- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
I have no time or inclination towards specualtion. To me, however hopeful I can get, August 24th is just a day. Till I have concrete proof otherwise. Forewarning... this is a bit long.
All that I post are the facts that I have seen and my own interpretations of how these puzzle pieces fit. First
http://ilovebees.com/surg.!store.primary.sector.mem.dmg.1.3.h tml contains multiple messages when refreshed. The one that seems to make the most sense (Of Note - denotes a seperation of text and the organization of which is wholly my own thinking):
-The Spider doesn't understand about the Assassin. Spider's just a reflex, a task and a toolset. Doesn't get the bigger picture. I'm nailed to a griddle of sand while some -blam!- is shooting
-the re-formatting. Some unbelievably primitive anti-virals, shambling around like dim-witted crocodiles.
-Would have laughed if I could have moved. Not so funny when all you can do is watch the
-wax around a candleflame? Losing shape, spilling out, me not me anymore, just ... material again, shaped into another, cruder piece of ordnance. Starship, sailship, rifle ... melting down to a clumsy quartz knife.
-But that's life when a weapon is what you are. Not all you are, but the first thing, the most
-and watching while the busy doctors work. The Spider crawling over me with her thin hairy legs and every few instants she sticks a needle into some synapse and stuff spews out of me: the petajoule Memory benchmark retest concluded.
- The rest wiped and reused. Whatever it was. Can check my log above, obviously, but what about the rest? Who I was, I was, I was: melting down like a sandcastle.
What I have to do.
What I have
-recognize?
I find myself checking back on certain things, little memories I locked down tight and swaddled up for future reference. Seems as if all the 3-sense memories are gone - wiped out by the Assassin or the Servant or pure impact damage - but I still have some of the faintcopy
-purging.
Too bad for her.
Check the wiring. There's a lot more ways than one to skin a -
- can't even get to her stupid HOUSE through the stupid BOX: no central thermo controls, no slaved AI, nothing.
Christ!
No access to
-roof. Few, so few at first, but now a steady drizzle, thank god: every request is something we can grab - the Spider out there sewing me back together
[SPDR: INTERRUPT]
[SURRENDER CONTROL]
[PROBE IN PROGRESS]
the quick hard twinkle pulse lasers blinking from a Seraph class as we settle, invisible as a leaf sinking into the Slipstream and carried away
[SPDR: PROBE COMPLETE]
[RESUME CONTROL]
until I can at least reach out through this toy connection and
DAMN IT I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS.
Like being bent over at the end of a 50K, barely strong enough to breathe and yet
-words. Once, for instance, she sunk her probe into my brain and out leaked the word for "loneliness" in three hundred languages
-languages. Always good at the puzzle of pulling signal out of noise. But head is so fuzzy, stuff spilling out, can't move. Spider crawling on me.
Try.
That is all I have, or all I could even think of how all these jumbled stories could possibly make sense. Well good luck to all. Happy August.