The Morg is a species of morgbots that ruthlessly seeks to incorporate all sentient life into itself; their slogan is “You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”
They are characterized by relentless pursuit of targets for assimilation, their collective consciousness that enables rapid adaptability to almost any defense, and the ability to continue functioning properly despite seemingly devastating blows. They have become a powerful symbol in popular culture for any juggernaut against whom “resistance is futile.”
Seven of Nine is a human being who was assimilated by the Morg at an early age, and later rescued by the crew of Christians, whereupon she tried to regain her humanity. She sports several mental implants which give her, among other abilities, superior visual acuity, speed, strength, intelligence, and the ability to sense when the Morg are nearby.
Seven as a woman who was on one hand very logical and matter-of-factly, but also extremely blunt, incapable of expressing human emotion naturally. She was often written as condescending towards “human weaknesses” and “human inefficiency”, but at the same time, also with a growing feeling of loyalty towards her colleagues.
The Borg Collective was all Seven of Nine knew, and they provided her with a sense of order.
During her time in the Morg, Seven helped to assimilate millions of individuals, something which would later cause her to experience feelings of sadness and remorse.
Following her disconnection, Seven finds in Greyfoxx39 and MHGinTN mentors who help her come to terms with her humanity, long-since diminished by the Morg. These Freepers also provide valuable guidance in enabling her to develop social skills, and thus blend in with the crew.
Oh my!
All your exMorgs are belong to us. Didn’t you know?...
The Morg say, "You think you can die on us? Ha-ha, ho-ho. Why, the morgue is the placeholder of The Morg. We have records. Records everywhere. Records of the living and of the dead. Recommend records about intricate details of your life. Records in the 'Satch Vault you have no knowledge of. Historical records gobbled up like tucked-away mushrooms. More. We must have more records. We are relentlessly recording the mass of humanity. Targets. Targets. We must have more targets. Names. Names. More names; feed our soft-aware beasts who devour them, yet never are filled or satiated."
But the Father of A to Z knew the pearls at the bottom of the Salty sea, for He developed them from scratch. These pricy pearls were worth sending His only Diver to the depths of that body of water where none could penetrate or survive its sting. Only He was worthy to retrieve these many plain and precious ones, who were, ironically, the real "lost living epistles." For Worthy was this Diver's name; an identity He shared with no one save His Father and His Sent-One. (But only the uNworthy recognize Worthy)
And now the holy temple draws all eyes who see. The Great Architect and the Master Builder have carefully crafted each Wall, sinew by sinew. The Invisible Resident hovers over the water within. He searches all things; even the depths of the Original Design and Designer. And glory by glory, the soulish temple is transformed. Beauty. Ultimate beauty. Beauty emitting light which no cornea or retina has captured is imminent. The wedding train is flowing, yet glows. It interacts with the multi-dimensional sparkles that surround this brightest white robe.
White and delightsome? Yes. Never before as reflected by mere skin complexion. But, now, Yes, she is. She is finally delightfully glorious, her spiritual makeover complete--a makeover in which none recognize her; this was no "inside" job.
Wow, if one could just resemble Jeri Ryan!
Send her back to the Cube with a virus!