Writer's Block

I can hear them coming for me, but it's too late for that now. My machine is complete, and soon I shall join the ranks of the gods themselves. Let the peasants come! Let them batter down the doors, slaughter my servants, tear my castle to the ground! I care not - I am beyond such trivialities now. Their futile attempts to stop me will only hasten my ascendance.

Aha! What's this? Some enterprising soul has just climbed through the window, and now stealthily advances on me with a dagger clasped in his hand. Look at the poor fool, desperately stabbing my body with his puny blade - as if I needed it anymore. And now he's gone in a puff of red smoke, my machine detecting and harvesting the interloper. Just another bit of energy towards giving me immortality.

"Boss! Boss! We got problems!"
I wondered when he'd call. Time to coalesce a bit and vocalize.
"Yes, yes, peasants at the door breaking in, I know."
"Yes, boss, but - "
"Fight just a little, but steer them up here I like told you to - I need them."
"Boss, they're not the problem, it's - "

The lights suddenly go out, and my beloved machine turns off with a distressed whine.

"- npower."

I find myself abruptly lying on the slab, blood pouring from a dozen stab wounds. Agonisingly, I turn my head towards the power meter. Empty! What have I done?! I stumble towards it, fumbling desperately through my pockets for £1 coins as the lab door shakes under a torrent of blows.

The first coin goes rattling down the slot as the door bursts open. The lights flicker on, and the machine begrudging starts the boot sequence.

As I fall dying to the ground, buried under a hail of blades, the last thing I see is the Windows logo...