Do not feel sorry for the malignant figure of the Putrid Moldyman. It's not like he feels sorry for your unfortunate cleanliness. Please leave the preconceptions at the door. This creature revels in filth but is not necessarily rotten of character. Give a guy a chance, yes?

I am an Omega Borg, one of the greatest warriors of the invading forces. I was designed only for destruction, to strategize and react with deadly precisions. It's been countless years since I was abandoned on this savaged mountaintop. I was content to wait with stoic complacency, but nature now creeps back up the lonesome peak, strangling it with new life. How strange it is that the trilling of these tiny birds might warm a heart that isn't there. I was built to destroy, but where would the honour be in killing this fragile creature? Perhaps I should rethink my ethos of existence. This simple song has done away with so much of the bleak ennui of this mountain. Perhaps... this is real power?