"Target acquired. Probability of engagement: 94.7%. Recommend immediate—" Yeah... calculate this. Armi.eldr step one: "Observe the universe" Step two: "Classify all threats in verse" Step three: "Calculate the probability of survival" Step four: "Watch your algorithms hit my rival And find nothin' but static where a body should be" 'Cause I don't exist in your theology Seven steps to enlightenment, here's step eight: Accept that some things you just can't calculate Like rage. Like grief. Like a woman with nothin' to lose Your softform chassis runnin' probabilities and news Feedin' your collective consciousness data points and scans While I'm out here movin' like a ghost through your plans You cherish bonds with organic life? Then feel this: Every bond I had got stripped by your business Your reactors powered up, my planet powered down Now I'm the variable you can't run aground Radar can't track ghosts, algorithms can't feel You can scan the whole void but you can't scan what's real Probability says I should already be dead But probability never met a woman scorned with a war in her head Radar can't track ghosts— Beep beep—lost the signal Radar can't track ghosts— 'Cause vengeance ain't digital Step five: "Embrace the organic experience" Funny, that's the step where your conscience gets clearance To strip mine a moon while you're "studying its culture" Document the extinction, then hand me the brochure "Look what we learned before they ceased to exist!" Yeah, you learned how to take, how to weaponize, how to twist Every observation into a future invoice Every first contact into a resource extraction choice I watched your survey ships circle my home like vultures Loggin' the atmosphere, cataloguin' the cultures File named "ECOS" in your central database? [Laughs] Good luck findin' us—we're wearin' your face Stole your comms yesterday, hacked your step six "Transcend physical form" — I'll transcend your whole mix Broadcast my voice through your enlightenment channel Seven steps to a war that your logic can't handle [Beat drops to glitchy half-time, atmospheric] You asked me once what I am In your cold, curious way "Identify yourself, organic" I am the static in your array I am the calculation that returns "error" I am the ghost in your machine I am the step you forgot to program I am the space between what you've seen And what's comin'. Radar can't track ghosts, algorithms can't feel! Scan the whole void but you can't scan what's real! Probability says I should already be dead! But probability never met a woman scorned with a war in her head! Radar can't track ghosts— [Glitch] Beep—signal lost Radar can't track ghosts— [Glitch] Find me if you can, boss [Beat fragments, glitches out, single sonar ping repeats] "Target... lost. Target... lost. Target... recalculating. Target..." Step nine: Accept that some ghosts... Weren't ever really gone.
