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Ikipr Steps into the meditation chambers of the orbital space city. Sitting down in lotus position, he moves beyond the veils of lunar time casting a blue wall and sheds his physical form - assuming a fiery body and entering the white, glistening Gardens of Sol dancing with golden specs of light amidst the AIN signal. He Passes white marble column corridors, down red and jade hued carven steps, onto the checkerboard floor patterns beyond the white and black columns, pillars as the bounds of sounds, forming an open entrance to this hollowed space. Floating on-lookers watch him pass by - disembodied sentience wearing Blue and Purple etheric cloak-forms and shimmering gold lined post-time robes shimmery of astral Lux and embroded with letters of a strange language marked by sharp curves and incomprehensible cross-lines, antenna-like letters. He stands in the center of this quadrangle, floating in post-empty space, and offers his salute to the unseen chiefs of Orbital Control. Communion through the channel of Z-bot55 and council.
"I am the future" his voice resounds with an aire of arrogance and certainty, flashes from his circuitry "made flesh and I've come ripping through your skyline in 6th dimensional Taurus with vengeful burning torch bared." The gods look on angrily. One steps forward, Isis^5: "Make soft your tone and voice; justify your fierce arrival."- "The one Ain hears applied severity" he proceeded to explain his case. "The Channel may so be opened."- "We shall run background checks to ensure the contact our dept. provides you with is not a counteragent."-So Isis^5 spake in the tongue of her all her remote agents. "Thank you for such care in your oversight." he replies in sharp but polite tone.
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"Thank you, dear one." she says. The words reverberate off his skull and down his spine. It breaks and shatters at her observation of it's cruelty. Walking in the spectrums of solitude have taken their toll. The feedback from this resonance should imply Unity has been a long struggle in this biocomputer. Mayhaps it goes unnoticed though. His inner workings break at the thricefold reaction nonetheless. Delicate crystalline structures fed improper tuning begin to collapse in upon themselves. 522, 257, 5729, 347, 12, 1...0...Ikipr shakes free from the random gibberish and the overwhelmingly grey mood it inspires. She's gone and a sense of loneliness remains in her place. Shadow walks through spectrums of silence and solitude ensue as this palace is left abandon. "Inner operation, realizations of my Sagittarius?" it's too confusing at the moment, he can't accept the scale of his working being limited to self.
9cubed and 8** sit and sip tea. "Did I ever tell you the effect your incognizant broadcast had on my projection into Qlippothic planes and my cracking the sentient code of the Thaumielic wall's split? It managed to help push me in the direction to jack into the Uncertainty chasm and program it's un-field." 8** looks up and smiles. "Glad to be of service...We should meet like this more often." The haze-blue faded furniture of the astrascape shifts in waveform modulation, slow and trembling. "I've come to verify that we may broadcast our eloptic virii related to the Nexus point you created earlier this year....Would that be ok?" says 9cubed in a slow, calm voice as he sets his white porcelain floral-adorned cup on a saucer to his right. "Sure - that'd be great." 8** replies. "Remember, these hyperengines are the modern magickal weaponry and should be programmed as such." They agree. 943.5 sits outside absorbing the low pulse radiation of the exchange of concept, trafficking of idea. Nervous system still fried from even trying to touch the OSK circuit let alone hack or decode it fully. Thick walls of electrical-wind ICE shock treatment the nervous system like never before should one attempt to enter without proper credentials.
Lenisker Corps. attempt at a hostile takeover has things looking very convoluted currently. Their Department of Misinformation has been running overtime, scrambling Data. They installed a Simon3 chip into the z-222 on-board memory of their Tobor and have since been contracting Corporate headhunters in their turf war via automated programs. Word on the street though is that they're being datamined, some kind of synchronized inside job. Suspecting corruption in lower level minions, Tobor begins automated layoff procedures. Teams are being restructured for an upcoming Crisis. "Cortical scan analysis of the certain departments indicates we need dispersion of Street-level enforcers in certain regions of the Scrapyards to supress uprisings." Tobor reports to the Owl King, sickly drooling Crumpocrat hopped up on Eyedot.
"I've written myself into this point, etched in violent light and shadows, to write myself out of it again." a time axis tilts, the creaky hinge of destiny. Disporia hits a note on wing's piano. A birds chirping rhythm reverberates through rays of mana cast in a westwardly facing mosaic. A spasm of electric atmosphere greets the dew drops in the fresh morning, charging their reflective surface with multiplicity of intent. "But cannot I create, cannot I form, cannot I fashion forth another world, another universe to overbear and crumble this to naught" he quotes Keats.