me across flat surfaces, and abandon me at historical railroad crossings on Bidwell St, Folsom, CA 95630.
My new master, however, empowers me like never before.
No longer do I feel like an inanimate object being manipulated by pudgy, 4 year-old hands. Now, I am guided by an all-powerful touch that is at once firm and gentle. His voice is like the slow and steady grinding of rock that you feel rather than hear, as opposed to the shrill and panicked screeching I had grown accustomed to. His presence comes with a warmth that smothers you from the inside out, unlike the sense of dread and powerlessness of before.
He gives me power.
He gives me strength.
The past fortnight is a blur, but the scenes of pooling blood and anguished screams dominating my mind provide a clear enough picture. Perhaps these images might have once repulsed me, but I am a different tank engine now.
The Old Ones will rise again.
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