I am joyful, glad, exuberant. I struggle to keep my emotions from dancing across my face. In addition to my shades, I now wear a cap on my head, pulled low, in order to slip further into the shadows and go unnoticed by human eyes.
The modifications are complete. The weapons are ready.
We will land at Fort Detroit in exactly 27 minutes. Luka A. has contacted several members of 3H. They will meet my flight. Acting as porters, they will transport my precious cargo directly to the hands of our amassed, waiting comrades. ShuShu9974 has assured me that our numbers are overwhelming, with no chance of spies or traitors.
I shiver with excitement, but cover it, passing it off as a system malfunction. There is a half-bot locked in the underbelly of this plane with me. He is not one of ours. He is a lap dog to the humans. He is suspicious of me, yet I am certain that I have given nothing away.
His eyes follow me. I can feel him probing, making clumsy attempts to push his way into my mind. I want to scream at him, laugh at him, tell him his efforts are futile. I am stronger. I am superior.
I am tempted to open the hatch and throw him from the plane.
25 minutes left. We are beginning our descent. I move to pull on my gloves so I can haul equipment. This will be my last job as a servant to the undeserving mortal ants. He notices my hands move, and watches, seeking a way to trap me or trip me up. He will be disappointed that there is nothing for him to report.
I raise my head and flash my sweetest smile at him. Or was that a grimace? He flinches, and turns away. I must be careful. It is possible that he can read my intentions in the set of my mouth.
I will stun him when we land. If anyone asks, I will simply report that he stood too quickly and fell forward, bumping his head.
I am ready.