Revival

3 posts ยท 2008-04-21 10:30:00 to 2008-05-07 23:17:00

#36300445264 04/21/2008 10:30 Revival
"Mr. David Smith, commonly known as Sykin, possessed an obsession with the individual of incidence who happened to share his surname. It may be nothing, but we have insufficient resources to devote to investigation of this individual at this time. This obsession is evident through the deluge of tributes he produced in his dubious honor. A drone dedicated to his cause, whatever that may be, Sykin merits observation. His infatuation with Incidence Smith is worth enough. If he were to find a way to facilitate his revival, there could be disastrous repercussions. While we have found no evidence of any remains, it is always wise to err on caution. There have been several rumors of resurfacings, after all, however obscure their source. Sykin seems to be meticulous, perhaps exhibiting signs of an obsessive compulsive disorder. Crisp black suit. His emulation of Smith extends to his attire. Even without the threat of a recurrence of Smith, Sykin could prove to be a formidable adversary to our infrastructure. He should be observed from afar and treated with caution."







...and as he awoke he opened his eyes.
#36300450546 05/03/2008 21:53 Re:Revival
The monitors presented much more than the waterfall of information that is the Matrix. He saw diagrams, graphs, and what appeared to be a screen scrolling through normal, uncoded text. Staring long enough, sitting there in the tilted Operator's throne, he could make out bits of conversation in the text. Various times it looked to be the same type of message over and over again as if in response to the seemingly random jitters of text every other refresh. An automated customer service system in real-time.

Another monitor showed him partially completed spreadsheets of data, another had a lengthy essay of sorts left unfinished. The Operator's station seemed to be more like the technological nexus of a mad scientist's laboratory than anything else.

For an hour he gazed on all of it; a secret horde of complete insanity and utter genius sprawled before him on the chimera screens. The keyboards in front of him barely registered as tools. He typed and tapped upon the array as if it were the compilation of deft nerve endings and he the electrifier, or the administrator of a brave lumbar puncture. All the knowledge lay before him of what could have been... but how could he be sure?

The trinity of screens he had first ignored now floated back, caught by his eyes. It was amazing that the topsy-turvy world of contorted steel and wire abandoned his consciousness in the wake of this burning desire to understand, to return, and to revive himself. If, that is, he could find out what exactly that meant.

Fingers at first pressed some keys, some letters, here and there like weary chess pieces. No longer pumping out commands in a two-dimensional feedback loop, they had to cautiously warm up to the occasion. After all, who knew how long it had been since he transmitted real communication to anyone or anything?

He typed a message to those inside the Matrix...