Whenever i'm done smoking my cigar at the balcony after a good 20 year old glass of whisky, i return to /gig/, to behold the ants arguing "But you must roll this character or you'll struggle" to whomst the other replies "Nay, you must save for future character, lest you not defeat the next cycle!".
I snicker to myself, watching these lowly creatures repeat their simple programming, the one that instills them with the very fear of missing out on the equivalent of a single dollar each cycle. And then to watch them tear each other apart because both could do it, neither could do it, or one could do it.
From my lofty abode as a Man born in blue, I enjoy seeing the ants strive to be better than their station. All so I can crush them under my heel with my full roster of C6R5 units, adapted to any situation, to any challenge, to any task.
And they will yelp as always: "D-doesn't count" as despair once again envelope their petty little existence until the alarm bell rings and they are brought to reality, to the mines where they'll slowly kill themselves. I wonder to myself as i finish my second glass of fine whisky: "Are they even aware of their insignificant existence beyond their poor borders?"