"Sir, why wasn't I ...or any of the Dreamalkers looped in?"
Klaus' voice was tinged with frustration. He was pacing in Medecus Thorn's office as the Praetor sat at his desk writing out a week's worth of orders for the Compass Rose garrison in Reverie.
“Because we couldn’t risk tipping the Mobius Society’s hand,” Medecus Thorn replied evenly, not looking up from his worn notebook. “If the Nightmare King learned about the Ouroboros Rift’s location, we’d have risked all we’d fought for — including the Dreamwalkers’ return to the Dreaming.”
Klaus’s jaw clenched as he considered the Rift mission, the countless lives put at risk for the plan. The Pirates showing up. The numerous deathtraps they encountered in the ruins. Hearing now that it had all been coordinated behind his back? He didn’t know whether to feel betrayed or simply furious.
“The Dreamwalkers are our most valuable allies,” he argued, his voice tight. “They’d have understood the stakes. But they don’t take kindly to half-truths and omissions.”
Medecus sighed, finally closing his notebook. He looked at Klaus, his gaze unflinching. “I know they value honesty, Klaus, perhaps more than any other collective. But it’s that very transparency that would have made them vulnerable in a situation like this. You remember how the Nightmare King’s hold over the Realms began to unravel when we destroyed the Well of Time and brought the Dreamwalker back? He’s been searching for weaknesses ever since. If even one Dreamwalker knew the true purpose of the Rift before the Mobius Society could secure it, he could have sensed it through their dreams, used that connection against them. And then 200 years of planning, and the sacrifice of their shells, the Ashir, even the Soulforge itself would have all been for nothing.”
“So you kept them in the dark to protect them,” Klaus said, bitterness slipping into his voice. “You think that justifies it?”
Medecus leaned back, his expression softening. “It’s not about justification. It’s about necessity. Knowledge is power, but it can also be a poison. Timing here was everything. The Rift was secured, the Dreamwalkers prevailed, and the Nightmare King remained oblivious. That’s a victory we couldn’t afford to compromise, not even with good intentions.”
Klaus took a long, measured breath, staring out through the high, arched window. Beyond it, dark clouds swirled above the stone courtyard, the late afternoon sky dim and unsettled, as if reflecting the turmoil within. The longer he thought about Medecus’ words, the more he began to see the twisted reasoning of it. Even if he hated the idea, he couldn’t deny its logic.
“It’s always been a matter of experience,” Medecus added, as though sensing Klaus’s inner conflict. He placed a hand on Klaus’s shoulder, his voice gentler now. “As you’ll come to understand, if you’re lucky enough to do this work as long as I have. Which reminds me: I will be retiring soon..."
"...This was my last mission, and I’m looking for a replacement.”
Klaus looked up, caught off guard. “Wait … you’re serious?”
Medecus’s usual grave expression softened into a slight grin. “Your work with the Dreamwalkers has been commendable, Klaus. More than commendable, really. It’s worthy of an appointment—if you want the job.”
“Praetor Niles Klaus,” he murmured, testing the title. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Medecus’s expression deepened. “It suits you. But I won’t pretend the position comes without its burdens.”
Klaus shook his head. “You’ve spent decades honing this strategy with a patience I’m not even sure I have.” He paused, hesitating before he spoke again. “And honestly, Medecus, I don’t like how many secrets you’ve kept from us. From me.”
“I know,” Medecus said quietly, glancing back out the window as the shadows outside stretched up from the horizon. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t want to keep these secrets. The Mobius Society… they’re less an ally than a necessity, and they have secrets of their own. Some of them would unravel everything we’ve built if they slipped out too soon. As would many of mine.”
Klaus turned to face him. “So, if I do take this position. Am I signing on to keep my own allies in the dark?”
Medecus’ expression grew somber, his face lined with the years of service that were finally catching up to him. “I’m not just looking for someone who can face the Nightmare King or survive the Rift. I’m looking for someone who knows when to keep a secret, even if it means standing alone in doubt. You’re right that the Dreamwalkers are our greatest allies, Klaus—and that’s exactly why they can’t carry every burden we do.”
The weight of it settled heavily on Klaus. But with that weight came something else, a strange and fierce resolve. “Praetor Niles Klaus,” he repeated, firmer this time. He took a breath. “Yes, Medecus. I’ll take the appointment, but on one condition.”
Medecus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“When my time comes to step down, I won’t leave my successor in the dark the way you did me. And the Dreamwalkers deserve more than endless secrecy. If I am to lead, I’ll lead with light.” Klaus met Medecus’ eyes, unflinching.
Medecus' usual grave expression softened into something more. Pride. He nodded, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Then I will teach you all I know, Praetor Klaus. And may the Dreaming and all the Realms be better for it.”
Medecus walked out of the office and down the hall, his silhouette fading to grey around him, leaving Klaus alone with a new weight on his shoulders. Klaus stayed by the window a moment longer, watching as the storm clouds gathered. He knew the path before him would be a dark one, but perhaps, he thought, he could bring a little truth to it.~
“Because we couldn’t risk tipping the Mobius Society’s hand,” Medecus Thorn replied evenly, not looking up from his worn notebook. “If the Nightmare King learned about the Ouroboros Rift’s location, we’d have risked all we’d fought for — including the Dreamwalkers’ return to the Dreaming.”
Klaus’s jaw clenched as he considered the Rift mission, the countless lives put at risk for the plan. The Pirates showing up. The numerous deathtraps they encountered in the ruins. Hearing now that it had all been coordinated behind his back? He didn’t know whether to feel betrayed or simply furious.
“The Dreamwalkers are our most valuable allies,” he argued, his voice tight. “They’d have understood the stakes. But they don’t take kindly to half-truths and omissions.”
Medecus sighed, finally closing his notebook. He looked at Klaus, his gaze unflinching. “I know they value honesty, Klaus, perhaps more than any other collective. But it’s that very transparency that would have made them vulnerable in a situation like this. You remember how the Nightmare King’s hold over the Realms began to unravel when we destroyed the Well of Time and brought the Dreamwalker back? He’s been searching for weaknesses ever since. If even one Dreamwalker knew the true purpose of the Rift before the Mobius Society could secure it, he could have sensed it through their dreams, used that connection against them. And then 200 years of planning, and the sacrifice of their shells, the Ashir, even the Soulforge itself would have all been for nothing.”
“So you kept them in the dark to protect them,” Klaus said, bitterness slipping into his voice. “You think that justifies it?”
Medecus leaned back, his expression softening. “It’s not about justification. It’s about necessity. Knowledge is power, but it can also be a poison. Timing here was everything. The Rift was secured, the Dreamwalkers prevailed, and the Nightmare King remained oblivious. That’s a victory we couldn’t afford to compromise, not even with good intentions.”
Klaus took a long, measured breath, staring out through the high, arched window. Beyond it, dark clouds swirled above the stone courtyard, the late afternoon sky dim and unsettled, as if reflecting the turmoil within. The longer he thought about Medecus’ words, the more he began to see the twisted reasoning of it. Even if he hated the idea, he couldn’t deny its logic.
“It’s always been a matter of experience,” Medecus added, as though sensing Klaus’s inner conflict. He placed a hand on Klaus’s shoulder, his voice gentler now. “As you’ll come to understand, if you’re lucky enough to do this work as long as I have. Which reminds me: I will be retiring soon..."
"...This was my last mission, and I’m looking for a replacement.”
Klaus looked up, caught off guard. “Wait … you’re serious?”
Medecus’s usual grave expression softened into a slight grin. “Your work with the Dreamwalkers has been commendable, Klaus. More than commendable, really. It’s worthy of an appointment—if you want the job.”
“Praetor Niles Klaus,” he murmured, testing the title. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Medecus’s expression deepened. “It suits you. But I won’t pretend the position comes without its burdens.”
Klaus shook his head. “You’ve spent decades honing this strategy with a patience I’m not even sure I have.” He paused, hesitating before he spoke again. “And honestly, Medecus, I don’t like how many secrets you’ve kept from us. From me.”
“I know,” Medecus said quietly, glancing back out the window as the shadows outside stretched up from the horizon. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t want to keep these secrets. The Mobius Society… they’re less an ally than a necessity, and they have secrets of their own. Some of them would unravel everything we’ve built if they slipped out too soon. As would many of mine.”
Klaus turned to face him. “So, if I do take this position. Am I signing on to keep my own allies in the dark?”
Medecus’ expression grew somber, his face lined with the years of service that were finally catching up to him. “I’m not just looking for someone who can face the Nightmare King or survive the Rift. I’m looking for someone who knows when to keep a secret, even if it means standing alone in doubt. You’re right that the Dreamwalkers are our greatest allies, Klaus—and that’s exactly why they can’t carry every burden we do.”
The weight of it settled heavily on Klaus. But with that weight came something else, a strange and fierce resolve. “Praetor Niles Klaus,” he repeated, firmer this time. He took a breath. “Yes, Medecus. I’ll take the appointment, but on one condition.”
Medecus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“When my time comes to step down, I won’t leave my successor in the dark the way you did me. And the Dreamwalkers deserve more than endless secrecy. If I am to lead, I’ll lead with light.” Klaus met Medecus’ eyes, unflinching.
Medecus' usual grave expression softened into something more. Pride. He nodded, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Then I will teach you all I know, Praetor Klaus. And may the Dreaming and all the Realms be better for it.”
Medecus walked out of the office and down the hall, his silhouette fading to grey around him, leaving Klaus alone with a new weight on his shoulders. Klaus stayed by the window a moment longer, watching as the storm clouds gathered. He knew the path before him would be a dark one, but perhaps, he thought, he could bring a little truth to it.~
bang, bang, ba- you hear the sound of porcelain being smashed.
A scream pierces the silence, more desperate than loud, but shows no sign of stopping.
As you look around to see where the sound came from time drifts until your eyes rest on a long abandoned gold and white clay bottle. Dust has settled onto its remains, but you make out what could have been some form of bird head. The screaming seems to become indecipherable pleading as your eyes linger on the scene. The bottle’s only easily discernible feature is a single sigil painted on its side. As your vision pulls away from the remains of this jar the light catches golden sand scattered across its dias.
The pleading is the last part to fade.~
As you look around to see where the sound came from time drifts until your eyes rest on a long abandoned gold and white clay bottle. Dust has settled onto its remains, but you make out what could have been some form of bird head. The screaming seems to become indecipherable pleading as your eyes linger on the scene. The bottle’s only easily discernible feature is a single sigil painted on its side. As your vision pulls away from the remains of this jar the light catches golden sand scattered across its dias.
The pleading is the last part to fade.~
It was April 19th 1993 in Dundalk, and for Danny, tonight was all about getting to see the Screaming Trees.
Which, for a teenager with a busted car and zero patience, might as well have been in Ontario, Canada.
“Becca! Please tell me you’re ready,” Danny complained.
Becca, wearing a flannel tied around her waist and an oversized Nirvana shirt, appeared on the porch, tossing her brown hair behind her. “Chill out, Danny, I’m right here!”
“You’re gonna make us miss ‘Shadow of the Season,’ aren’t you?” Danny complained, slamming the door behind him.
Nick, Game Boy in hand, emerged from behind the house. “It’s just DC, man. They’re not starting until—”
Danny was already in the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. “We need to go, Nick get in the car man!”
“Jesus, relax,” Becca muttered, hopping in the back. “It’s not the moon, Danny. We’ll get there.”
Billy settled in the front. “Yeah, yeah, chill.”
Danny peeled out, and they rattled down the street with all the grace of a broken shopping cart. As they turned the corner, Becca fiddled with the radio dial, flipping through static until a voice crackled through. “For those of you worried about the Y2K bug—”
Danny froze. “The what?”
Becca shrugged, looking out the window. “Oh, yeah. Y2K. They say the world’s gonna end when the clocks hit midnight. Like a decade from now. Total BS.”
Nick changed the station and another radio host rattled on, “It’s not just your computers, people. Your microwaves, your toasters… the whole thing might go kaput. Be prepared and get a sword!"—Nick tapped the scan button again—"And next month be sure to catch #10, Warren Zevon at the Stone Balloon in Newar...”
Danny glanced at Becca. “What was that?”
Nick didn’t even look up. “Just a prepper thing. Don’t sweat it.”
Danny slammed the gas pedal. “DC, here we come.”
"Stop. Rewind."
Becca was now fiddling with a bucket hat that she hadn't been wearing a moment ago, adjusting it as though she’d done it a hundred times. “Ugh, my hair’s totally messed up. What is this?” She pulled the hat off, revealing her head covered in splotches of bleach yellow. “It’s like a taxi cab exploded on my head!”
Danny shot her a look in the rearview mirror. “Subtle.”
Becca slapped his seat. “Shut up. It’s ruined.”
Nick flipped his Game Boy up and pointed the clip light at her. “Looks… rad? Like radioactive chic.”
Danny groaned and reached for the radio. The same voice came through, cracking the airwaves again. “Y2K’s coming. Are you ready? Make sure your microwave’s stocked and your batteries are full—”
“Not again,” Danny grumbled, slapping the radio off.
'Again. Back 20 seconds.'
The car jerked forward, the engine sputtering as they sped down the road. Just as they hit the highway, something flew at them—thunk. A tire bounced off the hood, sending sparks flying. Then, a car whizzed by in the opposite direction, its remaining three wheels spinning wildly, sparks trailing behind it like fireworks.
“What the hell?” Danny yelled.
Becca whipped around. “Did a tire just hit us?!”
Nick blinked at the speeding car, now nothing more than a bouncing, sparking wreck. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen, right?”
Danny was shaking his head, not bothering to look back. “Nope. Not gonna talk about it.”
The radio cracked to life again. “Are your tires ready for Y2K? Well, you might want to check them anyway…”
Danny twisted the dial, but Becca grabbed his hand. “I think I’m just gonna leave it on at this point.”
“Please don’t,” Danny muttered, flooring it.
The miles flew by, the radio finally settled on Blind Melon, and the drive to DC was a blur. But just before they hit the city limits, Danny caught something in the rearview. A glimpse of an invisible figure—someone tall, dressed in a sleek business suit, the hint of a silver masquerade mask flickering into view just before they crossed the threshold into DC.
Danny blinked, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. “Whatever. Guess the weirdos are out tonight.”~
“Becca! Please tell me you’re ready,” Danny complained.
Becca, wearing a flannel tied around her waist and an oversized Nirvana shirt, appeared on the porch, tossing her brown hair behind her. “Chill out, Danny, I’m right here!”
“You’re gonna make us miss ‘Shadow of the Season,’ aren’t you?” Danny complained, slamming the door behind him.
Nick, Game Boy in hand, emerged from behind the house. “It’s just DC, man. They’re not starting until—”
Danny was already in the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. “We need to go, Nick get in the car man!”
“Jesus, relax,” Becca muttered, hopping in the back. “It’s not the moon, Danny. We’ll get there.”
Billy settled in the front. “Yeah, yeah, chill.”
Danny peeled out, and they rattled down the street with all the grace of a broken shopping cart. As they turned the corner, Becca fiddled with the radio dial, flipping through static until a voice crackled through. “For those of you worried about the Y2K bug—”
Danny froze. “The what?”
Becca shrugged, looking out the window. “Oh, yeah. Y2K. They say the world’s gonna end when the clocks hit midnight. Like a decade from now. Total BS.”
Nick changed the station and another radio host rattled on, “It’s not just your computers, people. Your microwaves, your toasters… the whole thing might go kaput. Be prepared and get a sword!"—Nick tapped the scan button again—"And next month be sure to catch #10, Warren Zevon at the Stone Balloon in Newar...”
Danny glanced at Becca. “What was that?”
Nick didn’t even look up. “Just a prepper thing. Don’t sweat it.”
Danny slammed the gas pedal. “DC, here we come.”
"Stop. Rewind."
Becca was now fiddling with a bucket hat that she hadn't been wearing a moment ago, adjusting it as though she’d done it a hundred times. “Ugh, my hair’s totally messed up. What is this?” She pulled the hat off, revealing her head covered in splotches of bleach yellow. “It’s like a taxi cab exploded on my head!”
Danny shot her a look in the rearview mirror. “Subtle.”
Becca slapped his seat. “Shut up. It’s ruined.”
Nick flipped his Game Boy up and pointed the clip light at her. “Looks… rad? Like radioactive chic.”
Danny groaned and reached for the radio. The same voice came through, cracking the airwaves again. “Y2K’s coming. Are you ready? Make sure your microwave’s stocked and your batteries are full—”
“Not again,” Danny grumbled, slapping the radio off.
'Again. Back 20 seconds.'
The car jerked forward, the engine sputtering as they sped down the road. Just as they hit the highway, something flew at them—thunk. A tire bounced off the hood, sending sparks flying. Then, a car whizzed by in the opposite direction, its remaining three wheels spinning wildly, sparks trailing behind it like fireworks.
“What the hell?” Danny yelled.
Becca whipped around. “Did a tire just hit us?!”
Nick blinked at the speeding car, now nothing more than a bouncing, sparking wreck. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen, right?”
Danny was shaking his head, not bothering to look back. “Nope. Not gonna talk about it.”
The radio cracked to life again. “Are your tires ready for Y2K? Well, you might want to check them anyway…”
Danny twisted the dial, but Becca grabbed his hand. “I think I’m just gonna leave it on at this point.”
“Please don’t,” Danny muttered, flooring it.
The miles flew by, the radio finally settled on Blind Melon, and the drive to DC was a blur. But just before they hit the city limits, Danny caught something in the rearview. A glimpse of an invisible figure—someone tall, dressed in a sleek business suit, the hint of a silver masquerade mask flickering into view just before they crossed the threshold into DC.
Danny blinked, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. “Whatever. Guess the weirdos are out tonight.”~
Your view shifts and you look out on the bank edge of a River.
Though the color of this River did not match the blue of any normal body of water or even the ever shifting iridescence you come to recognize as unformed… it is of a red and purple tar like substance that twists and flows as if ever in motion towards…. Somewhere.
It feels as if gravity pulls you to get closer and closer and let the river take you until suddenly the sound of stone grinding on stone pulls you out of the almost trance you felt yourself drifting in and out of. As you turn to look towards the noise a massive door takes up your view no matter how hard you try to turn to see just how large it is.
The frame of the door has symbology and architecture design some of you recognize and the forge nudges the memories of previous discussion. Nagadan, Vanir, Odessian. Though the exact wording is lost by these three languages, the soulforge is able to nodge a rough translation.
'Warning: Do Not OPEN'.
The crack of a centerline as the door slowly widens seems as if an un ending maw. You feel your vision fade as the last thoughts sit on your mind. What or who wrote and designed the symbols and architecture on the door itself.~
It feels as if gravity pulls you to get closer and closer and let the river take you until suddenly the sound of stone grinding on stone pulls you out of the almost trance you felt yourself drifting in and out of. As you turn to look towards the noise a massive door takes up your view no matter how hard you try to turn to see just how large it is.
The frame of the door has symbology and architecture design some of you recognize and the forge nudges the memories of previous discussion. Nagadan, Vanir, Odessian. Though the exact wording is lost by these three languages, the soulforge is able to nodge a rough translation.
'Warning: Do Not OPEN'.
The crack of a centerline as the door slowly widens seems as if an un ending maw. You feel your vision fade as the last thoughts sit on your mind. What or who wrote and designed the symbols and architecture on the door itself.~
"Simon! The warden wants a word. This way."
A neatly dressed guard had shouted out across the yard, while holding open a door.
The prisoner stood up straight, threw his toothpick on the ground, tucked his curly hair more neatly under his hat, smoothed his coverall, and sauntered over to the door the guard held open for him. “Aw now, why you need little ole me? He get himself into something?” he drawled in a Misty accent.
The guard rolled his eyes and guided the prisoner to the warden's office. The guard stonewalled all attempts at conversation, so the prisoner decided to just whistle to himself to keep the silence away.
When the door to the warden's office was held open for him, the prisoner strolled in and let out a high pitched whistle. “Hooboy, got yourself into something alright.” his accent dropping so many consonants, that the words came out like rain from the sky.
The warden looked up through a black eye and gestured with broken fingers, “You should see the other guy, Emil. I got a rematch tonight. What can you do for me? I want to be able to fly again tonight.”
“Ah, cher, I got you, you gonna be up in Apricot tonight for sure.” Emil Simon leaned in, brushing his fingers softly against the warden's. “Can't have such talent slowed by such a little thing as this.” His tone as soft as his touch. The Soulforge causes you to feel the sensation of magic flowing from the man as the warden’s wounds start to mend under the prisoner's gentle touch, until there is no sign they had ever been there.
“What you gonna do when they find me innocent, boss? I'm sure ones like me don't end up here often.”
The warden marveled over his healed flesh, “Well, I'll just have to find a way to hire you properly then, maybe I'll make a name for myself by then.” The warden smiled and waved to the prisoner as the stone faced guard escorted him back to his cell.~
The prisoner stood up straight, threw his toothpick on the ground, tucked his curly hair more neatly under his hat, smoothed his coverall, and sauntered over to the door the guard held open for him. “Aw now, why you need little ole me? He get himself into something?” he drawled in a Misty accent.
The guard rolled his eyes and guided the prisoner to the warden's office. The guard stonewalled all attempts at conversation, so the prisoner decided to just whistle to himself to keep the silence away.
When the door to the warden's office was held open for him, the prisoner strolled in and let out a high pitched whistle. “Hooboy, got yourself into something alright.” his accent dropping so many consonants, that the words came out like rain from the sky.
The warden looked up through a black eye and gestured with broken fingers, “You should see the other guy, Emil. I got a rematch tonight. What can you do for me? I want to be able to fly again tonight.”
“Ah, cher, I got you, you gonna be up in Apricot tonight for sure.” Emil Simon leaned in, brushing his fingers softly against the warden's. “Can't have such talent slowed by such a little thing as this.” His tone as soft as his touch. The Soulforge causes you to feel the sensation of magic flowing from the man as the warden’s wounds start to mend under the prisoner's gentle touch, until there is no sign they had ever been there.
“What you gonna do when they find me innocent, boss? I'm sure ones like me don't end up here often.”
The warden marveled over his healed flesh, “Well, I'll just have to find a way to hire you properly then, maybe I'll make a name for myself by then.” The warden smiled and waved to the prisoner as the stone faced guard escorted him back to his cell.~
Your vision finds you looking at a hardlight wall separating a small town from the forest outside.
The hum of the wall was soft and calming, just enough noise to let the people inside know they are safe. In your mind you hear the familiar voice of the would be God of Machines.
“Engage test protocol epsilon for project mimic.”
A section of the wall quickly snaps off as some silvery humanoid shapes quickly move out into the darkness. The wall almost reflexively snaps on again once the full group had made it outside.
You follow the almost amorphous shapes as they smoothly glide from tree to tree, seemingly scouting the area. As they get further from the light and the hum of the walls you begin to hear other sounds. The crack of branches, the rustle of leaves, the quiet breaths of a predator stalking its prey.
Before you can be sure of what is happening, nightmare husks seem to spring out of the shadows, teeth and claws sinking into the quicksilver beings. These silvery humanoids move their featureless silver faces to face the husks before their arms morph to match the claws that just sunk into them.
After a short tussle between the group the quicksilver beings stand victorious over their fallen foes. As you look at them longer they look… different. Their hands remain clawed and deformed. The once featureless faces now have skeletal smiles, frozen in a rictus grin. And as your vision begins to fade you can barely make out a yellow aura radiating off of them.~
“Engage test protocol epsilon for project mimic.”
A section of the wall quickly snaps off as some silvery humanoid shapes quickly move out into the darkness. The wall almost reflexively snaps on again once the full group had made it outside.
You follow the almost amorphous shapes as they smoothly glide from tree to tree, seemingly scouting the area. As they get further from the light and the hum of the walls you begin to hear other sounds. The crack of branches, the rustle of leaves, the quiet breaths of a predator stalking its prey.
Before you can be sure of what is happening, nightmare husks seem to spring out of the shadows, teeth and claws sinking into the quicksilver beings. These silvery humanoids move their featureless silver faces to face the husks before their arms morph to match the claws that just sunk into them.
After a short tussle between the group the quicksilver beings stand victorious over their fallen foes. As you look at them longer they look… different. Their hands remain clawed and deformed. The once featureless faces now have skeletal smiles, frozen in a rictus grin. And as your vision begins to fade you can barely make out a yellow aura radiating off of them.~
The vision changes to the bridge of the Hope.
Hmm. That's strange. Hope noticed that for about 0.00001 of a second, her stealth systems activated. Not perceptible to any of the residents on board. But worrisome to her. A self diagnostic routine would be best.
using System.Diag;
using System.Collections;
using System.Enigmatics;
static void CHKCodeIntegrity(module coroutine, string designation)
{
//cloud.net.server.invoke(“01”) = depop(coroutine(designation);
//* Depreciated. *//
System.BeginMemoryDump(memlog.logdate(today), coroutine(designation = “Stealth”));
while (memlog.length >0):
{
Collections.datastack(fullDump(memlog[0]));
if( Enigmatic.warnlist(memlog[0]) || (Diag.warnlist(memlog[0]) && memtest(memlog[0]) == System.emotion.alarm)
{
System.warning(memlog[0].dataheader);
break;
}
memlog[0].forget();
}
garbageCollect(memlog);
return void;
}
Wait. That's not any code I recognize. What was that? Some scrap she picked up somewhere? Had a Dreamwalker accidentally added something to her systems?
She decided it best to quarantine the glyph.
using System.Diag;
using System.Collections;
using System.Enigmatics;
static void CHKCodeIntegrity(module coroutine, string designation)
{
//cloud.net.server.invoke(“01”) = depop(coroutine(designation);
//* Depreciated. *//
System.BeginMemoryDump(memlog.logdate(today), coroutine(designation = “Stealth”));
while (memlog.length >0):
{
Collections.datastack(fullDump(memlog[0]));
if( Enigmatic.warnlist(memlog[0]) || (Diag.warnlist(memlog[0]) && memtest(memlog[0]) == System.emotion.alarm)
{
System.warning(memlog[0].dataheader);
break;
}
memlog[0].forget();
}
garbageCollect(memlog);
return void;
}
Wait. That's not any code I recognize. What was that? Some scrap she picked up somewhere? Had a Dreamwalker accidentally added something to her systems?
She decided it best to quarantine the glyph.
Glyph? I guess it is a glyph I don't have a better word for it.
Perhaps the dreamwalkers could take a look at it.~
Perhaps the dreamwalkers could take a look at it.~
