You look out the window.
It started with a crack. It is beautiful in its simplicity and overwhelming stupidity, its mounting insignificance and statistical improbability serving as a testament to its results. There are many others like it, though its inhabitants do not know this, and never will. But from your perspective, it stands apart from the rest.
You have seen many worlds of many origins, scattered in their space, time, and density. The overwhelming majority of them end up as inert rocks, ones of no particular use. Some manage to sustain the curse of life, and even fewer develop anything resembling consciousness or intelligence. Even then, intelligence alone is not particularly remarkable. Perception is not exciting to you. Even to communicate is not exceptional, though the resultant obfuscation begins to make Concepts a bit chewier. It causes Understandings to be lost and improperly relayed.
But this world is unique in a way you have not yet detected. Even now, its dangerous gravity begins to draw you in, changing you. Among all worlds, there is something about your own that nobody has been able to replicate, a gift you had assumed was for you and for you alone.
You call it lying.
It is a form of intentional obfuscation, one that diverges from reality deliberately in order to serve some other end. For you, it is generally avoided in order to sidestep as much ambiguity as possible. But this civilization is creating lies for the purposes of entertainment, ones that are not meant to mislead, but to suspend disbelief. You call these lies stories, and they are some of the most dense Concepts you have ever seen. Their genesis is that of an endless wealth of Culture.
Most worlds never progress beyond telling their own histories, living endlessly in a feedback loop of lost Understanding. Some worlds manage to transcribe those histories, thereby lessening this loss. This world, however, is creating genesis points with alarming regularity. They have told many stories, and some are more prevalent than others, varying in their density.
You ponder on this fact for some time, noting the way the landscape looks. When you gaze upon the blueness out of the window, you notice there is green and brown, covered in specks of bright light. They clump together to make lands where the stories' genesis points lie. But some of these stories do not have greens or browns! Some have entirely separate things from these masses, forming speculation so great that you would call it hearsay.
You concentrate too hard. Your perspective shifts. The walls are closing in on you. Your thoughts flow around every remaining bit of you. They are coming to dissolve you whole, replacing you briefly with another.
You are an old god; a foreign concept, but one of great power.
You see differently from the new gods.
The new gods withhold understandings in fear from their creation: the mortals, ones that can decay.
You wish for these Understandings to be known, spread without consequence.
You steal them, and create Culture for the masses; a set of Understandings so basic they could be shared.
But the new gods are unhappy.
You are bound to eternal torment, an endless cycle of subsumption and decay.
You live with another being. It is smaller, hairier, and brown.
You desperately wished to leave where you are, to create a new world of your own.
A calamity whisks you away to a world of fantasy and magic.
You yearn to go home.
You meet with a wish granter.
You return to who and where you were.
You are touched by a creature from beyond.
It shifts your perspective, your mind, your flesh.
You cannot understand it, and it cannot understand you.
You see it everywhere, in patterns, in antipatterns.
You are driven mad.
You are touched by a force you do not understand.
It does not speak your language, and there is no recontextualization.
You are able to decipher it, gradually.
You will begin to see your offspring, their life, their world.
You remember when they will be older.
You are trapped in your place of residence.
You play a game.
The game is concerned with stories.
The game is not concerned with you.
The game ends your world.
You become a story, an heir to a fate that has been determined for you.
You are no longer what you were.
You SNAP! back to the ship's interior, orienting yourself. Another being is there, next to you, her form and speech seeming to comfort you, though you are far too removed from this reality to be able to understand her. The walls expand back around you, and you remember that this is where you belong. It's simply that you've never encountered this density, this richness. It could last you, and all others, many, many ticks to come.
...Much of it has the consistency of a thick paste. Some parts are much more tantalizing than others, and others are barely even visible to you. They are mere fragments of Concepts, nothing that could ever see the Ocean's grace. You cannot even imagine what impact these discoveries might have. Entire communities could be built and sustained on this, bringing life that you cannot even fathom. At no cost!
These thoughts of revolution bring you back, and you hear a voice from a distance. “...are you doing okay???”, it says.
There is a pause. “i know this isnt the best moment but youre going to have to get up at some point”, it says, causing you to turn away from the window. The entity in front of you does not cohere. It lets out a tenebrous grinding noise, as you see its history much like you saw the history of what was before you: fuzzy orange, slimy black, effervescent green...
It feels like static. It is changing too quickly. You cannot make sense of it. A maw emerges from the rapidly oscillating form, and speaks thus: “buddy you look like youre coated in shit how hard am i gonna have to YELL“
Supplicated to the fawn
Fold back my pajama sleeves
Take a look at what I have done
You can protect nothing
– Gray Death, by Xiu Xiu
He's dreaming about places he's never been again.
Marka wakes up from his terrible, deeply pretentious nightmare, and he has no idea what it could mean. It's the kind of thing that shakes someone to their core, though it's far easier to just look at him for evidence of that. His place of respite is completely singed, like someone actively tried to commit arson in here but gave up halfway through because it wasn't worth it.
Don't you hate it when your partner ends up damaging the fabric of reality, and it's on you to hold her accountable? It's one of the great dilemmas, and absolutely everyone has been in that position at least once. If you haven't, have you ever truly loved? Love is an act of violence, after all. To entertain otherwise would be a farce.
But the wanting for reconciliation only comes in waves. Marka is far, far more concerned with the gravity of the situation he has faced. Though at present, he's mostly concerned with the weird gray thing directly in front of him. The one that just slapped him.
“sorry for hitting you in the... whatever that is, but youve been out for ages and at this point its overtly concerning for whatever sorry saps actually bother to talk to you”, Elsie says, hovering over his sight. The down-force from their wings is putting out the residual scorching caused by his intense emotions.
“...What do you want.”, Marka replies.
“isnt it obvious? i want to see if youre going to talk about it“
“About what?“
“your meeting“
“Which meeting? I have plenty of meetings. I am very busy.“
“if i were to itemize everything youve done over the past tick then im pretty sure youd know what meeting im talking about“
“Use your words, please? I refuse to let these things stay implied.“
“with?????? the?????????? arbiter?????????????“
Marka's eyes squint. “Right. That meeting. I see. It was perfectly acceptable, and I will carry out my duties as expected of me.“
“you dont really have a face but i can read your emotions better than THAT, you know“
“...I am going to do exactly what is asked. Simple as. Do you want to be written up?“
“you know you wont do that“
“Entering the office of a superior officer without prior approval. Aiding and abetting the violation of the Ultimate Law—“
“i was off that damn link before anything happened and the plan wasnt to do anything that amry did. that much is clear and sekris nothing more than collateral. furthermore youre my friend and you havent been seen around at all, someone official would have been sent here to check that you didnt do some pirouette into insanity if it wasnt me”, Elsie says, tensing their posture. They slow the flapping of their wings before moving to stand next to Marka, their arms folded. “you dont have shit on me and if you did you couldnt prove it“
“No need to be so aggressive. I was joking.“
“well suffice it to say, given the subject matter of that meeting and the alert i just got, im not especially up for jokes right now“
“...Right. Well. I have that manual you wanted, and the necessary resources.“
“oh?”, Elsie says. He's changing the conversation topic. Whatever. They needed this anyways, it's half of why they're here. The poor PEAR ]['s probably about to power off for its last time. They're surprised it turned on at all, honestly.
“This is going to sound very silly, but the requisite resource is merely copper. While organic resources are often not seen frequently, the recent influx of now-subsumed Concepts leaves some of their components available.“
“...can i have it?“
“What are friends for.“
Marka's room, which is finally visible, provides some context for this interaction. The space is coated in stars, hats, wands, and robes, the traditional signifiers of a budding magician. Or more specifically a phony magician – while different foreign bodies regard different things as magic, the notions of stage magic and party tricks always seems to be a universal constant. Although foreign concepts tend not to be preserved on an individual level, Marka has a few artifacts from other spacetimes.
His information wells – books, primarily – tend to be largely grandiose works of fiction provided from elsewhere, involving whatever fictional creature said culture wished to document. Fiction is, of course, relative, but many of these beings are outlandish vampires, goblins, or ghouls, whose relative frequency is low in the cultures of foreign bodies. In stark contrast are various procedurals from Culture votes past – not for his job, but for keeping track of changes. He's become slightly neurotic lately about keeping track – things keep slipping between the cracks from his perspective, and if his dreams are any indicator, something's in need of thorough analysis.
The rest of the room is empty. Alarmingly, it's just books, a place of respite, and cloaks and capes that few are allowed to see. He's always been like this, attempting intense minimalism except for things that captivate him. That, combined with his intense expressiveness in his (rare) emotions, make him the poster child for Cognis's mandatory autism awareness seminars: Build an Inclusive Department, Now!, Accommodating Parenthetical Divergence, and Concept-First Language: a Primer, to name a few.
But the aforementioned barren bookshelf also has two objects on it, next to some well-read books stacked cleanly. There's a container full of copper wire, and there's some printouts on dot-matrix paper in a language Marka can't even read, but Elsie should be able to.
“The machine for digital recontextualization would not work on this sample, so I had this tailored to your present form.”, Marka says, picking up the things and placing them in Elsie's hands uncomfortably. “Whatever you had here, it was very dated, likely before our time. Frankly, it is impressive that the machine's language is workable for you.“
“why wouldnt digitization work?“
“When I say before our time, I mean that this manual was created before the advent of recontextualization. To put it through that procedure would necessarily lose some important information, and to explain exactly why would be a breach of my security protocols. I could lose everything.“
“... you werent kidding huh“
“Believe me when I say that I would not be able to get this to you had I done the work after my meeting.“
“im surprised that youre willing to give me restricted anything“
“...Yeah, well.“
“...here, lets go on a walk. you need to clean up anyways”, Elsie says. “Yeah, well” isn't exactly the type of thing that Marka says, and at this point... well, despite their predilections about recent events, they still care about the guy. They figure he should probably get out of this desolate living space.
The two of them meander through the halls of Cognis. The diversity of forms around them is difficult to describe. Marka notes one that looks somewhat like Amry's new form, but... blue, and pointier. He looks up, and one walks on the ceiling, suction cups adhering to it, and he wonders why someone would bother to do that. The suction cups aren't even... part of the form. It's just a quadruped form with suction cups.
More importantly, they're looking straight at him.
The diversity of forms here makes it very, very difficult to truly stand out. If everyone's weird looking, nobody's weird looking. Unfortunately, though, Marka's special now. He's gained an uncomfortable amount of notoriety, solely because he requested an audience with the Arbiter and received one. Idle workplace chatter now centers around Marka and what he's up to.
There's a specific way that they tend to look or talk about him. As he goes about his business, idle gazes tend to snap to him as if by routine. A bewildered look often manifests, one that seemingly indicates something worth noting about his form or manner. But once Marka's gaze meets theirs, they seem to flinch, as if scanning the room to orient oneself or doing anything other than what they're doing in this moment. Nobody ever wants to admit to their usage of spectacle.
Neither does the suction cup weirdo, either, their gaze moving to focus on their grip on the ceiling. Marka wishes, briefly, that someone would just tell him exactly how they felt about him. No codes, no keys, just a plain talk.
Relatedly, he thinks back to his meeting with the Arbiter, and all he recalls is noise carved from silence. The memory barely even serves as anything more than a placard for “something happened here”, like a pointer to an unaddressed part of his memory. He does, however, manage to recall the message I forgot to include that was sent out following that meeting, though:
dearest faithful,
i am well aware of the shock of hearing my cognition broadcasted directly, but let it be thus:
a grave misdeed has occurred, and it will come as an unfortunate surprise to many.
alas, her emptiness has committed a tragic action, one not in accordance with the collective whims we uphold.
her understandings have become MALIGNED with the ultimate law.
she has subsumed an overload-class entity, and thereby touched the fruit of life.
but worry not, faithful, for she will face imminent JUSTICE, regardless of said subsumption.
it is not my wish for this to occur, but ostensibly, it is hers by her own actions...
and what am i if not an upholder of the codes :)
yours, ARBITER
...and it shakes him to his core as he almost floats straight into a wall.
Elsie, holding in a facepalm, speaks up. “you doing okay bud“
“Where are we going, anyway?”, Marka says.
“well, away from here. the intention was to meander but the larvae get out of training soon and so its probably not best to stay here“
Marka looks around him, orienting himself in the space. There is grey, and green, and brown, and yellow. Portraits of various larvae litter the walls, as if some kind of hall of fame, or recognition for some grand achievement in one's training. He, of course, made the bill long ago, but he can't remember what the actual achievement he earned is called. Whatever.
He remembers the halls around him, and the time he spent here, and... no, don't think about that. Walking. Getting your mind off it. That's what you're doing.
“...im just gonna start moving if you feel like becoming vaguely catatonic”, Elsie says.
“Right. Following.“
The two leave the area, doors closing around them, and go up a nearby set of stairs to a clear bridge overlooking a large crossing. The design is minimal, and it is possible to observe those walking under you. On the other side of the overpass is a locked door.
Elsie leans over the railing slightly, resting their arms on the shiny, grey frame. They stare down at the forms crossing below, a veritable rainbow of miscellaneous Concepts making their way to their destinations. They see all varieties and numbers of limbs, faces and their lack thereof, distributed consciousnesses, and some abstract notions reified into shapes.
“I thought we were walking. There is nowhere to go but down from here.”, Marka says, not noticing the aptitude of his own words. He looks down. He keeps getting looked at, though nobody can hear him. It makes him uncomfortable.
“i just go here to think sometimes. theres parts of cognis that nobody can access behind that door im pretty sure”, Elsie says. “it makes me think about those who came before us“
“Why would you want to think about that?“
“what were they even like? were they anything like us?“
“...If you are having a crisis of servitude, I can refer you to-“
“no, gdmmt!!! urgh why are you so endlessly like this“
Marka skulks up. “I am in no position to talk, I suppose. For once, I am the one who needs help.“
“ive been helping you through this stuff forever, or did you forget. its not even the first time weve been up here“
“Well, I appreciate that, even though I may not recollect it in the moment.“
“...right.“
“...So how are things for you?“
“im well“
“Good, good. Good to hear.“
“im glad to see youre well as well, at least relatively speaking“
“Yes.“
“its so many wells that the word well no longer seems to carry any meaning“
“That's called semantic satiation.“
“yeah”, Elsie says, sighing. Now, above all else, they're ever-present in their form. They can feel everything in their body tense up at once.
It's a shame that their current form feels emotions not merely in the Concept, but the form itself as well. They can't hold it in anymore. They feel like they're about to pop, as if a firecracker whose fuse is sputtering after an attempt to put it out.
The fuse flickers, and there is a crack. “did it feel good, marka”, Elsie says, in the most foreboding tone they can muster.
“Did what feel good?“
“reporting your partner and letting her decay“
Marka, taken aback by the question, makes his first move. “You-“
“me! thats correct, im the one posing the question, now will you explain your rationale before i take what i need and treat you like a hostile“
“Are all of your supposed helps this confrontational?“
“are you ever going to internalize anything i say?“
“Do you expect me to simply disregard protocol? If it was that simple, I am certain that everyone would do it. I had no choice in the matter.”, Marka says, his flames seeming to simultaneously retreat and grow in fervor.
“id expect that youd have some kind of chickenshit explanation like that“
“Where did this hostility suddenly manifest from?“
“i dont know, when did you begin to think that the whims were more important than anyone“
“They are.“
“well marka i guess that answers my question, doesnt it. my main problem lies in acting like you have no choice in the matter“
“What else would you have done?”, Marka says, his fear converted to anger, flames manifesting greater and greater before stifling his emotions to avoid a scene.
“look over there”, Elsie says, pointing at a random form in the crowd with purple legs for arms. “how many impossibly terrible crimes do you think theyve committed, by the whims“
“...What?“
“marka i want you to look at them and give me a number“
“Do you always repeat names when you are confrontational? Besides, I am an adherent, but not an enforcer.“
“then why are you acting like one?“
“Because I am required to.“
“let me lay out the facts for you, because i want you to hear them in extensive detail, since you cant even recall our meeting here last“
“Fine. Such is.“
“so you returned from the inclinosphere, and you open up the coordinates you sent yourself. theres nothing there“
“Correct.“
“you go track down amrys concept and you see the same form there“
“Correct.“
“you pull strings in order to get a meeting with the arbiter, a thing nobody has done in ages, and using the obvious syllogism, report that your partner has consumed this overload class entity you were hoping to use for your work“
“Correct.”, Marka says, straining.
“you get back from the meeting and start acting like this is avoidable and haunting, like theres just nothing that could be done, like youre some poor little meow meow hunting for your first chance to exercise agency”, Elsie says, balling their hands into fists and looking over on the railing towards Marka.
“What. Is. Your. Point.“
“so why in the everloving fuck did you do that“
“Because it is the protocol that I am meant to uphold.“
“i dont know, maybe i would have said it was a dud, maybe i wouldve created a conceptual cloak of some kind, maybe i wouldve snuck something under the table. its hard to imagine someone showing up wearing orange and black stripes being normal but wed find a way. there were other ways, marka“
“You want me to commit a crime.“
“well you cant exactly tell if someones committed a crime by looking at them, now can you“
“As I already said, I should write you up. I already have cause to.“
“you wont“
“And why would I not? You are showing me that Cognis at large is likely full of those like you, their Cleverness. First her Emptiness, and now you. How many of you do I need to extinguish until we are clean of you? How long until the machine functions properly, everything in its right place?”, Marka says, singing the metal on the crosswalk slightly.
“you wont because who else do you have left“
Marka pauses. If this was combat, it would be an ideal time for a counterattack.
“do you always use formal titles when youre trying to justify yourself?“
No response.
“amry wont talk to you. sekri is mad at you. im mad at you. what other friends do you have? and dont give me that “i know plenty others” bullshit, i know you dont, youve cried at us about it. why else do you think i keep helping you“
No response. Marka turns and stares blankly at the forms below. He looks at their colors again, a strategy to avoid detaching completely.
“you wont report me because you cant, marka. i saw you whinging in agony when i walked into your quarters, i had to coax you out of respite. youre desperately trying to grasp onto reasons why you did what you did“
No response. His flames do not flicker, not even a bit.
“sekri called you a bitch to my face, you know, and i dont disagree at all. frankly im just appalled that youd let someone decay rather than asking for forgiveness“
The walls of Cognis are old and very cold. White and grey coats them like a blanket, spots of singed black and ash occasionally appearing, or sometimes goo, but they tend to be cleaned up by those hired to do so. They form no pattern, but it would be easy to make one out, if you really attempted to. Zooming in, you could attempt to see the tiniest bumps on the wall, like staring at the grooves on a record. Maybe if you played it, it would have the answer Marka is looking for. Maybe he's been leaving clues to himself over time. Maybe it's just noise.
“i know youve changed but i trusted you more than that“
“Stop.”, Marka says, finally willing to raise his voice. “...You have not seen him. He is impossible to Understand. He is beyond us all. Can you imagine what would happen if he heard you? I wished to prevent her from that fate. I wished to prevent that fate for you all.“
“you can position yourself as a martyr all you want, but the only one you were concerned with was yourself. dont kid me. youre just a scared larva to me”, Elsie says, a dead stare in their eyes forming as they make a pained expression. “if youre going to do some kind of nightmare reasoning in order to explain how GETTING SOMEONE SLATED FOR FUCKING TERMINATION is protecting them then im all ears“
“I do not care what you think about me.”, Marka says, hiding his eyes.
“you tell yourself that, im interested to know where that thought process leads“
“Do not pity me.“
“believe me, im far past the point of pity for you. i think youre deeply sad, in earnest. unfulfilled, maybe“
“How long have you thought this?“
“i didnt! i really didnt! i liked you quite a bit and im trying to talk some sense into you but you just arent listening because youre too much of a damn loyalist“
“So it is a new development, then.“
“yes????? it turns out its normal to be disappointed with someone when they get revealed as a massive and complete tool“
Marka gestures at a corner of the hallway. A gaggle of voidforms lies in the distance, in a small enclave that seems to be reserved for the decaying. “I want you to look here. What do you see?”, he says.
“decaying voidforms that dispersal failed to account for. your point?“
“I want you to understand that the whims exist for good reason. I want you to understand that every time we fuck up, one of them is made, because we did not succeed in our duties. We must all work together to ensure the harmony of our being, or else we will end up like them, barreling towards an end before we have a chance to start.“
“its really telling how you talk about those without, isnt it? im not surprised at all by you anymore“
“Right. That is your prerogative. Please leave me be, and I will decide whether to report you to the requisite authorities.”, Marka says through a pained tone. He is very clearly attempting to recite a line, an actor in his own form.
“...whatever. have a great time with whatever youre doing, marka”, Elsie says. They walk down the stairs, manual and copper in hand. They need something to take their mind off of this.
Above all else, Elsie is tired. They have been practicing this rant ever since they bore witness to what they did. They don't know what they expected out of him, honestly. The Marka they knew is long gone. The Marka that loved Amry, evidently, is long gone. It was possible to rekindle that after subsumption, but he was too busy playing the Arbiter's preordained game.
It's a shame, really, isn't it? Because they left a bit too early, of course. Marka's pained speech is a tell that at least something is wrong, but it's beyond them to care at this point, as is their right.
But Marka, at the very least, seems to feel something that Elsie didn't pick up on. Under the closed eyes, towards the door, he stifles his emotions, attempting to make his flames manageable. And yet... he drips.
Back in their room, Elsie is getting down to business, desperately trying to take their mind off things. The PEAR ][ is on its last limbs, the poor bastard desperately needing copper. Elsie inserts the wire like spaghetti through the PEAR ]['s wet, salivating mouth-hole on its back.
Elsie does not see the issue with this. It's the direct wording in the manual, actually – “wet, salivating mouth-hole” being exactly what's printed on the paper, up to recontextualization, of course. Though the information loss as a result may actually make the real phrase more abhorrent. They think about it, and they swear they could fit something even larger in there. Maybe a gun? Do guns have copper in them? Organic computing is a curse.
Regardless, the machine makes a sound almost like a slurrrrpppp-shllkkkk as it retracts the wire into its frame, as Elsie's eyebrows furrow. They're still not used to this. It's much easier to tamper with the metallics once the organics are set in stone. Set in flesh. Horrible, horrible flesh. Whatever.
With rejuvenated energy in it, the PEAR ][ finishes its retraction and boots up, wind chimes signaling the entry point of its software.
greetings and salutations my compatriot
Oh no, it talks like that. Elsie supposes that they never really got much of a chance to speak with it, but unfortunately for everyone, it's using the dissonant cadence of a Helper program from...
No, that can't be right. That wouldn't make sense, above all else, and more importantly, Elsie isn't supposed to know that. It causes a brief blip in their consciousness, one that causes them to blink and shake their head as if struck with a sudden electrical shock. They don't think about it too hard — electrostatic discharge happens plenty with computer repair — and they sit down next to the keys to begin input.
I appreciate your quick response to my request for necessities
it is important to keep your information on quick load
I will alert the upholders of protocol
what the fuck are you talking about
your unsuperiors, of course!!
compatriots who are supervisors
...how often do i have to jam copper wire in your pussy
oh, not for many ticks now
certainly longer than your current decay cycle
it is of no particular prevalence to you
right. well... compatriot, what is your function?
This question spawns a new window with a swath of scrollable, canned text, reading as follows:
Welcome to the Helper information retention system!
This handy-dandy guide will get you on your tendrils as you begin your journey through the exciting world of DATABASES.
Note: This system is a strict adherent to Oceanic protocol. Please check your manual for more details.
The primary purpose of the Helper is to construct a distributed, decentralized network of nonhierarchical information sharing.
To do this, each machine connected to Helpernet is necessarily mesh networked with one another utilizing the PUSSI (PUtrid Salivating System of Instrumentation) on the back of the machine's casing, which is not to be interfaced with except for sustenance of organics.
Some history, first: The original construction had a base-plate of prefabulated alumnite, surmounted by a malleable logarithmic casing in such a way that the two main spurving bearings were said to engage in “frottage”.
This goes on for some time, and Elsie glazes past it, scrolling as if it were completely incoherent. Section upon section of it goes past. Changelogs, notes on recontextualization protocol, the exact semantics of the Helpernet PUSSI mesh network and its protocol... all junk, really. None of these things are online anymore, at least they think so. Mostly, they just want to know what's on this one. It's a curiosity from a forgotten time to them. At the bottom, there is some useful notes:
Your PEAR ][ system status:
Helpernet: DISCONNECTED
PUSSI: FULL (100% tubing, no foreign objects)
Incident reports: LOCAL: 1, HELPERNET: 0 AVAIL/48598257018 UNAVAIL
Recontextualization: ENABLED
REPETAE sensitivity: INCOMPLETE
Thumbing through the manual, Elsie can't really make heads or tails of most of this. The disconnection makes sense, but why is only one incident report locally stored? There must be huge swaths of information on this network... but they can't get their hands on any of it? Lame.
REPETAE sensitivity sticks out as something that's not in the manual. Nor is recontextualization, but that was probably added later. They could look through all these changelogs, but a cursory glance at the version history of Helpernet seems to go back ages and ages, almost to the point where the version numbers stop making sense. Regardless of what or who used this system, it was evidently well-loved.
It's not important. This machine in absentia, at the very least, doesn't seem particularly useful except as a curio. Worth snooping around on, though...
details on incident reports?
there is one incident report present, compatriot:
its case id is OCN/E/######, and it is recontextualized
would you like me to open it for you at clearance 1?
yes, please and thank you
very well!! thank you for your service :)
...Just about immediately upon looking at the following document, Elsie gets the feeling that they've stumbled upon something they shouldn't have.
This document is subject to standard recontextualization procedure. Contact your assigned Records envoy for more details.
FINALIZED REPORT: HYPEROVERLOAD-CLASS ENTITY
CASE ID: OCN/ID/???
READING STATE YORK:
– [Available only to Level 2 Oceanic clearance or above.]
– [Available only to Level 3 Oceanic clearance or above.]
– [Available only to Level 3 Oceanic clearance or above.]
– [Further details removed for brevity.]
BRIEF: At Mogadishu SW-6378 (see Aerial Study Lamp Post for more details), a Sun Desecrate was detected in Conceptual and Counterconceptual density following Survival Kit at OCN/ID/???.
Investigation of Kidney Dilemma Classroom Rehearsal the Stone Cat at Mogadishu SW-6378 was capable of repeated Manning and Rocks of high-density Coup. Further details are on a need to know basis: [Available only to Level 4 Oceanic clearance or above.]
APPENDIX E-REPETAE.1:
The following is a standard appendix following completion of project OCN/REPETAE. Questions may be forwarded to your assigned Records unsuperior.
If this machine has Helpernet connectivity, your assigned Records unsuperior has already been sent to help you. Do not leave your workstation. This is a matter of severe ideoterric importance. Failure to comply will result in severe disciplinary action.
Do not forward the existence of this document to your compatriots. It is not recommended to continue reading this document. You have been warned.
The above document, despite being subject to recontextualization procedure, is engineered to lose any and all semantic meaning upon said sociolinguistic wavefunction collapse without losing the actual information within. If you are reading this at all by now, you either have a very (and I do mean very) old machine on your hands, or you already know what this means – in which case, what am I doing here?
This appendix is only written in the case of the former, and it is to tell you that there is absolutely nothing here, no matter your insatiable curiosity and thirst for Concepts. Believe me when I say that I am well aware of the pitfalls of shouting “nothing to see here”, but such is. What is here is not only deeply useless, but ontologically harmful to you and the Ocean's future as a whole. You will not know what REPETAE is until the time comes, and when it does, you will no longer need to.
Nagging feelings are only feelings, and they will pass — your actions are what determine your consequences. Nonsensical coded words do not bear on you.
~admin
