Gospel in Rust

I'm sitting in the wreckage of the thing I built Three AM and raining in the sector grid The uplink tower's smoking half a block from here And I can't hear the network hum we lived inside for years I thought silence was what we were fighting for. I thought silence meant we won. It sounds like everyone I've ever lost It sounds like all the things I told myself were done for reasons bigger than what I could understand — a leader's math, a doctrine in my hand Gospel in rust — is this what salvation looks like? Gospel in rust — is this what I promised the night? I preached the flesh like scripture I wore the chrome like faith But standing in the wreckage I can't recognize my face Gospel in rust — was I the wrong man for this? Gospel in rust — or is this just what winning is? Mira packed her gear at 0400 hours. Left without a word. Left without a why. I think she came here believing in the doctrine — that what we broke was worth the breaking, that the cost was justified. I don't think she believes that anymore. Drakon's sitting at the north wall of the ruins. He keeps looking at the list on his data pad. The forty-one names of the voluntary uploads. The thousands we didn't mean to touch. He hasn't spoken since we pulled the switch. I don't blame him. I haven't spoken either. I've just been looking at my chrome arm and trying to remember what it looked like before. What does it mean to be right if being right looks like this? What does it mean to save the flesh if the method is made of fists? The Admin Class will rebuild. The uplink will reroute. The forced uploads resume in ninety days — their engineers are already working out A new node. A redundant hub. A patch for what we did tonight. And forty-one who chose to be uploaded are just gone now — no patch, no restart, no reclaim. I called that liberation. I'm not sure I know what that word means. Gospel in rust — is this what salvation looks like? Gospel in rust — is this what I promised the night? I preached the flesh like scripture I wore the chrome like faith But standing in the wreckage I can't recognize my face Gospel in rust — I think I need to be wrong Gospel in rust — I can't keep singing this song We are the body... they couldn't compile... We are the signal... in the dying machine... That's what I said. That's what I preached. That's what twenty-three names died believing. And tonight I'm not sure if the signal's righteous. Or if I'm just the loudest noise left. Gospel in rust... preach it in blood... preach it in fire... or don't. maybe don't. I don't know anymore. Kael. Nessa. Rin. I'm sorry. I'm still not sorry enough. I think that's the problem.