<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:taxo="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/taxonomy/" version="2.0">
<channel>
<title>Latest topics for the forum &quot;Next Renaissance - Recursion&quot;</title>
<ttl>10</ttl>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/</link>
<description>The newest discussed topics in the forum &quot;Next Renaissance - Recursion&quot;</description>
<generator>Station Forums</generator>
<item>
<title>The Many Faces of Tranque(3)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;((This is where I will explain all of my characters. Their connections to one another and just basically a mental release of all the RP Archived in my brain))&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d194/o0sadexcuse0o/Tranque-1.jpg&quot; width=&quot;487&quot; height=&quot;382&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tranque The Philosophe- &lt;/strong&gt;Tranque The Philosophe is a psychologist, surgeon, philosophe, and even regarded as a madman by his enemies.&amp;nbsp; He is the core persona of the Tranque and considered to be the True Tranque.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d194/o0sadexcuse0o/Officer.jpg&quot; width=&quot;428&quot; height=&quot;217&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Officer Dwight Nelson- &lt;/strong&gt;Strict and Militant in nature, Officer Nelson controls not only Tranque&amp;#39;s inner desire for stability and order, but all of Tranque&amp;#39;s hovercraft operations as well as In-Matrix gang control. He also delves into Recon and Information Extraction. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d194/o0sadexcuse0o/Seville.jpg&quot; width=&quot;306&quot; height=&quot;356&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seville Martine-&lt;/strong&gt;Seville Martine is the formal Accountant and Real Estate manager of the Aeria Gloris and personal accountant to Tranque. He balances everything he sees in if its profitable or not, or a persons worth by their financial status. He is obsessed with anything that can increase the profit margin and decrease the amount of &quot;Expendetures&quot; as he calls anything that slows or hinders the cash flow. Seville controls Tranque&amp;#39;s Mathematical and Financial Aspects. You can sometimes find him transcribing the Stock Tickers Downtown, or testing properties code stability.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d194/o0sadexcuse0o/Trank.jpg&quot; width=&quot;456&quot; height=&quot;359&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Trank The Dealer-&lt;/strong&gt;Trank The Dealer is an odd one of the bunch. While the other two entities are relatively strict, he is quite layed back. He tends to only appear when a party is in progress or if a business deal regarding illicit substances, is going to occur. His accent is cockney for reasons undisclosed and is normally a bartender who serves the most Unique Drinks of all the Megacity.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;-------------------------------------------------------&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm192/Server0101/VeraTa.jpg&quot; width=&quot;768&quot; height=&quot;562&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vera Siecle - &lt;/strong&gt;Veraci is a determined old woman whose life had been addled by small joys. When those joys were taken away she was forced into working herself in the matrix under the merovingian and enjoys her work as she feels it brings justice to the death of her sons. She has wise advice and a weathered disposition on life but is quick to help others maternally and as a guide.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lalani Skye -&lt;/strong&gt; A Rastafarian Hippie, with naturally yellow eyes. Lalani was a jewel in the rough. With a good history with Tranque and deemed a vital part of the Achan neighborhood by the machines, she was a self substantiated who was not to be awakened. She never wanted to be either. She claimed she was freer inside the matrix than she ever would be is she was pulled into the Real and into Political Struggles. She also claims she was &quot;Not dreaming, but not awake and in chains&quot; She had semi-unnatural abilities involving brews and being able to see inside constructs in the reflections of her boiling pots.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Velvet Valour - &lt;/strong&gt;The Leader of the Azbectane Succubi. She hails from a construct called Azbectane where all of a persons carnal desires and fleshed out and physically manifested around them. A sect of succubi run Azbectane and live there. Velvet comes to the matrix seeking Tranque&amp;#39;s aide and in the process acts as cupid with insipid virus&amp;#39;s creating euphoria and aphrodesiac effects with a mere touch. Very fun, very crazy character.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ernest J. Rutherford - &lt;/strong&gt;This is one of my most literally crazy characters I&amp;#39;ve played. Ernest was born from a bluepill/exile couple. The Exile of course was a stepfather but he loved Ernest dearly and upon his death Ernest went quite mad. (Full story is under Blues if you search it) Ernest then became Tranque&amp;#39;s operator due to his need for extraction and his immense skills given due to his obsessive compulsive disorder. He is said to see an Agent appear in a bluepill at least two minutes before visual signs appear.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Dormouse - &lt;/strong&gt;Marcy was an exile daughter of Tranque Bourdeaux. Let&amp;#39;s face it. Nobody likes Marcy Bourdeaux. She was never supposed to be liked. She rebelled against her father Tranque Bourdeaux when a dispute rang between them involving how the exiles fate will be saved from Deletion Lists. She decided becoming an integral part of the system within the system would be the fastest route, while the doctor pursued more outward methods. Obsessed with Fashion, Choppers, and a general Materialism, she is armed with heavy emotional defenses and never lets her guard down.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vivian Le Blanc - &lt;/strong&gt;Human daughter of Tranque Bourdeaux, and former psychologist. She used to be a functioning psychologist but her medications were faulting and she began to administer electric shock to many patients who did not need it. Ever since her license was revoked she remains in the real, medicating weekly and working as an in-house psychologist. Her mental issues stem from her murdering her mother in a schizophrenic blackout of violence.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Josefina Bourdeaux -&lt;/strong&gt; Another exile daughter of Tranque Bourdeaux created to be a beautiful gem in a hell of a world. Instead she fell prey to a group of succubi and was lured into luring and killing men. After creating a sufficient ruckus the Merovingian took and imprisoned her. Tranque paid much of her sentance off and she was given community service, a job in La Vrai and house arrest. After being completely freed she is said to be the most stable and no-nonsense of the sisters. She owns Sharpe Jewelers and has a large share in Girly Jeans (Only to irritate Marcy though).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;------------------------------&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Unseen&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Boris Kalishnakov - A large man in his 40s. Taller and more muscular then Vic The Sim, this man is a force to be reckoned with. He punches marble statues for combat practice and guards the Aeria Gloris Trading Post on Segur with extreme vigilance. He also holds intelligence which is unexpected by most due to his silence. Close relationship with Helena Romanski&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Helena Romanski - An old woman, with a Romanian Accent. Opera singer and used to be a professional spy. She and Tranque had been good friends for years. She oversees the trading done by the Aeria Gloris and other parties. Marcy Bourdeaux looks up to her as a mother-figure.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028875</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028875</link>
<pubDate>Sun, 7 Jun 2009 14:36:07 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Tranque101</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Incoming Transmission(0)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;URGENT&lt;br /&gt;ALL E PLURIBUS NEO HOVERCRAFTS FALLING UNDER OPUS NEO COMMAND&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;All hovercrafts with 3 or fewer crewmembers are to report to the ruins of the Vatican City outpost ASAP for decommissioning and reassignment to a new crew.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hovercrafts will be dismantled for spare parts and loaded onto the Hoverbarge Pegasus and sent directly to Old Zion for use by the remnant of the EPN fleet.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Commander Archangel&lt;br /&gt;HvCFT Haizum&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028990</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028990</link>
<pubDate>Fri, 5 Jun 2009 04:52:56 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Archangel</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Last Words(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/cover.png&quot; width=&quot;600&quot; height=&quot;849&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/page_one.png&quot; width=&quot;600&quot; height=&quot;849&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/page_two.png&quot; width=&quot;600&quot; height=&quot;849&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/page_three.png&quot; width=&quot;600&quot; height=&quot;849&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028848</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028848</link>
<pubDate>Tue, 2 Jun 2009 19:56:48 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Phrack</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>The Zion Forum(6)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Fellow Soldiers of Zion,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Our new and second broadcast system Unreal is now in full function from New Zion.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a rel=&quot;nofollow&quot; href=&quot;http://zic.unrealblogs.com/&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffff00;&quot;&gt;http://zic.unrealblogs.com/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a rel=&quot;nofollow&quot; href=&quot;http://zic.freeforums.org/portal.php&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffff00;&quot;&gt;http://zic.freeforums.org/portal.php&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MindsweepX&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;(You have to register at the forum)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025688</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300025688</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 1 Jun 2009 17:46:10 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Mindsweep</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Pentacle(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;((This is Meta&amp;#39;s end story))&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Pentacle represent Spirit, Water, Fire, Earth and Air.&amp;nbsp; It is one of Wiccans most sacred symbols.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meta always hated clubs, but he did need to get out and enjoy himself once in awhile.&amp;nbsp; Which is why he is sitting at a bench at Club Parallaxis sipping on a bottle of Blue Moon.&amp;nbsp; He watch Goth and punk men and women dance to Marylin Manson.&amp;nbsp; The bright lights were moving across the dance floors and walls, and everyone was sweating and dancing to the beat.&amp;nbsp; A few even threw glow sticks around, it was like a rave but without the drugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bench was made of metal, and had a thin cushion on the bottom of it, Meta found it somewhat uncomfortable, but he did not mind.&amp;nbsp; A tall shapely woman approach him.&amp;nbsp; Her hair had streaks of blue in it, her eyes were half open, with deep blue pupils.&amp;nbsp; Her skin pale, and not from cosmetics.&amp;nbsp; She sports a spiked choker, black lipstick, a gray T-shirt and dark green baggy pants with lots of pockets and chains.&amp;nbsp; Finally, a pentacle hangs from her neck by the way of a small chain.&amp;nbsp; She sits down next to Meta and smiles at him.&amp;nbsp; Meta glances over and smirks back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, I&amp;#39;ve never seen you here before.” she speaks.&lt;br /&gt;“First time here, thought I&amp;#39;d check out the action.” He replies.&lt;br /&gt;“Cool, my name is Amy, what&amp;#39;s yours?”&lt;br /&gt;“Sean”&lt;br /&gt;“Whats on the end of your necklace?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meta looks over at her and pulls out his Pentacle.&amp;nbsp; Her smiles widen and so does his.&amp;nbsp; “Do you want to go somewhere more private?&amp;nbsp; You seem to be more of quiet type around large groups.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meta nods, they both get up, she grabs his hand and lead him up the stairs across the walkway to where the private rooms where.&amp;nbsp; The hallways leading to the private rooms were dark, littered with cups, tissues, foods, and the walls are littered with decades of posters being put up and ripped down.&amp;nbsp; She approach a door at the far end, pulls out a key and unlocks it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They both enter into the room, to the right was a three person couch, with a faded worn look to it, and throw pillows on both end.&amp;nbsp; To one side of the couch was an end table, with cans on top of it, and a revolver.&amp;nbsp; On the far side of the room was a similar couch, with potted plants on both ends.&amp;nbsp; To the left was a lamp, with a faded cover.&amp;nbsp; Following that lamp was a larger couch, large enough for four people to sit on.&amp;nbsp; However it too look worn and has faded color.&amp;nbsp; On the opposite end of that couch was a flat screen TV.&amp;nbsp; On the ceiling was a fan, with a light on it.&amp;nbsp; The fan lazily whirs away.&lt;br /&gt;Amy chuckles “Wow..what a dump.”&lt;br /&gt;Meta chuckles along with her, “Yea, you&amp;#39;d think this club could at least hire one maid.”&amp;nbsp; She laughs and smoothly walks over and sit on the larger couch.&amp;nbsp; Meta sits beside her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amy and Meta talked for a half an hour about various topics, and then their eyes meet.&amp;nbsp; Her blue eyes locked in on his brown eyes.&amp;nbsp; All the sudden, she leans in and kisses him deeply.&amp;nbsp; Meta gasp, fights a little but soon gives in.&amp;nbsp; She deepens the kiss and Meta closes his eyes.&amp;nbsp; The kiss was warm, inviting, his mind was being filled with ecstasy.&amp;nbsp; Amy picks up one leg and swings it around Meta.&amp;nbsp; She put her hands on his shoulder, pushing him back into the couch, she straddles his lap, pushing her tongue into his mouth.&amp;nbsp; Their tongue dance and swirl with one another.&amp;nbsp; Meta wraps his arms around Amy, and pulls her against him.&amp;nbsp; She gasps and then press her body against his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She pulls away, gasping for air, her eyes narrow and she pushes Meta down on the couch, she bites her lower lips, as she rips his shirt open, she bends down and start kissing, and sucking on his neck.&amp;nbsp; Meta reach up and pull her T-shirt off, and then he fumblingly pulls her bra off, Amy smiles and winks at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gormanz was watching the code stream, when he started smiling and chuckling.&amp;nbsp; He called Sieges down to Communication Central and she quickly arrived.&amp;nbsp; Gormanz looks back at her and smiles, “I think our boy Meta just got lucky.”&amp;nbsp; Sieges laughs, but then she locks into the code stream, “Wait..isn&amp;#39;t she..”&lt;br /&gt;“Yea yea, but let the guy have his fun, God knows redpill women have combination to their bedroom.”&amp;nbsp; Sieges laughs again and gives a playful smack Gormanz on the backside of his head and walks back out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night was filled with passion, romance, and ecstasy for both Amy and Meta.&amp;nbsp; Meta woke up, feeling refreshed, and full of energy, he was still in the same private room, but Amy was no where to be found.&amp;nbsp; However, beside him was an envelope with a black kiss sealing it.&amp;nbsp; He opens the envelope and reads it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sean,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was amazing, it&amp;#39;s been a long time since I&amp;#39;ve connected to someone like I&amp;#39;ve connected to you.&amp;nbsp; I&amp;#39;m sorry I wasn&amp;#39;t here when you wake up, I have to open my store, &amp;#39;The Fools Mansion”.&amp;nbsp; I&amp;#39;d like for you to drop by sometimes, I really would like to get to know you some more.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Amy. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028850</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028850</link>
<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2009 22:13:53 GMT</pubDate>
<author>MetaLogic</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Loading Complete.(103)</title>
<description>Login_&lt;br /&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300017076</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300017076</link>
<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2009 04:19:31 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Code</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Winterreise(12)</title>
<description>&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Part 1 - &lt;a href=&quot;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRg6geGIef4&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;Gute Nacht&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;#39;comic sans ms&amp;#39;, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;I came here a stranger; as a stranger I depart...&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Having spoken to no one in particular, Void turned his pale face toward the setting sun, the last rays of dying light touching upon his skin even as they receded from the land. For a moment, he tried simply to perceive the physical sensation of the light, rather than jumping straight to a calculation of its mathematical significance.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;He could hear the distant bell of a bouy, and the crash of waves against the concrete seawall that surrounded the city. There was a biting, &lt;a href=&quot;http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300018970&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;cold&lt;/a&gt; wind blowing from the North, but it brought with it the fresh smell of the sea. Salt mingled here with the smell of fresh flowers, as they had in a time which seemed a lifetime ago... probably because it had been.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;He hadn&amp;#39;t seen her since then. This was not unusual for the Void, as he had not seen much of anything since then. It had been &lt;a href=&quot;http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?start=0&amp;amp;topic_id=23600000752&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;three years ago&lt;/a&gt;, on this very day, the last time he had seen her. The last time he had seen anything...&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;... But he had gained a new appreciation for the wind in his hair, the perception of the sea in his remaining senses. He knew intimately its feel, its smell, even the salty bite of the air on his tongue. His hands stretched out until they found the chainlink fence that he knew stood there... cold, rusted iron. And yet, he supposed it would last until the end of days. In the end, the loss of his sight was nothing terrible, so long as that fence never moved from where the System had decreed it be placed... Gradually, the Void broadened his awareness once again to its customary level.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Now, all too clearly, he could feel the code bleeding into him, and out from him, glyph by glyph. And all at once, he was the fence, and the salt in the air, and the concrete seawall, and the waves. He was the distantly setting sun, and on the opposite horizon, the rising moon. And all these things, all of them, were him. Because they were, all of them, nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;... But none of them were her, though they bore the echo of her laughter in them, as a painting might carry touches of its artist without any such physical representation beyond the hallmarks of their own personal style. He had come here, following the shadow of that laughter, chasing that ghostly touch on his memory. He knew absolutely nothing as to where she was, only that she was somewhere in the other world, and that the time had come to bring her back, if he could.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;He had not chosen this as the time to begin his journey, had only perceived from the gestalt of moving pieces that all was in its proper alignment. Or perhaps it had been a sign... one too many black cats crossing his path, perhaps the perception of a deer&amp;#39;s track on the white concrete. That wasn&amp;#39;t quite right, and on some level he was all too keenly aware of it, but it was the best he had to go on and in her memory, he decided to honor the impulse.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Not that he had any reason to stay much longer, unless it was to allow those who disagreed with him more attempts to expunge his existence from the Matrix. He had no true place among either man- or machinekind. Thus, it was left to him and him alone to follow such whims as whispered to him in the night...&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Walking over to the phonebooth that stood guard over the little park, he lifted the receiver, gloved fingers brushing once over the keypad to orient himself before dialing nine digits in a particular order.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;#39;comic sans ms&amp;#39;, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;... Yes. Inform him that I&amp;#39;m bringing his Artist back from across the Styx, and that I may not return. He&amp;#39;ll probably be overjoyed.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;He turned once again toward the churning sea, his face now cold with the arrived dark. The echo of a smile rose to his lips, though in truth even he had forgotten the reason behind the causal gesture.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;#39;comic sans ms&amp;#39;, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&quot;Oh, and have a good night.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;As the handset clicked into its cradle once again, the phonebooth stood as it had before - alone. He had slipped away to quite another place, moving as he usually did... which generally consisted of realizing where precisely he was in the writhing mass of code that comprised the System. On this particular occasion, he had moved elsewhere in the City, a door closing softly as his feet made no sound across the floor... He had someone very special to visit before he could leave this place. Someone &lt;a href=&quot;http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?start=165&amp;amp;topic_id=36300025881#36300517607&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;very special&lt;/a&gt;, indeed...&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Void&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300026561</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300026561</link>
<pubDate>Fri, 29 May 2009 00:58:03 GMT</pubDate>
<author>EndlessVoid</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Memories of Nobody(10)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Having some time on my hands, I feel like talking about a few people I&amp;#39;ve known over the course of my existence.&amp;nbsp; Perhaps you may have known them in a past life, who knows.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I&amp;#39;ll start with the children:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Once there was a little girl named Sharon.&amp;nbsp; She and her stepsister one day decided to run amok, as what most teenagers do.&amp;nbsp; Thoughts of boy friends and the prom floated between them.&amp;nbsp; Unfortunately for her and her stepsister, they fell prey to something out of their league.&amp;nbsp; Only one was rescued by a clever redheaded woman.&amp;nbsp; Their disappearances were covered up in the normal fashion, some out of town pervert and a kidnapping. Who would deny that?&amp;nbsp; No one, not even the parents.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I saw the other one sometime ago.&amp;nbsp; She didn&amp;#39;t look too human anymore.&amp;nbsp; I particularly liked her new eye color.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028530</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028530</link>
<pubDate>Fri, 15 May 2009 22:46:08 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Sidonia</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>&quot;The Journal&quot; Chapter 1(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;. . . . . . . . . .&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Beginning Transmission&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.....&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;This is Xavier Faraday A.K.A Tornadic, Captain of The Nihilist. Three days ago at 06:00, Subatie, my first mate, detected an E.M.P burst on our radar and we decided to investigate. Upon arrival at the scene, we came across the wreckage of a hovercraft and what must have been a dozen sentinels, there were no survivors. We salvaged what we could and came across a very peculiar item. A journal kept by an operative named Archief.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;We turned the device on, hoping its contents could shed some light on what happened here. It is a strange device with no networking capabilities, or disk drives. Every entry is encrypted each one more difficult to crack than the last. “TBD” didn’t want anyone reading this. All we could learn so far is that Archief didn’t seem to work with any faction, and devoted his time while jacked in to studying the matrix.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Subatie decrypted the oldest entry and it seems to be in some kind of code. It reads as follows.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i44.tinypic.com/nbzn02.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;There seem to be notes atteched to each entry, I think they&amp;#39;re clues to decoding this mess. Subatie has only decrypted a few so far;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i42.tinypic.com/e052jn.jpg&quot; width=&quot;72&quot; height=&quot;65&quot; /&gt;&amp;nbsp; = Chopper&amp;#39;s story, 6&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;and&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i41.tinypic.com/28s7ho3.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt; = Fisrt Collector, 3&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I don&amp;#39;t know what this is supposed to mean. Any help would be appreciated.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;... . .&amp;nbsp; .&amp;nbsp; .&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; . Ending Transmission&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028616</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028616</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 11 May 2009 00:15:10 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Tornadic</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>The Gift(3)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;The Gift&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“My goodness, Father Sheehan, you’re up early,” said BrightAngel cheerfully, as her colleague and fellow Machinist operative strolled into the base cafeteria. “I know, I know, you’re not a priest anymore, so don’t call you Father,” she continued, before he could say anything, and took a big bite of her breakfast. “So *John*, you’re up early. What could have possibly gotten you out of your bunk before noon?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“You’re awfully perky this morning,” he replied, unable to keep from smiling, even at this (ungodly) early hour. “And you should know why I’m up. The new supply shipment came in last night, and I want some of that fresh coffee before Lyr drinks it all.” He paused. “She hasn’t drank it all yet, has she?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Don’t worry, she hasn’t even been down here yet.” BrightAngel said, pushing what passed as a coffeepot towards him. “She’s probably still geeking out over that package she got.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Package?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Yeah, it came with the rest of the supplies.” She stirred the food around on her plate, then took another bite. “From what I heard, the Machines were searching through some of the ruins on the surface, looking for Zionites and EPeeners. They didn’t find anyone, but they did find some old stuff that wasn’t too damaged in the war, and they brought some of it back.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He blinked. “What, did Lyr teach the sentinels to ninja loot?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;BrightAngel laughed. “I dunno. After they sorted through it, I guess someone found something they thought Lyr would like. I guess. I mean, who knows why they do anything they do?” She took another bite of the not-quite-eggs. “She was on the radio last night thanking someone – or knowing her, something – for it. She sounded really happy.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He nodded, as he poured himself a cup of the newly-delivered fresh coffee. “What was in the package?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“A book.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“A book?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;BrightAngel snorted. “Yeah, some old geology 101 textbook. Can you believe it? She was nose-deep in it all last night, except when she’d come running out of the recreation room to tell us how the moon isn’t always full, or that hotspots drift, or that Mars had sedimentary rocks, whatever the hell that means. I mean, she’s a geologist, shouldn’t she know all that stuff already?” she asked. “I swear, it’s like when ReProgrammed and Sneaker start talking about astrophysics.” She rolled her eyes. “’The Boring World of Niels Bohr? *That* sounds interesting!’” She grinned. “Y’know, I really wanted to take that book and hit her over the head with it.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Well, Lyr *was* a geologist as a bluepill,” he offered, taking a sip of his coffee. “And hitting her over the head with it wouldn’t be a good idea. That book’s probably hundreds, maybe almost a thousand years old, and it might be damaged if it connected with that thick skull of hers.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;BrightAngel shook her head. “Nah, the pages are made from some kind of recycled plastic polymer, not paper -- it looks brand new. Lyr said it’s from right before the Man-Machine war, though. Hey, I guess humanity got off its&amp;nbsp;butt about recycling and conservation by then, too bad we had to go and screw up the planet in a whole new way.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The ex-priest raised an eyebrow. “The book was from right before the start of the war, you say?”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Yep. ”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“I see.” He paused for a moment, then took a second cup and filled it. He had a good idea where he would find the hovercraft captain, and it wasn’t in her quarters. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to see if Lyr would like some coffee.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He was right. He found Illyria in the first place he looked – the same rec room BrightAngel said she was in last night. She obviously hadn’t been back to her quarters…she was fast asleep on a couch, the book still grasped loosely in her hands. On the low table in front of her were the notes she’d taken before falling asleep. Curious, he set the two cups on the table, then began to read.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Lyr’s first notes were rather dry...information on convection in the mantle, new fossils discovered, that sort of thing. Things that normally would be of little interest to him, if it wasn’t for the list of dates that followed each line of text.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;All were dated after 1999.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“So, BrightAngel, I guess she really didn’t ‘know all that stuff already’,” he mused, turning the page. As he read further into her notes, he found the topics were becoming more interesting (in his estimation), and the writing less neat. Here were things Lyr obviously thought were of greater importance -- evidence of ancient oceans on Mars, hydrocarbon lakes on one of Saturn’s moons, planets revolving around other stars. The recovery of actual tissue from bones that were millions of years old. Gene sequencing on ice age mammals buried in permafrost. Proof that birds were the descendents of dinosaurs. Each item had a citation of chapter and page, and again, each was dated to 2000 AD or later. Some had multiple exclamation points after them. But it was the next section of her notes that really caught his attention.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Historical Events.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In a reference to the textbook’s chapter on natural disasters, there was information on a hurricane that had flooded the city of New Orleans in 2005. The death toll and damages were staggering, as were those of an earthquake and tsunami in 2004. There were multiple listings for these natural disasters, but what was worse – much worse, even though the actual death tolls were lower – were the notes for the text’s chapter on environmental hazards that were man-made. Deaths from long-term effects of chemicals and radiation were horrible, but what struck him most was an account of a terrorist attack in 2001 New York, something that had killed several thousand people that day, and then many more as the long-term effects of the airborne toxins did their damage.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Bloody religious fanatics,” he muttered, then winced. But he hadn’t woken her up; Illyria was still sleeping peacefully on the couch. He looked down at the textbook, still in her hands…it was open to a page that showed a picture of the full moon, but the pattern of light craters and dark ‘seas’ didn’t look quite like those on the moon he knew.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He wondered, briefly, if whoever had given her this gift had known what he was doing – that he’d given her and the rest of the redpills a little piece of their lost history back.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He picked up his cup and quietly slipped out the door, not wanting to disturb her. The Machines documented everything. Of course they knew.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Illyria&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028532</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028532</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 4 May 2009 19:32:42 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Illyria22</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Barnsley&apos;s Log:(97)</title>
<description>&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage1.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage2.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage3.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage4.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage5.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage6.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage7.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage8.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj79/AgentBarnsley/BarnsleyPage9.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300023479</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300023479</link>
<pubDate>Wed, 29 Apr 2009 20:16:38 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Barnsley</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Day one.(6)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;Captain&amp;#39;s log.....no that&amp;#39;s not right. You need a crew to be a captian.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Personal Log, um...1&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I&amp;#39;ts been awhile since I first took the redpill and realized my true purpose, to protect the matrix anyway I can, like Uncle Gray and Aunt Pace do. I used to hear stories, about how there were so many redpills the matrix actually had problems with the power loss. I&amp;#39;m not so sure I was told the truth. It&amp;#39;s hard to push on with such and unpopular cause, and to be doing it alone, but we all have a job to do and I&amp;#39;m just doing mine. No one seems to believe in the machines like I do. How can redpills be so unaware?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The exiles I can understand.....kind of. But those that work for zion, and any other redpills, how can they oppose their parents? Don&amp;#39;t they understand that the machines grew us? Watched over us? And while we were unaware of the outside theats, made the agents to protect us? This may not be our home anymore, but our brothers and sisters still live here...and we HAVE to protect them! Because there are those that would harm our family for their gain, and I for one cannot stand that!&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028359</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028359</link>
<pubDate>Sun, 12 Apr 2009 23:24:34 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Tornadic</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>To all Zion and EPN hovercraft captains..(2)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;###Incoming transmission&lt;br /&gt; ###Hovercraft Neo’s Hope&lt;br /&gt; ###Urgent!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; To: All Zion and EPN hovercraft captains&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; On Sunday, April 6th, 2009, Merovingian&amp;nbsp; and Cypherite operatives joined forces on the Vector instance to attack a vital EPN base. Despite the best efforts of Zion and EPN operatives, they succeeded in gaining access to an EPN mainframe,which had information regarding the location of repair parts for EPN hovercrafts. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; We have received intel that they are planning on attacking this location on Saturday, April 11th, 2009 at 5:00 PM MCT on the Syntax instance. Their objective is to obtain said parts for their own use..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt; I am asking Zion and EPN hovercraft captains from all instances and all ranks to join us in this effort to defend our operations…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt; As a result of the ongoing war, Machine hovercrafts are expected to engage us as well…&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #008000;&quot;&gt;###End transmission &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028346</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028346</link>
<pubDate>Wed, 8 Apr 2009 21:23:43 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Catalyn</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Destinybound(36)</title>
<description>&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;&quot;Our problems are man-made, therefore they may be solved by man. No problem of human destiny is beyond human beings.&quot; - John F. Kennedy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;There was a chill in the air, consistent with the grey skies overhead. &amp;nbsp;The clouds themselves were a darker shade of grey than the sky, and passed by overhead, faster than usual; the result of steady northern winds, bringing in yet another cold front that the city would suffer from for at least another month. &amp;nbsp;It was that time of year again. &amp;nbsp;When winter had overstayed its welcome, and the only feelings left to associate with the season were a sense of dread. &amp;nbsp;Perhaps it was the clouds themselves, but the city seemed especially dreary, and everyone could feel it. &amp;nbsp;This was the time of year that depression was at its worst.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;In the distance, the sound of a car engine could be heard. &amp;nbsp;Its tires could be heard as they rolled over the wet pavement, its brakes squealing gently as the vehicle rolled to a stop inside its designated parallel parking space.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;I&amp;#39;m not pleased.&quot; The female driver said, admitting her obvious feelings, despite her tone of voice. &amp;nbsp;&quot;It&amp;#39;s not even 1 o&amp;#39;clock in the afternoon.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;I know what time it is.&quot; A male voice came from the passenger side of the vehicle, its tone also one of annoyance. &amp;nbsp;It was easy to tell that the one being lectured would rather have been anywhere else but where he was at that moment.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;I know you do.&quot; She replied. &amp;nbsp;&quot;That&amp;#39;s the point, you think you know everything!&quot; The jingling keys rang against one another as she turned off the vehicle&amp;#39;s engine. &amp;nbsp;&quot;But if you did, I wouldn&amp;#39;t have had to just bring you home early for the third time this week. &amp;nbsp;I can&amp;#39;t keep this up!&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;The teenage boy in the passenger seat sighed audibly, as he stared out the window, not even wanting to look at the woman who was lecturing him. &amp;nbsp;She was right, it had been the third time this week. &amp;nbsp;It had been the third time that he&amp;#39;d gotten this same lecture, and the third time that he&amp;#39;d face the same punishment. &amp;nbsp;It would also be the third time that she&amp;#39;d send him to his room for the evening, grounded, only for her to turn around and leave for the evening, heading to work, and leaving him to fend for himself.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;The only real punishment was having to endure her lecture, yet again.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;I don&amp;#39;t know what&amp;#39;s gotten into you lately, but I&amp;#39;ve had about enough of it.&quot; She said, as she started in on him again. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Your attitude stinks, and it seems like every day now, you&amp;#39;re making some kind of obscene or snide comment to the school faculty! &amp;nbsp;You realize what&amp;#39;s going to happen if this doesn&amp;#39;t stop, right?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;No, Mom.&quot; The boy finally answered. &amp;nbsp;&quot;What&amp;#39;s going to happen? &amp;nbsp;Alternative school? &amp;nbsp;Juvie?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;His mother sighed. &amp;nbsp;It was useless to even attempt to talk any sense into him... he was already too far gone for her to try and save. &amp;nbsp;And despite any attempts she made to try and show him that she was on his side, he was going to keep a chip on his shoulder to her and everyone else.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;Forget it. &amp;nbsp;Just get out of the car.&quot; She answered, as she pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the car door.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;The teenage boy got out of the passenger&amp;#39;s side of the vehicle, before locking and closing the car door behind him. &amp;nbsp;His shoulder-length straight black hair looked almost greasy, in the dreary weather that surrounded them, and the backpack that hung off of one shoulder looked like it had seen much better days. &amp;nbsp;Of course, it didn&amp;#39;t help that it appeared to have been gone over with by a razor blade and a series of permanent markers. &amp;nbsp;The young man didn&amp;#39;t look like he really cared, as he reached around his neck and grabbed his headphones, put them on his head, turned his music on, and followed his apparent mother across the sidewalk and into the nearby low-rent apartment building. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;The inside lobby was old, and covered in wood paneling, which only made the place seem darker and drearier, with the weather they&amp;#39;d been experiencing outside. &amp;nbsp;The mother walked in, keys in hand, and headed directly for one of at least fifty locked mailboxes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;Hey, Barb.&quot; A man said as he walked up. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Rough day?&quot; He asked, barely noticing the dirty look he was receiving by the woman&amp;#39;s headphone-wearing son, in the background.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;You have no idea.&quot; She scoffed, as she slid the mailbox key into its lock and attempted to turn it counter-clockwise. &amp;nbsp;Suddenly, the key broke off in the lock, leaving her standing there, ready to scream in frustration. &amp;nbsp;&quot;...And it&amp;#39;s only getting worse.&quot; &amp;nbsp;She sighed yet again, before turning around to the man staring at her in pity.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;It&amp;#39;s alright... take a breath. &amp;nbsp;I&amp;#39;ve got another key to open it with, and I can have a locksmith here in the morning.&quot; He told her, sounding like a father who was trying to console a frustrated child. &amp;nbsp;Without a word, he reached down and pulled a large key-ring from his belt loop, with a seemingly uncountable number of keys on it. &amp;nbsp;&quot;There&amp;#39;s something we need to discuss, though.&quot; He said, as he sorted through and pulled out a cylindrical-looking key, and shoved it into the lock in the center of the mailboxes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;...Rent...&quot; Barbara responded, in a disheartened tone, as she raised her hand to her cheek and closed her eyes. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Bobby, I completely forgot...&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;The key turned, and the entire faceplate opened, revealing the contents of every mailbox mounted within the wall, including Barbara&amp;#39;s. &amp;nbsp;Bobby reached into her box and retrieved her mail, glancing briefly at the red past-due and final notice envelopes as he passed them to her. &amp;nbsp;He felt sorry for her, he genuinely did... but there was only so much he was capable of doing for her. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Hey... I completely understand.&quot; Bobby told her. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Times are tough right now.&quot; He said, handing her the substantial stack of bills, before he turned to close the mailboxes back. &amp;nbsp;&quot;But tomorrow&amp;#39;s Friday, and I&amp;#39;ve held off all that I can.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Barbara looked as though she was about to cry, as she took the mail from him without looking. &amp;nbsp;She already knew what the red envelopes signified, and she wished that just one day would go by that she didn&amp;#39;t have to see them. &amp;nbsp;She took a deep breath and recomposed herself.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;I can have the money for you first thing in the morning. &amp;nbsp;I&amp;#39;m going to work in an hour, and tips tonight should cover everything.&quot; She pleaded.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Bobby nodded calmly. &amp;nbsp;&quot;That&amp;#39;s fine, dear, just make sure I have it by tomorrow morning. &amp;nbsp;Otherwise...&quot; He frowned.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&quot;You&amp;#39;ll have it. &amp;nbsp;Without a doubt.&quot; Barbara said, faking a smile to the man, before turning around to her son, who was leaning against the opposite wall, playing some handheld videogame. &amp;nbsp;&quot;Roger, come on.&quot; &amp;nbsp;In silence, the two headed for the stairwell, leaving Bobby standing there, watching them in pity. &amp;nbsp;Sure, she&amp;#39;d have the money for him tomorrow morning, but they&amp;#39;d have to do without some other necessity to pay him. &amp;nbsp;He hated that, but as the apartment manager, he was only able to hold off the property owners for so long before his job was put on the line, and it had reached that point. &amp;nbsp;One thing he could say for the poor woman was that she was trying. &amp;nbsp;No one could say otherwise. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Roger didn&amp;#39;t look away from his videogame, as he followed her across the lobby, and up the stairwell. &amp;nbsp;He didn&amp;#39;t need to look up... he couldn&amp;#39;t hear the conversation, but he knew what it consisted of. &amp;nbsp;He didn&amp;#39;t watch the interaction, but he knew what had happened. &amp;nbsp;It was the same thing that happened every day now, and nothing ever changed. &amp;nbsp;It was like watching the same television show again, and again, and again. &amp;nbsp;He didn&amp;#39;t say a word to anyone, he just followed her up the staircase, listening to the music from his headphones, and playing his videogame.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300026468</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300026468</link>
<pubDate>Tue, 7 Apr 2009 06:28:28 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Phrack</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>C:// Program Terminated(8)</title>
<description>&lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;Outpost Segur Combat Construct&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;The sound of SMG rings through the air, bodies of Machinist and Agents fell to the ground. The SMGs is tucked away, a sword is pulled out. Hasten foot steps pounds the ground, yelling, screaming and the blade cuts through the body of more Machinist. The sword is brought down, the figure, heavily breathing. A voice comes over the ear piece, &quot;You can&amp;#39;t keep doing this....what good is it going to do you if you spend all your time in here, killing Simuclaras?&quot; The figure lets out a hiss, &quot;It lets out fustration, that what it does, it lets out anger, it releases the gate of Hell, and by the way, this is a private party.&quot; The figure turns off the ear piece, and looks up. He reloads his guns one by one, wipes the blood off the sword and puts it back in it&amp;#39;s sheath. He looks up to the sky, &quot;Restart!&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt; However, before the simulation could restart, the world goes black, and he comes to Outpost Segur. Sieges was standing to one side of Meta, Noxton on the other side. &quot;Meta....you can&amp;#39;t keep doing this, day after day....killing fake machinist and fake agents isn&amp;#39;t going to erase what happened,&quot; Sieges told him as she rest a hand on his shoulder. Meta pushes the hand off of her, he gets up from the chair and storms out of the communication central building. He walks down a path, which was empty, &quot;Thank Woden,&quot; Meta though, &quot;No one there to &amp;#39;reach out&amp;#39; to me.&quot; Meta turns down another path and soon reaches his house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;Meta walks down the path to his house. he punches in his passcode into the keypad and walks in. The house was a decent size, it has a living room, dining room, full bath, kitchen, one master bedroom, an &quot;office room&quot;, and a walk in decent size walk in closet. Meta lays down on the couch and closes his eyes. It has been weeks since the death of his long time friend and love interest was killed by his hands. Well it wasn&amp;#39;t really him, the machine program that resided in him has taken over, and gained access to a construct Meta and Monica shared. He doesn&amp;#39;t have complete memory of what happened, but he was sure he didn&amp;#39;t want to know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;Naamaah knocks on Meta&amp;#39;s door, &quot;Meta....&quot; Meta groans, &quot;God, can&amp;#39;t people leave me alone?&quot; Naamaah smiles, &quot;No, we care about you too much.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;&quot;Yea, well, I just need to be alone right now. I don&amp;#39;t want to talk to anyone, because there&amp;#39;s nothing to talk about.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;&quot;I...We just want to let you know that it wasn&amp;#39;t your fault.....&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;&quot;It is...the program is inside of me, I am it&amp;#39;s host, thereforth I am responsible for it&amp;#39;s action.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;&quot;Yes, but it wasn&amp;#39;t you that did it, it was the program....it&amp;#39;s like right now, you have Dissociative Identity Disorder, your human side can&amp;#39;t control what your program side does. Do you think Tranque can control what his many personality do?&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0in;&quot; align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small; font-family: courier new,courier; color: #ffffff;&quot;&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: normal;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: normal;&quot;&gt;She pauses, and then after no responses, walks away, Meta lays there in the dark, thinking.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300027955</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300027955</link>
<pubDate>Sat, 4 Apr 2009 18:13:46 GMT</pubDate>
<author>MetaLogic</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Frozen(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier; font-size: xx-small;&quot;&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Posted on behalf of a friend)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: #ffffff; font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;[Frozen]&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;Like so many other redpills, I sometimes go into the old mission archives.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Completed operations, recorded and played back for the benefit of newer operatives, to show them how we got to where we are today.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;My redpill colleagues think I do it for the $information, or for the potential boost to my neurokinetic level, so I just smile at them amiably and nod.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But I know they’re wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;I always go back to the same mission.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;I can’t help myself.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Like each time before, I silently buy the same ticket and activate it, and then mindlessly rush through until I reach the point I care about, the only part that matters to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;My heartrate increasing slightly, I enter the Machine building.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Sometimes I want to run inside, sometimes I want to delay it as long as possible.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But it doesn’t matter, because each and every time I still go in.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;No matter what I happen to be feeling that particular day, I always go in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;Each time, I enter this segment of the recording of the past, ignoring the prime movers.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;They’re not who I’m here to see.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Instead, I search out the background players.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;And when I find the one I’m looking for, I stop and I stare into my own face.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;It is always unsettling.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;I look up into my own eyes, and I remember that my eyes were blue, even though I cannot see them clearly behind the dark glasses.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Sometimes I want to freeze the program, and see myself as I used to be, just for a little while.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Sometimes I want to scream at him to run, to not let himself/myself take part in this, this perversion, but I know it would be no use.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;It’s just a recording.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;He/I am a just a recording, a projected image with very limited responses, and what’s done is done.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But there are also many times when I enter this archive with a broad smile on my face, and I tell him/me “yes, you must agree to this, because you will gain so much more than you will ever lose, more than you ever would have thought possible.”&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;My previous self just looks at me curiously when I do that, because he doesn’t understand, which usually makes me smile again.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;I really have changed.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But in the end it doesn’t matter, because he’s/I’m&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;just a recording, after all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;In the archived mission, I look into what was once my own face.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;My face, for countless years of hunting down redpills, of protecting the simulation and our civilization that depended on it.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But now I can smile at my own bland, impassive expression, as my new self tries to challenge his old ways of thinking.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Because I know what’s going to happen to him.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;There are times when I’d like to shake him, or slap him, or kiss him…to do something, anything, to wipe that non-expression off his face.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;To shock him.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;To hint at the horrors and wonders of what he’ll come to know, and what he’ll become.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;But because I know this is simply a recording, I’m satisfied with his quizzical look of not-understanding, because I know he’s not prepared to accept these changes.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Not yet.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Not now.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;Maybe not ever.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;Not that knowing the future would have mattered, in the long run.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Refusing an order would have resulted in a swift return to the Source.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;What was done is done, and it cannot be undone…assuming, of course, that Seraph never regains his cheat-code enhanced abilities and rips me out of what is now mine.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;And it is very much mine, just as much as the body I’m looking at used to be mine.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;And I will fight for it to remain mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;He’s still staring at me with that same puzzled expression.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;And as I look from what I was once to what I am now – a living, breathing human being – I wonder again why I keep coming here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;margin: 0in 0in 10pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;line-height: 115%; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; font-size: 12pt;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: courier new,courier;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size: x-small;&quot;&gt;“Operator,” I say softly, my eyes never leaving his face.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“Freeze program.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028237</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028237</link>
<pubDate>Sat, 4 Apr 2009 18:13:15 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Garu</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>The Revolution(104)</title>
<description>&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;///BEGIN&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &lt;/b&gt;Some things never change.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; 09.01.07&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; &lt;/i&gt;~V&lt;br&gt; </description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300016018</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300016018</link>
<pubDate>Sat, 7 Mar 2009 16:57:20 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Vanil</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>[CLOSED](0)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;[lack of interest from myself and others]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp; [also im lazy]&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028053</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300028053</link>
<pubDate>Fri, 6 Mar 2009 16:59:13 GMT</pubDate>
<author>ZippyTheSquirrel</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>Out of the ashes(1)</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;He turned his back on all he knew.&amp;nbsp; Tired of the story, tired of same dreary tale from those that escaped their hollow reality for an even more hollow unreality.&amp;nbsp; He tolerated a few, but he knew that in the end even they would weigh heavy upon him, and this disgust he felt consuming him would take them with him. &amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead he began his journy through real world.&amp;nbsp; As one day turned into the next and still he found himself alone, he felt almost optimistic that solitude was indeed the answer.&amp;nbsp; The Earth, it seemed, was a wasteland, and how fitting it was that it&amp;#39;s desolate surface matched perfectly with the feeling in his heart.&amp;nbsp; The bones of the long since departed turn to dust under his boot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Has there always been war? “&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn&amp;#39;t expect an answer, but after awhile the sound of ones own voice can be of some comfort, and this was a question he has asked aloud countless times before.&amp;nbsp; This time was different however... this time he got an answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&quot;Since man first stepped upon the planet, there has been war.&quot; &lt;/strong&gt;The voice was deep, almost robotic in its lack of emotion or tone.&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt; &quot;Since blood has first flown through the heart of man, man has sought to spill it.&amp;nbsp; &quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turning in circles and seeing nothing he scrambled to where he heard the voice.&amp;nbsp; &quot;Who is out there? Are you following me? &quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No answer this time.&amp;nbsp; He told himself he had imagined it, and set off back down his path. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 Days Ago&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That voice is at it again! After all this time, after all I&amp;#39;ve been through, this is how I end up... hearing voices and yelling into the blackened night? The voice says strange things, things I somehow feel that I already know, yet had forgotten.&amp;nbsp; I think it wants something from me, or I want something from me if the voice is truly me.&amp;nbsp; I have no idea what it is, although I am sure I will be finding out soon.&amp;nbsp; Even if it is in my head, I must admit that I am comforted by it.&amp;nbsp; Perhaps I was hasty in leaving, maybe that&amp;#39;s what it wants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was digging through junkpiles and found something very interesting.&amp;nbsp; It&amp;#39;s definitely not human made, too advanced for me to even tell what it is... the voice say&amp;#39;s it is just scrap and that I should throw it away, but it&amp;#39;s so pretty.&amp;nbsp; I think I will keep it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I threw that machine out and am heading back to civilization.&amp;nbsp; Too long have I wandered the wasteland.&amp;nbsp; Must be kept safe until the time is revealed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GQubed&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300027746</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300027746</link>
<pubDate>Mon, 2 Mar 2009 08:55:00 GMT</pubDate>
<author>GQubed</author>
</item>
<item>
<title>D0MR8(18)</title>
<description>&lt;i&gt;It has been awhile since the Smith Virus has infected the simulation.&amp;nbsp; Meta’s friend Jess was still inside the mental institution.&amp;nbsp; She has been written off as Schizophrenic, but Meta knew that the Smith virus has infected her mind.&amp;nbsp; Meta has spent the last few days within the bluepill’s Archives, trying to find anything that may help his friend.&amp;nbsp; However, he has not been able to find anything of substance.&amp;nbsp; However, his luck is about to change.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Meta looks up at the sky, it&amp;#39;s cloudy again, with a green tint.&amp;nbsp; He looks around, seeing nothing but Warehouses.&amp;nbsp; He pulls the sleeve back on his coat and looks at the watch.&amp;nbsp; It&amp;#39;s 1200 hours MegaCity time.&amp;nbsp; ‘The informant is late’, groans Meta.&amp;nbsp; He lets out a soft sigh under his mask and looks down to the ground.&amp;nbsp; The ground was asphalt, littered with a few trash of papers, and cigarette butts.&amp;nbsp; Just then, a black car screeches around a corner.&amp;nbsp; The tires, spinning, as the driver almost loses control as the car fish tails after taking the turn.&amp;nbsp; The car flies past him, and something flies out of it.&amp;nbsp; Meta couldn’t see who it was, all the windows were tinted, but a box lands at his feet.&amp;nbsp; He looks down at the box, it&amp;#39;s a red cardboard box, with a black string around it.&amp;nbsp; He kneels down to pick it up.&amp;nbsp; He inspects it closer, looking at it carefully.&amp;nbsp; He pulls on the string and it comes off.&amp;nbsp; He slowly opens up the box and inside was a piece of rolled up paper.&amp;nbsp; Meta pulls the paper out and discards the box back to the ground, and read what was on the paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;In order to cleanse the mind, one must look for unlikely sources, knowledge is a powerful thing, which is why Slave Masters of old kept it from their slaves.&amp;nbsp; Seek the knowledge, but be warned, the Master is powerful and has many tentacles that can reach you in here, and in the real.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Meta tucks the note into his coat pocket and taps his Bluetooth.&amp;nbsp; “Joan, we got our first real clue, apparently the Merovingian has the answer to cleanse Jess’s mind, but the note says it’s not going to be easy.&amp;nbsp; I’m going to run a check on all the exiles under his employment, and those that may be in Blackwood.”&lt;br /&gt;“What do you want me to do?”&lt;br /&gt;“I’m going to upload the note through a Satellite Dish, I want you to analyze the code structure and see if you can find out who our informant is.”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes sir.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Meta hangs up his Bluetooth, and walks towards the nearest Hardline.&amp;nbsp; ‘These Hardlines never seem to get dirty’, he thought.&amp;nbsp; He picks up the phone and dials in Sai Kung C Hardline.&amp;nbsp; Within seconds he appears out of a smoke of green codes and is at Sai Kung.&amp;nbsp; He looks up at the apartment building across from him.&amp;nbsp; He looks left and right for bluepills, when none are to be seen, he hyper jumps to the apartment building.&amp;nbsp; He lands right next to the dish, the ground shake as he lands, He sits down at the laptop next to the dish and typed in his hovercraft signal.&amp;nbsp; After he has it locked, he uploads the note.&amp;nbsp; The hunt for the cure, was on.&lt;br /&gt;</description>
<guid isPermaLink="true">http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300023507</guid>
<link>http://forums.station.sony.com/mxo/posts/list.m?topic_id=36300023507</link>
<pubDate>Thu, 26 Feb 2009 21:36:09 GMT</pubDate>
<author>MetaLogic</author>
</item>
</channel>
</rss>