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<title>Latest posts for the topic &quot;&gt; Searching...&quot;</title>
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<title>&gt; Searching...</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It was another late night, or rather, early morning, as he sat in the Operator&amp;#39;s chair, staring at the cluster of monitor displays. &amp;nbsp;Since his return to active duty, the everyday routine onboard the Scarlet Hotei had fallen back to its usual standards... and Corrine, the person scheduled for tonight&amp;#39;s shift, knew that when Phrack offered to relieve her... she was to agree to it, no questions asked. &amp;nbsp;Tonight was no exception to that rule. &amp;nbsp;He leaned back in his seat, as he watched the lines of code tumble down the various screens with a look of thoughtfulness across his face. &amp;nbsp;In his hand, rested a metal cup, half-filled with engine degreaser... he&amp;#39;d taken his time in drinking it, though this was admittedly his fourth cup for the night. &amp;nbsp;It seemed impossible, he thought, as he watched the code tirelessly. &amp;nbsp;He couldn&amp;#39;t begin to imagine how long Morpheus had done this very same thing, watching for hours, in hopes of finding Neo. &amp;nbsp;Exhaustion had set in well over an hour ago, and yet he couldn&amp;#39;t bring himself to call Corrine to reclaim her post so he could go to bed. &amp;nbsp;Not when there was the slightest chance that the one Phrack was looking for, could reveal his or herself at any time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A lot of thought had gone into his search, and Phrack knew that tonight was just one of the first of what could be many nights, looking. &amp;nbsp;He could only hope that somewhere, eventually, he would find the person he was looking for.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In silence, he finished off the degreaser, before staring into the empty cup. &amp;nbsp;It was surprising to him, how well the stuff seemed to quell the constant throbbing of his right leg. &amp;nbsp;The problem was how to drink enough of it to numb his pain, without staying intoxicated. &amp;nbsp;He could only imagine the look on his crew members&amp;#39; faces, if they walked onto the Operations Deck the next morning to find him passed out drunk at the Operator&amp;#39;s Console.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He sighed again, as he sat the cup down, refraining from pouring more, as he turned his attention back to the monitors and frowned. &amp;nbsp;The irreparable damage done to his leg had only served to remind him of his own mortality. &amp;nbsp;He&amp;#39;d always known that the time would come when he would no longer be around to fight, but that fact seemed all the more evident now than ever. &amp;nbsp;Unfortunately, he thought, when he was gone... who would continue on in his absence? &amp;nbsp;Who would push the boundries as much as he had, with his level of determination? &amp;nbsp;Who shared in his cause that couldn&amp;#39;t be compromised?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sure, there were his faction mates... even his crew. &amp;nbsp;But they were their own people, with their own paths. &amp;nbsp;Who they were, today, was the result of what they&amp;#39;d dealt with up to now.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;No, they wouldn&amp;#39;t do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He needed someone fresh. &amp;nbsp;Someone that was capable of walking alongside him and learning from him, someone capable of standing up at the right time and doing what needed to be done, regardless of what anyone said. &amp;nbsp;His search continued, through the high school and larger parts of the Slums. &amp;nbsp;It would have to be someone that he, himself, would awaken to the truth.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A potential in a sea of few potentials... there was no telling how long he would have to wait.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Sun, 14 Dec 2008 22:44:38 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Phrack</author>
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<title>Re:&gt; Searching...</title>
<description>&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders1.jpg&quot; width=&quot;500&quot; height=&quot;500&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders2.jpg&quot; width=&quot;800&quot; height=&quot;500&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders3.jpg&quot; width=&quot;500&quot; height=&quot;800&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders4.jpg&quot; width=&quot;500&quot; height=&quot;500&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders5.jpg&quot; width=&quot;800&quot; height=&quot;600&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders6.jpg&quot; width=&quot;800&quot; height=&quot;500&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders7.jpg&quot; width=&quot;500&quot; height=&quot;800&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;http://i427.photobucket.com/albums/pp352/nighttimeentertainment/Sanders/sanders8.jpg&quot; width=&quot;500&quot; height=&quot;500&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Michael Sanders.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Phrack had been watching him through the proverbial looking glass for some time now, and he was as likely a potential as anyone else.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Homeless at the young age of nineteen, Phrack couldn’t help but see a younger version of himself in the bluepill.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Angry at the world for all its unfairness, no respect for authority, and outcast by everyone he’d ever known.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Sanders had been sleeping in subways and eating out of garbage cans for as long as he could remember.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Phrack’s eyes watched the monitors carefully, onboard the Scarlet Hotei, as the luminous green code tumbled down each screen.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Sanders had the potential to be awakened, but did he have the potential to be the apprentice that Phrack had been seeking?&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;It remained to be seen, Phrack thought.&lt;span style=&quot;mso-spacerun: yes;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;In the days to come, he would keep an eye on the kid, but keep his options open to others that might seem more promising.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;Taking on an apprentice would not be an easy task... it would be time consuming and require vast patience... but each was a cost that Phrack was willing to pay.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Tue, 16 Dec 2008 06:29:57 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Phrack</author>
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<title>Re:&gt; Searching...</title>
<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;With a near-deafening sound, the concrete floor of the alleyway shattered from the impact of what a passerby would&amp;#39;ve assumed was medium-sized explosive.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In the center of the fragmented crater, a pair of leather dress shoes rose stood, as one raised up gently, shaking off the dust it had accumulated from the impact, then the other, doing the same. &amp;nbsp;Phrack surveyed the area, which was just as unremarkable as he&amp;#39;d come to expect; there was a reason they called it the slums.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Cautiously, he exited the alley, the twin circular lenses covering his eyes completely as he continued to survey the region, checking for potential threats. &amp;nbsp;Agents, enemy operatives, bluepills that might have witnessed his arrival... any of them could have complicated what would otherwise be a relatively painless task inside the Matrix. &amp;nbsp;Approaching any potential was something that would have to be handled carefully, but to Phrack, this wasn&amp;#39;t any potential: this would have to be handled with much more grace than his operatives had been accustomed to.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Without a word, he rounded the corner of the building, stepping out and onto the near-empty daytime sidewalk. &amp;nbsp;Truth be told, approaching Sanders would be more difficult than approaching the usual bluepill: there was no mailing address, no telephone number, no computer that Sanders could be reached through, being homeless. &amp;nbsp;Luckily, Phrack had watched him long enough to know the locations he frequented... and for the moment, he&amp;#39;d been tracked to a subway station just over two blocks away.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;--&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Corrine watched the code descend down the screen, keeping a close eye on Phrack&amp;#39;s every move within the simulation, and any threats that could pop up. &amp;nbsp;Her concentration was broken by the familiar sound of an incoming call.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Operator.&quot; She said, speaking into the headset.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;I&amp;#39;m calling about the Personal of the Day.&quot; An unfamiliar voice explained.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Corrine wasn&amp;#39;t quite sure what to do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;One moment, please.&quot; She told the caller, before patching it through to Phrack&amp;#39;s cellular phone. &amp;nbsp;Inside the simulation, his phone rang, shaking him from his approach of the subway.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;This is Phrack.&quot; He said, as he answered the call.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Yes, I&amp;#39;m calling about the Personal of the Day.&quot; The voice explained, as Phrack stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;I see... what can I do for you?&quot; He replied, after a momentary pause.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Well, that is what I&amp;#39;d like to know. &amp;nbsp;I&amp;#39;m looking for a bald man&amp;#39;s truth, perhaps even his prosperity.&quot; The voice from the other end of the phone line explained, calmly.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The corners of Phrack&amp;#39;s mouth contorted into a light smile. &amp;nbsp;This person sounded quite competent, and capable of investigating a mystery through subtlety. &amp;nbsp;Could this person be a better candidate for apprenticeship than Sanders?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Truth is often subjective to the bearer. &amp;nbsp;Tell me, how long have you been awakened?&quot; Phrack asked, as he neared a park bench.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;That word in itself is subjective. &amp;nbsp;I took the red pill a short while ago, but I don&amp;#39;t feel as though any real veils have been lifted.&quot; The voice said.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Phrack nodded. &amp;nbsp;Most likely a failed extraction attempt, meaning that this was most certainly a bluepill still connected to the system.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;Sounds like a problem waiting to be solved. &amp;nbsp;Would you be interested in meeting?&quot; Phrack asked, growing more concerned.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The call began to static, reception decreasing rapidly, perhaps intentionally from an outside source.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;*static* be a such a good idea, I&amp;#39;m in the middle of something. &amp;nbsp;I think so*static*ing me. &amp;nbsp;I can&amp;#39;t meet you right now, but perhaps later. &amp;nbsp;*static*range something. &amp;nbsp;You don&amp;#39;t sound like the bald *static* expecting.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Phrack&amp;#39;s concern was now much more visible.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;We never get exactly what we expect, but sometimes, if we&amp;#39;re lucky, we get even better.&quot; He said, hoping against hope that he could disarm any concerns that the caller may have. &amp;nbsp;&quot;You have my number, I&amp;#39;ll be waiting for your call. &amp;nbsp;Please be safe.&quot; Phrack said into his cellular phone.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&quot;I&amp;#39;ll try.&quot; The voice declared, before the connection was lost.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Phrack stared at his phone for a moment, before closing it and putting it back in his trenchcoat pocket. &amp;nbsp;A moment later, he turned around and proceeded toward the nearest exit... completely disregarding his attempt to approach Sanders. &amp;nbsp;Something didn&amp;#39;t feel right, and he wasn&amp;#39;t quite sure what it was... but he was going to find out.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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<pubDate>Thu, 18 Dec 2008 07:05:04 GMT</pubDate>
<author>Phrack</author>
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