Geez, first this guy's 4th grade writing style, now he's a brooding poet. Sometimes it made sense. Most of the time it didn't, like this fic. What he did was good. So he considers killing innocent people good.
Nothing matters now, actually.
He was a machine. And he had a Machine-Head. All the better, he thought. This one was no different, it looked like one you would find at a B-horror movie. Maybe they were fighting on a wing of an airplane.