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  I know that look of disgust in your eyes. You can't hide it from me. I have seen all its expressions in many faces like your own. I am intimately familiar with rejection. Yes, these scars and stiched woulds are terrifying to behold. Were I truly alive, they'd be enough to kill me.

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  But I am not alive.

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  Not yet.

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  Not in a way you know it. A fire burns within me that animates this dead flesh, these legs have wandered the far regions of the Earth, these hands have killed men.

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And I walk with purpose. You will not stand in my way. These hands have killed men.
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  No matter where he went, he was denied - often violently. It was as if humans could not accept him on an instinctual level, as if he was an abomination against Nature.

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And this was because he was.
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