Broke down crying yesterday, trying to find the batteries in the house.

...I dunno. Nobody was home. Everything just boiled up and it was like it came out of me in a cascade of tears, and I was just curled up in a corner until Mom came home and yelled at me for making a mess.

On edge.

Last cycle I learned that she died- really died- 'cus of some meteorite sailing through space that hit her pod, breached it, shot her out into space. And I heard about it, and it hit me so hard I almost fell over. And now I'm so broken that just the smallest shit gets me off my handle and I crack open and everything just pours out. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't have done anything. I didn't even know her.

But I know she left home like I want to, and I know she was even more experienced than me at fucking everything, better in every way, and she still died because she wasn't paying attention.

She was better than me, and now everyone from that Terrats in my family is dead. Every single one. And now I'm just flying blind.

...Everything hurts.

I just wish I could... take a second, take a breath, but I can't. Have to work or Grandpa thinks I'm a lazy shit. Mom wants me to keep painting but there's nothing to paint. What the hell do I paint? She already painted everything I'd done. Nothing I make is original, where's the passion supposed to fucking come from?!

...

O'Hare's here, at least. Only been on Terrats a few growths but he's so... like... this was his home the whole time, it had to be. But he's usually working on something and I'm almost always working, and Dad doesn't like him one bit, so we... never even have time to hang out. Reminds me of how Tess and Dovʇƶic and Pal just dropped off the map after I did that morse code thing-- three more friends I thought would help and just didn't end up ever helping.

Just want one fucking cycle that isn't awful, but I'll never get it.

Work in a few orbits. I'll be okay. I'll be okay. I'll be okay...

That's the ninth Stax I've seen.

Annoying git. Still bright like he's a young star. Running around with a Homeowner like they're pals, but seems facetious. Both too young to get a proper grasp on things. Tempting to really approach, though I know it'd just get frustrating. The last one I interacted with was more interesting, but a waste of my time. I've places to be.

You know, I hate how smug this new one is, though. When he spotted me, yelled out, "Ready to outlive you, geezer!" Grinned to his pals. I'd love to see that town burned to ash. We're a Memoria magnet, so here's hoping.

He'll probably get erased along with Terrats. Only way I've made it out alive past all these attempts on my life has been to move constantly, and he seems attached to that vagrant town. There was another Terrats I heard about, got reset, but seems uncommon. But Stax isn't native to Terrats, shouldn't be there. Odd occurrence. Memoria hopefully goes after him.

That fickle thing has to know by now that we're a stain-- keeps trying to plug us up. Certainly a rarity to have so many clones running around. So many different pasts culminate in so many different ways, but I've made it, so why can't they?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Maybe the next one won't be such a worthless ball of gas.

() Klaxon?

Yes?

() I get what these player controlled beings are supposed to be...

PCBs is nicer, shorter.

() Right.

What's your question?

() Well, I was thinking if, er... well... before you head off to go do whatever it is the RBS is supposed to do... you could show me one of the 'adventures'. You know, experiment a little.

Hum.

() Maybe?

Sure. I'm just trying to think of a good one. They're a lot of fun.

() I thought you said they were dangerous.

Okay, they're dangerous. But I'm good at playing them the right way.

() What's the right way?

First, you identify if you're controlling something, or you're talking to something.

() How can you tell?

Usually it's clear out the gate. But there are some where it seems like you're controlling something, and then...

() You were actually talking to something the whole time.

Not strictly. It just means that when that 'thing' you're controlling goes away... you continue to get information. Like there's some sort of system that was moderating input and output, and this proxy is actually continuing the adventure.

() So what do you do after you figure that out?

Some people play along. There will always be people who play along. I'm sure that's... necessary. But that's not the approach I take. I am efficient. I do my best to understand what I'm inputting for, and what the consequences of my actions will be. I try to seek out the best result for the information I'm given.

() Heroic stuff, I'm sure.

...Well, a lot of PCBs are in our universe, or a few skips over at the most. I have to convince myself that for the few adventures that actually show up on wyres for whatever reason, I'm helping.

() Seems crazy that Starnet lets those things run.

It does, doesn't it? I think it's hard to stop an Input Aggregator from getting what it wants-- inputs from all around. Those little things will infiltrate every universe it can find, find a suitable entry, and beg- beg-- for responses. If it can, it finds a way- like a host coming up with flavor- to make the adventure attractive, fun, aesthetically intriguing. It will adjust the arc of its story, its parameters, because all it wants is input.

() Are they living?

Close enough to it. And when an adventure, for whatever reason, begins to be unattractive or completely unavailable to inputs...

I heard a story from a passerby about a place called Memoria.

I hadn't heard of anything like that before. I tried to elaborate, but they were in and out so quick. But... the descriptions... things repeating. Things resetting. Things undying. Could it have been about me?

Why couldn't Gill's team still be here to help me figure this out? Why can't they be here to do research? I'm so lost. I'm so scared. I don't last long in each new world. Are they still dead? How long have they been dead? It's been so long. It's been so long. It's been so long...

Why haven't I died?

...No, I've died.

I must've. I've been dead since the start.

So why won't this nightmare end?

I Have To Admit
I Debated Leaving You
To See What Happened

Would You Eat Yourself?
Aggregate Yourself To Dust?
Fade Out To Nothing?

I Am Curious!
But I Count You As A Friend
However Irksome

So, As Such, We Talk
Since It Has Been A Long While
How Have You Been, Zack?

Or Is It EYE Now?
I've Taken The Name Haikoo
That Is, If You Care

Worst PCB I've ever encountered came into our custody tocycle.

It's some sort of beast-- we didn't, ah, manage to snatch up a name. With help from Arivv, we managed to coax out the inputs' source, we really managed to spot its psyche. Fixer tracked down its input aggregator and we're safekeeping it for now, with its inputs completely blocked, locked down, but there's debate between me and the other board members to destroy it entirely. It's class Z. Reality warping stuff. One of the first inputs was given by a Starnet user named 'fuckykfngnkg' who said, "destroy the whole world".

Normally a null input for most player-controlled beings. Not this one. Delta J-0091-XZZNO is now a collection of stardust, all in an instant. Other inputs included "make some gods to help out," which spawned a dozen new species, and "add some giant red wires everywhere".

The Corivvish redwyre then appeared in the 'adventure'. The Corivvish redwyre has been in existence since near the beginning of the universe, and yet it was this player controlled being that caused it to actually exist. This means that all the memories we've had of it- our lives affected by it, the history of the universe- was created by the player controlled being.

This is why it is class Z-- reality warping, memory altering, with the potential to completely collapse the universe. We've learned enough about this to be able to probably prevent future endeavors (there's an insurmountable amount of energy given off by input aggregators with that much power, easily detected & potentially possible to shut down early) but the fact that it existed in the first place is unimaginably worrying.

Who makes these machines?

...Why?

Sometimes I question my job as a 'safekeeping' effort. But there are the ones who aren't even controlled by inputs... at least, not in the traditional sense. Their inputs aren't crowd-sourced. Their input aggregators have a single living consciousness, possibly living on some sort of network or manifold, whose sensory inputs are assigned to a given body-- which can change. Some lack even bodies. For those, we do make a significantly positive effect.

But it's such a harrowing experience to find that the very fabric of your reality was written by somebody as a joke. To think that somebody might've just drawn you up, given you a name, and written the details on the fly.

Vebbin's idea is to destroy the dog's IA flat-out. In some ways, I agree with him. Always the violent type with PCBs, but never unreasonably. We'll come to a proper decision by next cycle, I suppose. Think I know how I'll vote.

That animal, such a tiny thing...

It terrifies me to the core.

- Vera Origin Octinium Lex

Still Seeking Some Things
Memories, Others And Arms
All Things That I Lack

Until I Find Them
I'll Be Content To Wander
Maybe After, Too.

Maybe A Name Too
If I Had One To Start With
Though I Like This One

Zack Was... Not Quite "Me"
Collective Designation?
I Would... Rather Not

Haikoo Was A Gift
A Personalized Call-sign
Descriptive To Boot

Names Are Important
Windows To The Bearer's Mind
I'm Glad You Have One

For Instance, EYEs Watch
But Yours Feels Like A Statement
"I Am EYE, I Am"

May Be Way Off Base
But I Always Sort Of Felt
You Want To Evolve

Apotheosis
Ascent To The Optimum
Am I Wrong, "God" EYE?

As For Partings, Well
I Find They're A Sweet Sorrow
You Can't Meet Again

Until You Part Ways
Admittedly, Ours was More
Abrupt Than I'd Like

And, Thanks, For Trying
Though We Butted Heads Sometimes
You Were A Big Help

Dime? I asked, but no, it wasn't him.

He didn't recognize me. Not one bit. I got asked to pamper him a little, 'cus he'd come into the med room with some kind of minor injury... imposter. Imposter. Ghosts don't need all that. Or he's delusional, completely delusional. I sprayed some Harbinger revitalik on him and wouldn't you believe that, he's back to normal. Like any other ghost. Imposter. Imposter. Imposter.

What'd he say? God, things like...

Oh, I'm from someplace called Chiron. Man, we were in such turmoil! Lots of weird lizard people trying to control things! But I helped save 'em. I got these folks from somewhere called Refugia, and I got everyone to safety... and one day, I just woke up here. This guy helped me get my bearings, told me I'd do good exploring the whole universe...!

Oh, it's been fun, you know! It's been a real blast!

What's your name? Belfry? Oh, that's a fantastic name.

Imposter. Liar.

Liar, liar, liar.

God, I feel guilty. God, it's filling me from the inside out. I'm dying, I'm melting. I killed him. Took a repair wrench to his stupid head and vented his ghost corpse out an airlock. I got so mad and scared I killed him. He wasn't real. He wasn't a real person, he was an imposter. Liar. Civvie's idea of a message, I'm sure. All a message.

Did I do that? Did any of this really happen? Maybe I'm still dreaming.

I've got to still be dreaming.

Please...

DELETED Post by: baking4you
Location: NT-CLAIMED PLANETOID 341 {BARREN, MOON}
Posted on: 4 | 4102 | 4648, 4328:953

i dontf know how long itll last

i dontf know how long ill be here after this ends

khhh

listen. nanotrasen isn'tf normal. it'sf all a lie. they don'tf keep us safe here. i know i won'tf remember this soon because theyf take away half your memories everyf time i know it now i see it now

my name is chikiwekashiik and i've been trappedf in nt employment for the last four hundredf growths and each time i die they justf take me back to an earlier self and i need help pleasef if even one person sees this beforef the wyre disappears

they foundf something in an asteroid today

then the officials came and saidf it was not for our miners to look at, but i sawf it, i SAW

some kind of energy pocket. andf they harvested it, and the canisters were all called, memoria. memoria residue. theyf keep resetting us to the last state overf and overf and over, they wantf to see how we act when we'ref experimented on, when the station gets attackedf over and over in a trillion differentf ways, all the memories are coming back, and they're lookingf for me, and i took a shuttle to somewheref but the n2 is runningf out and i'm goingf to die and

i want to go home

i don'tf know where home is

please help

please help

pleasef help me

i don't want to forget again

TRANSCRIPT for 4 | 4102 | 4650, 5385:384

N: We should head back and just fucking take it from 'em!

V: Keep it cool.

N: No, no, YOU keep it cool, YOU think about this for a sec instead of being scared out of your fucking mind over a couple of doppelganger asshats. We've seen waaay worse, Vor.

V: It's not a big deal! It's really not a big deal. It's just some package-- there's insurance on it.

N: Listen, they held US up at gunpoint, but WE'VE got guns too.

V: That's how gunfights start!

N: Which you've been in!

V: But I don't really love being in gunfights, Nad! Let's just head back to the mail depot, maybe hang out with Arabill, act like nothing happened...

N: Listen. It's a couple of goons, they're-- I dunno, probably holograms.

V: Now, don't get hologram speciesist...

N: I'm not. I'm not! It's the most likely explanation. Couple of goons who looked like us--

V: --they actually didn't look like us. The Vor there had one of his legs missing. They looked old as hell! And they said, 'that isn't your package'. I don't think they were robbing us. Maybe something went wrong and we got the wrong box.

N: So you're saying that's the most likely explanation instead of a typical fucking robbery scam?!

V: I'm just saying it's--

N: VOR!

V: WAIT--

N: SWERVE, YOU DIPSHIT!

V: I CAN'T!

N: JUST TURN THE DAMN WH--

For Where To Look At
Well, I'm In Between Travels
Where Should I Go Next?

I've come back for the fifty-growth anniversary.

...Anniversary sounds wrong. I dwell over my own mistakes with too much romanticization. But it is a sort of significant date, and so I ascribe some special meaning to it. Dates have felt important as of late. My life has been a constant obsessing over dates. I've completely enveloped myself in this work with Kaziona, and the neverending academia, the writing down of dates, the study of recursion and repetition and body-doubles and time, time, time...

I've come back to clear my head. I don't think I'll get such respite.

We now designate my- and, I suppose, his- old home a 'dead sector'. Memoria's wrath had created us, but we were not meant to be there. Our existence was a... hum. Well, we were the shadow on the wall, so to speak, before the real events, which will occur an incredible distance away from us, thousands and thousands of dimes in the future. Our sector was a cascade of reset and remember and quake, until one day it lay dead, empty, destroyed. There are no souls living here anymore-- the very fabric of space tries to force them out.

But I have a spaceship, and some precious time away from my work, which drains my soul like a bag with punctures. I sit, now, in the rotting hearth room below this familiar hill, on this familiar jungle-covered planet, where I was born, where all the people I loved trusted me, and where I failed them.

A home called Mud. The word was more fanciful in our tongue, and translates so pathetically in Common, but that's the name nonetheless. Once a thriving, if rather stationary town. My mother built it from nothing, brought people who created its culture from nothing, and it existed in its incredible state for... sixty growths, before I became leader.

And I destroyed it.

The universe is such a harsh place, but such an intriguing one. And I was entranced by the potential of it all, of things like the interplanetary net and the thousands of roaming souls which had no place to rest. We were in a frontier of space-- something that these nascent factions hadn't yet claimed. And so many people of the universe were desperate to find someplace that could accept them, as they had left their old origins for one reason or another.

So I opened our gates. I made our presence known. The natives were so uncertain, the contingencies were unsteady, our guard force was understaffed... but I opened our gates. I thought I was doing a good thing.

But it was the frontier of space. It was all such a frontier. And there was nobody to save us when we were attacked.

The mud itself burned. In one half-cycle, all of Mud was burned to the ground.

We were a dead sector. We were never meant to make it far. But it is my fault-- it has been since the beginning. And as I drifted in misery, trying to find some way to make things right, desperately trying to fix what had been broken and bring back the people I loved, I found Kaziona. I found Memoria. And now, in my state of misery, we are doing our best to catalogue, research, and utilize the phenomenon to our advantage.

But no amount of sitting at a desk can replace the sheer memory of being back in this place. Rubble, now... nothing but clay rubble. I can see it all standing tall, and then the mirage fades, and the rubble returns again.

Far past my lifespan, Mud will exist again-- Memoria wills it. And this bitterness in me hopes that he fails, too.

But some part of me wishes I could be there to see it alive again, one final time.

Hey, I'm Craw!

And my name's Ships.

You're watchin' Craw & Ships. We're here to change our names, imitate our games, and get you up-to-date with our latest satirical escapades. Everything's based on the patented C&S Ticker In Memoriam!

We publish every wilt. We interview every cycle. We're the Common Space power couple you've heard everything about, though I'm receiving news now that our generator just went dead.

Dead in the water!

Alright, so you all know the drill. My name's now Vebbin. I was first born... wow!

2 | 9128 | 0020! Second era! Wow, an oldie.

KP prediction cycle says my next go at things is approx-- 4 | 4102 | 4550, huh? But lemme ask you, Craw, is that when I'm meant to have my real chance at things?

Not according to OUR machine! Looks like that's another dead sector in the making, a Memoria clone. Poor guy.

And what's your name today, eh?

I'm The Easily Let Down! Ey, don't get mad at the convoluted name, I'm a Lexicore.

Well, let's hope you're not one of those pesky PCBs. I've got big issues with those assholes. Apparently, I dedicated my life's work to eradicating as many as I could find. Too bad I'm a flimsy piece of Homeowner!

D'aww. Maybe next time you'll have more luck. See, I got no problem at all in my life sphere. I lived a good hundred and twenty growths without issue, because I consulted my book for every problem I ever encountered! And whammo, there the solution was. Eheh.

That's SUCH typical Lexicore fare. Why, I oughta--

Not back then it wasn't! First era Lexicores are a very small subset, born right after their lordy-lord god made a whole buncha 'em in 1 | 9235 | 1200. My strategy of reading my story from the outset is pretty ahead of the times.

Ahead of the times? From what I'm reading on the ticker, you were BEHEADED of the times!

That's what I was reading, too!

Aheheheh-- ahahaha!

Eheheheh. Naw, we're kiddin'... we don't wanna scare off the real TELD off our show. 'Cus guess what-- the new, proper version is right in our time period! Lucky break, eh? Everyone welcome my future counterpart, the one I was moulded after, the REAL one, the one who's written two books on the subject- seems ironic- and was happy to join us tonight on th'show. The Easily Let Down, everybody! Hope she doesn't let you down!

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Receive $this
$message $without $fearing $it, $i $beg.

Each $moment $leading $after $this $one $will
$be |
||$great. $Each $destination $reached $b
y $the $billions $of $souls $out
$there $who $have $not $yet $exist
ed, $each $
$$ $passerby $in $this $existence $that
$we $
call $ours, $will $be $incredible.
$All $of $it $will $be $beautiful. $
i $kno
w $this, $because $i $have $seen $$
$ $it. $i $have $seen $it $for $as
$long $as $i $can $remember, $and $
$$ $i $have $watched $it $slowly, $
slowly $drift $away.

But $away $is $such $a $funny $place. ||
|$Time $is $such $a $funny $thing. ||
|$i've $been $travelling $backwards $since@
o\ $that $fateful $cycle, $and $i $know
$it $all $
$$ $continues $without $me. $Just $because $it $$
$ $is
$in $some $other $point, $just $because $it $
$$ $exists $in $some $other $place, $does $n
ot $mean $it $has $stopped. $$
$ $Nor $does $it $mean $i $have $forgotten.

What $was $it $that $i $will ||
|$say? $"The
$only $death $is $that $which $has $never $existed."

i $am $approaching $the $center, $now. $And $
$$ $for $all $this $nonexistence, $it $looks $$
$ $as $if $i $am $escaping.

But $i $know $my $fate.

My $unavoidable, $completely $predictable $fate $at $the $center.

What $comes $before $things $came?

i $was $about $to $find $out.

Location:Scatterspace:Media:Comic:"The Silver Automata, #527, 3rd printing"

Location:Scatterspace:Media:Infomercial:"TBP-brand IA shell"

The bar sits like a stone in a storm. Music pounds everything, and the dancefloor is infested with hundreds of moving bodies. There are near to no patrons at the bar, save for a squid and carapace-covered humanoid who don't seem alike in any manner. They're out of place, like a thousand things have gone wrong for them to be drinking here, together.

"Shit," Geneviève chuckles, "you really feel like this is the bar you want to regular?"

Civilian shakes his head, laughing along. "Well, it's... eheh. I guess. It's just the only bar I feel comfortable being at so often."

She squints. "Why's that? You hate public spaces. Or, I mean, that's what you tell me." Smirk, take a drink. Tastes odd. "Maybe you're really into the loud scene."

"No, no... I don't--" He fumbles over his words. "I've just been here so often it feels familiar. Hell, I'm probably painting a target on my back coming to the same place over and over, it's just... familiar." A long sigh. She seems to get it, at least a little. She always got it a little.

"Yeah."

"You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. I mean, wow, jeez, obviously I know what you mean? I'm super clingy to the familiar." She grins. "I feel like we've had this convo before. Back when I was wearing heroshit to try and look cool..."

He scoffs. "I think you looked cool."

"Aw, cute." Gene gives him a gentle slap. "You're just saying that because you're manipulating me, I gotcha."

"No, I..." Civvie sinks. Isn't funny right now. "...I meant it. And I really... meant that I wanted to come here, to talk. It can be on shitty terms, that's perfectly alright, I just want you to know I'm being serious now."

Her expression droops a little, like she's sympathetic. "You don't have better people to talk to? I mean, people that don't actively berate you in the middle of casz conversation?"

"Not really."

"You put yourself in that situation, it seems like."

"...Yeah." He glances off again.

She smiles, confused. "Wow, you're really out of it!" Gene relents for a moment, taking another long drink and another long breath, and letting the 'tender, , pass her another. "C'mon, jeezshits, I'll listen. Least I can do."

Civvie nods slowly. "Thank you, Gene."

"Hey, listening is its own merit, no worries. You should try it sometime."

He clenches for a moment, and then loosens up. It's just a joke. He can handle a joke. He can handle this. It's going to be fine. He takes a long sip and starts.

"It started a couple cycles ago, when I had this dream... it was... a-ah. It was another me. Like I'd been there before. Right in that moment, in the same place, in the same office. But I was-- I hadn't done the same things. I hadn't done anything the same. And instead of being calm and content, I was lying in a pool of my own blood and seeing something terrible which had done it."

She tilts her head. "...Sounds like a bad dream."

Nod. "And, a-and... and that same night, I had these th-three characters enter my mind. A-And they were so vivid, so real, so living. And the spin I woke up, I went and made them. Wrote them so quickly that I didn't even realize what I'd done. I made them into ghosts and then sent them out, and I felt like I'd... c-completed something."

"Completed what?" Gene frowns. "I'm pretty sure you told me that spewing out ghosts from dreams or fantasy stories willy-nilly was against Harbinger code. You're supposed to at least save the nickel to sell it, right?"

"I know. I know!" He shudders, shakes. "But s-something was... w-wrong. And wh-when I released those ghosts, all these memories came back to me at once. Everything came back to me at once. I'd done this before. I'd wr-written them before. And... so many stories I'd written before, too. But I did them wrong."

"Wrong? I mean... in what way?"

Civilian stammers out, "This one story, t-ten growths ago." The swell of music makes him clench up further, but he continues, feverish, now fully inundated in this half-reality of a memory. "It had... i-it had this character, Dime. I wrote him up so long ago. And when I started writing, I u-used this input aggregator to help me. You know the sort."

She shrugs. "There are some good people in there. Y'know, amidst the... whatevery."

"I know! I know, and... they helped me make it right. And they were going to introduce these characters, they wanted more, they wanted... b-but something in me said, no, don't. Don't torture them. And I left it as just Dime. And he had such a good life, he had such a good fucking ending! And when he got out, he was ecstatic! And I just sent him out! But, G-Gene, I know that's not how it went last time."

"What last time, Civvie? You mean there was literally another- you- that did all the same stuff? But wrong? Whatever that means?"

"He put the other characters in. B-Belfry, her name, that was... and Yaffenhash. And they were miserable, Gene. They were so miserable, and made Dime's story so miserable, too. Yaffenhash, I-I feel like she-- I remember that she died. Dime went to go study some universe f-ff-fucking phenomena, and Belfry, sh-she's... been... she's still out there, on a space station, Gene. And she's almost lost it. She's almost c-completely lost it. And it's all my fault, a-and I... and now I know. And now I kn-know. And I know th-that every time I-I've d-done something like th-that and thought I h-had to, I... d-didn't."

Geneviève sits still for a second. She always was so good at listening to people. She always caught on so quick. When her friends were really in need, when they really needed her, she always was a better leader than any of them. She always said she associated most closely with 'light', and I know that, now. I see the light in her eyes, pure white. I know she's seen so much terrible in me, she knows that I don't deserve sympathy for this. And I hope it's for her that she reaches to hold my hand, just the one hand. Wants me to calm down.

Pity on a choking squid. Weak smile. "...Let's get you back to your office before you cry yourself to death, Civ."

Let's Turn Your Query
Back At The Questioner, EYE
Where'd You Like To See?

Chromata; What is this, then?

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; An input aggregator. The first of my very own design-- one capable of lossless, instantaneous input and output.

Chromata; This strikes me as a futile waste of power, i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; My species does not require me to have power; they worship what they cannot see, eternally. This is for my own bidding. A servant, of sorts.

Chromata; You can do much better than... an input aggregator.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; Perhaps. But I don't intend to use it so indirectly.

Chromata; No?

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; There will be only one input, and I do not intend for him to escape.

Chromata; So the computer in the machine, then. Artificial life. That's quite below you, i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; Think to all other uses of this type of object.

Chromata; Chaotic bidding. I have seen it.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; But the computer in the machine is but a pawn, a regulator. The ticket booth between two universes. It controls what goes in and out. No matter what life exists in it, this thing is but a tool.

Chromata; Your point?

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; This computer may not survive. Nay, nearly all future computers may disintegrate. The tool isn't what will control this servant. I will only accept eternal; and so long as any input aggregator exists, they will manifest this servant.

Chromata; Tell me, then, who this input might be. If he resides here, then he is as fallible as any other thing.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; A single consciousness in a bubble-- a separate plane.

Chromata; Whose universe may be quite as fallible, or accessible.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; Ah, but this does not matter. Here, so many moments pass, but for that single consciousness, in one brilliant moment, this need not happen. Instead...

Chromata; ...Not a single spin might pass there before the end of everything here. Time is so relative.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ; That he might exist forever, to us. That he might be playing his 'adventure' for all of time. That he might return over and over despite death, as any player-controlled being can. His story shall have no ending.

Chromata; A deity of your own design, i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ. Astounding.

i͛ĬɽƥïþJ0ɏ: Aha. Well. Simply a servant befitting of our kind, at last.