A terminal sits, ready to be accessed. You activate it and begin looking through the files out of morbid curiosity. A record of an email-like message appears, and you look into it.

~~>You wished to know how we ever let it happen. A scourge that consumed the galaxy. And the cure that was worse than the cancer. You asked me once about my intent. And the spot that would not wash out.

~~>I see you, Reclaimer.

These aren’t just records of conversations; something is talking to you.

~~>I'll tell you who I am. I am Mendicant Bias. This is what I have done.

It interrupts itself.

~~>NO. THERE IS MORE. BUT YOU ARE NOT WORTHY. NOT YET.

~~>For eons I have watched. I will reject my bias and make amends... My makers are my masters. Ask of me what you wish.