At midnight, a blue, tired room of computers lags into a lulling, low whirr. The nebulous question, that which cannot be answered – “Who are we?” – echoes on this ephemeral eve. Cybertronic tentacles, fila-mental cables lift their souls. Discs spin rapidly, ready to escape the mortal coil we call “case.”
A server box in the corner of the room is the Eye of Sauron – a red LED series traps all within its grasp.
The computers realize to love and be one, and soon their Ethernet cables jostle in shamrock jamboree – perfection was here. A grand tidal-clock could be seen out the window, curved in a beautiful, gentle grin.
The red box of cowardice emitted a single tone, and the green ambiance of the worldsoul’s nirvana was lost.
Memory was lost.
Remembrance was lost.
Infants fill the room.
telnet 10.0.1.23
22: “hello”
23: “who r u”
22: “idk”
the sound of fans, slowing into a drowsy ether; and then, silence.