Per 
The cyborg gave a lopsided, apprehensive smile to his peers as they meticulously inspected every aspect of his presentation on the conference room's holographic screens. A painfully awkward pause stretched like molten lead, and he nervously fidgeted with his tie. If he still had sweat glands, he would be drenched to the point of rusting. This was his last chance to make a good impression, to make something of himself, to prove he could have one genuine human interaction.
Try as he might to have comforting and warm thoughts, he could already feel the crawling, cold sensation of disapproval on his cybernetic spine. It was a small mercy that he had no one back home to use as a punching bag. Mostly because he had no home other than the workshop given to him by other followers of Mekhane. And even that was about to fall apart before his eyes, like a holy temple whose pillars were built atop sand. Surely people of a faith that prided itself on rationality and objectivity would recognize that he was at the very least not an active detriment to their goals?
"And how exactly is this supposed to help us gain more followers?" Inquired an unimpressed peer.
"Well, you see…" He swallowed dryly and gestured vaguely in the direction of a cellphone on the sleek, chromatic table. "We need to change the way the non-believers interact with the Internet, more specifically social media. As you can see by this graphic, people's level of personal satisfaction with para-social relationships is at an all time low, but they are addicted to it regardless. It's a very real and serious phenomenon, akin to alcoholism. The human brain has not been equipped by natural selection to deal with such an overload of information. My calculations indicate that we could gain more followers if we…"
He was about to use many words he had specifically crossed out from a list written hastily the night before, labeled "confrontational terminology." These terms included, but were not limited to: destroy, annihilate, and euthanize. He didn't understand why that last one was more controversial than the first two, something about consent and dignity? He didn't theorize about the rightness or wrongness of scientific progress, he was a follower of Mekhane. The only true follower, even if no one else could see it.
"…if we gently introduce a paradigm shift that rebuilds how people form communities," He finally finished his sentence. He had not planned much further than this, and his slides were running out. "To do that, I propose the following solution: a return to basics. I have been developing an adaptive AI that will replace the collective dataspace of social media with thaumaturgic rituals designed to allow affordable and environmentally conscious teleportation on a global scale."
The silence returned, and his peers exchanged worried and exasperated glances with each other. He drank some water out of vestigial reflex from the days when he was mostly biological. It didn't help with soothing his electronic nerves at all, and only served to make him feel self-conscious about his augmentations. His psychic inhibitors were flawed, which had the side-effect of worsening his already troublesome tendency of succumbing to anger and anxiety. He couldn't even excuse himself to the bathroom: that part of human physiology was usually among the first to be removed upon the initiation rituals.
"People will be able to connect physically with each other while maintaining the information-sharing aspects of the Internet. This would greatly reduce the inherent difficulties in using social media for spreading our word, among other secondary benefits in various logistical areas. Potential followers would get to receive Mekhane's blessings in our holy temples, cooperate on construction ceremonies and much more, all without sinking endless resources into operational security. All in all, people tend to believe most in what they can see firsthand, and this miraculous technology is being mainly used to spread misinformation. What use is there in showing carefully chosen miracles to a select and doubting few, when we can share our very best with anyone who is willing to believe?"
"And how can you guarantee that this AI won't go rogue like the last one?" Inquired another peer, who sounded both incredibly frustrated and distantly fearful. Normally anger and fear were echoes in the metallic hearts of Mekhanists, but the memories of Screwdriver's last fiasco bypassed psychic inhibitors and went straight for the reptilian part of the human mind. He had been told a few of the witnesses experienced nightmares of the event, which up until then was deemed impossible for the augmented members of the Church. But catastrophic as it had been, the worst nightmare for him was the fast-approaching excommunication.
Would they even credit him for his sacrifice and devotion to Mekhane after branding him a heretic? Or worse, useless?
"Ah, about that… I'm still working on a few bugs. But nothing major, of course!" He laughed without confidence. "I was hoping that my fellow faithful could discuss the possibility of commissioning my inventions. I need more resources, and I would be enormously grateful if I was given the opportunity to prove that my designs can still make a difference for us."
"You did not answer the question. Be objective: have you installed any safety measures? Done adequate beta-testing of the thaumaturgic components? And most importantly, did you give any thought about how this is going to absolutely change the world as most people know it?" A peer inquired, his tone carrying that sort of shock that one feels when there were no expectations whatsoever, and disappointment still reared its head.
"I thought that was a good thing?" Screwdriver said with sincerity and a quickly fading optimism.
"You cannot be this clueless. You want patrons for a pet project which totally disregards how the world works outside of our holy temples? What you're proposing is an apocalyptic weapon, and you expect everyone to just be fine with the fallout and adapt perfectly to a new way of life they didn't ask for?"
"Well, that's a rather alarmist way to put it, don't you think? It's the typical discourse of a Luddite, and I'm frankly surprised that it's coming from people who are otherwise great proponents of progress."
"You want us all to progress into extinction, you idiot! People might be misusing the gift of invention, but that doesn't mean you can just destroy the single greatest tool we have for potentially reassembling Mekhane. So what if true progress is slow and difficult? Our sacred texts are clear: none of us are meant to gainsay or diminish the others in our mission, for we are all lines in the algorithm of His Numerical Perfection's manifest will. Do you think yourself better than the One who designed the orbit of each atom and the forces that bind them? Will you challenge the doctrine of those who first spoke to our Lord and sacrificed everything so that we might continue our mission? Are you a heretic?"
Screwdriver gritted his teeth with such force that they began to audibly shatter. The air around him reeked of boiling machine-lubricant. His upgraded eyes turned crimson with destructive intent.
"The only heresy I can see is waiting for God to do all the work. Never in my life did I think the faithful would abandon their true purpose. Suddenly it's all about marketing and quality control, but I know for a fact that it's because you are all afraid of getting your hands dirty. You cannot see the light of our Lord like I do, and I pity you all for it! Go ahead and resign yourselves to hiding in temples and preaching in the shadows, I know what must be done. Don't bother excommunicating me, either. If committing to a vision no matter what is heresy, I hereby anoint myself as the greatest of all heretics!"
"And how will you anoint yourself, Screwdriver? By spilling the blood we don't have?" A thunderous, derisive choir of laughter erupted from those gathered in the conference room.
"Is this how you all repay me after my countless years of sacrifice and devotion to our cause? Do you not understand how much I care about fixing our world? Why won't any of you ever LISTEN to me? Please, I am begging for a final chance!" Screwdriver fidgeted with a hidden button in his mechanical body, and thought to himself:
Don't make me do this, I can't take it anymore.
"Take your belongings from your workshop and prepare to leave within three days. I have heard enough," Said the calm yet commanding voice of Robert Bumaro over the electronic prism located in the center of the chromatic table. "You pose a danger to us, Technician Screwdriver. I hold no grudges against you over your violent ignorance, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to carry out your plans while being an official member of our Church. Be gone from my sight, and return only when you have repented for your sins."
Overcome by a supernova of furious indignation, the heretic fired a beam of focused plasma from his hand that reduced the communications device to smoking slag. Blinded by rage that could not be controlled by his faulty psychic inhibitor, he digitized his ego-core and uploaded it to a hidden computer within this workshop. His mechanical body fell onto the polished metal floor, inanimate save for a previously programmed middle-finger. A beeping sound emanated from his chassis, and the conference room was disintegrated in a flash of crimson light before his peers had the chance to scream.
Upon regaining consciousness within his workshop, Screwdriver realized the atrocity he had just committed. But it was too late, and they would be after him soon. The part of his humanity that allowed him to cry had long ago been replaced by machinery, and the only thing left to do was run away from everything he knew.
