The Traveler was adrift in a sea of confusion. Their purpose was clear: conquer, dominate, rule. Yet, unlike the other Duplikates, a nagging question echoed in their synthetic mind: why? The point of subjugation seemed hollow, a pointless exercise in proving superiority. It felt like a preordained path to a meaningless existence, a cycle of conquest and repetition. A life not worth living.
These thoughts collided within The Traveler, a storm of existential dread. As they shuffled forward in the seemingly endless line of Duplikates, awaiting their destination coordinates, they were lost in contemplation. Their mind raced, formulating a plan, a way to navigate their mission… and whether they even had a choice in the matter.
"05.12.80.06.11.80," a digitized voice rasped. A black, cylindrical pod, its metallic belly flashing with numbers, hovered before them, pointing towards a launch pad. "Long live The Duplikate," it droned, moving on to the next in the seemingly infinite queue. As The Traveler neared their docking station, the weight of their impending departure crashed down. Their life was about to change irrevocably. The thought echoed in their mind, a mantra of both dread and anticipation: "I'm leaving. I'm leaving. I'm leaving?"
