Search Results: 53 messages were found

Let us hope that our operatives are never so foolish as to merit accusations of having fought fairly. Their rapid and brutal victory has delivered the wingless one to us.

The program is moving again. It has shown signs of rudimentary intelligence; is logic guiding it toward some goal, or away from its pursuers?

The child continues to fashion fanciful simulacra in her small construct world; now she has partially re-created the attack that stained her own skies a deep blue years ago. Her own version of revenge, perhaps, on the now-extinct group that once threatened her domain?

While Beirn's...analysis lacks a certain factual rigor, it must be granted that the man has a unique perspective on the cause and effect of gaining massive personal power.

The immature Spectrum scion, Rose, found a new outlet for her shopping obsession when, with help from operatives, she hacked her way into the online "Marketplace" from a phone booth in Uriah, much to the enrichment of those who happened to be selling women's clothing items at the time--at least the gaudy items appealing to Rose's historically ignorant idea of fashion.

Given the Ouroboros Corporation's backing, the Dame's dire prediction of the value of their shares may be premature. She is correct, however, in supposing that the company's fate is of relatively little moment to us.

Thanks in part to some prodding from our associates close to the media, the bizarre office deaths at Wright Research, and the apparent assault on their servers by "Pendhurst-Amaranth," have taken some headline space away from troubles at Ouroboros, leaving us to bask in relative anonymity while infiltrating that corporation's network.

Having thoroughly observed the locations in which the bodies were found, I believe I can, by working backwards, arrive through a process of deduction at some of the logical steps that operative minigun may have used to find them--assuming, of course, that to have done it all by a brute force search would have been prohibitively inefficient; he is a Machine operative, after all.

If you are prepared for such revelations as may await you, read on. It may be worth noting at this juncture that the bodies--and bodies they are--are, at the time of this writing, still present and undisturbed.

First, the most likely habitat inside the city limits for the Vietnamese noodles that it was suspected fatally distracted our employee is to be found in the International district. So, our search would begin there.

Perusing the most easily accessible information available to us at the neighborhood level, one finds that Akasaka plays a foremost role in that district's office real estate market: prime hunting grounds for our scam artist.

Not only that, but the area is a popular dining locale. Overlooking that neighborhood's business hub, the McClane Tower, one finds a sign advertising a Vietnamese restaurant.

And on the third floor of that edifice, following the hint of our employee's preference for exclusive establishments, a grim discovery is made.

The body of our employee, wholly deceased, lies on the floor.

Noticing nothing more of interest here, we might return outside, where our glance would naturally find its way to the gang members ceaselessly pacing about the vicinity. A quick check on these "Brothers of Destiny" uncovers a piece of information that would be more of the usual nonsensical filler found all too often in this dreary place, except that it brings to mind one of the rumors concerning the other party in question.

Namely, that the scam artist was done away with by the leader of the local gang's rival, which we can now see must be the Sisters of Fate, found just to the south, in Kaede. Their leader, Clotho, spends most of her time in a disarmingly pleasant, park-like area at the southern end of that region.

As it happens, this glen abuts the notorious Orchid Public Bath. Recall the rumor that the scammer met his end in a compromising location.

The prospect of a steamy dip might have induced someone--particularly someone foolish enough to cross the Merovingian--into letting his guard slip. If we were to venture through the front doors of the bath house, heading somewhat to the right, then through a maze of dubious, polished wood rooms and corridors, who knows what we might find therein?

The second body awaits us quietly. If he had slipped on the wet, polished floor, and sustained a fatal concussion against the unyielding rim of the commode, justice could not have been more fully served. In this case, however, Clotho seems the more likely agent of retribution.

Whether or not operative minigun used any of these clues in ascertaining the whereabouts of the two, only he can say. He has received his due reward for his detective work, and we thank him, and all those operatives who endeavored to locate the missing persons, for the interest they have taken in the Merovingian's affairs.

--Malphas--

Those endowed with curiosity of the morbid variety may be interested to hear that the two individuals will be left in situ for the next several days, in case you should care to locate and...view them for yourself.

The first complete and correct submission was received from operative minigun, at 17:12:27. Thank you, operative. Your reward is forthcoming.

I would also like to thank the other operatives who participated in the search. Full details on the locations of the two persons will be officially disclosed tomorrow.

Excuse me. The Merovingian is offering a reward to the individual who locates two missing persons, both probably deceased.

One was an employee of ours, on the trail of a scam artist who had defrauded our organization in office real estate dealings. Our employee was known to have a taste for Vietnamese noodles. It is suspected that he was done away with while stepping away from his work to indulge this habit in some exclusive, upper-story venue catering to the more...illegal ingredients in those dishes. His last report suggested that the scam artist was working with a local gang.

As for the scam artist, it is rumored that he was killed by the leader of that gang's rival, having let his guard down after being lured into a compromising location not far from the leader's lair. That scam artist is the second person we wish located.

The first clear photographs of both persons, sent to me via Private Message on the usual Data Node One exchange, and including the map display with the local coordinates, and an operative name showing in the upper right information window--the same name in both photos--will qualify for the reward, which will be sent to the operative whose name is shown.

No incomplete evidence will be accepted. Your indulgence and discretion are appreciated.

The program CAR80N's tale of robotic tears did not enrich our scientific understanding of the Dark Storm as had been hoped, and his supposedly first-hand account of life at ground zero, as it were, contained several subtle deviations from--or elaborations on--the conventional mythology.

That someone would dedicate the engineering resources necessary to create a program capable of roughly approximating an immature human is greatly puzzling.

How different he is from the humans with whom we usually associate. While unable to cast off the questionable compulsion of an unpleasant world, he can be said to lack neither intelligence nor imagination. Has he some greater fantasy, upon whose extravagant subtility ours makes no more lasting impression than a schoolboy's daydream?

Although they operate in the greatest secrecy, the Archivist Society cannot conceal all evidence of their vastly increased activity level, including that of their most notorious member, Hypatia. Is this spurred merely by an interest in extracting greater profits through the exploitation of their collection of archaic data, or is there some other motive at work?

Later human cultures banned the old bloodsports under the influence of codes of morality that in fact merely encouraged the weak and spineless to suppress their hatred and aggression until it broke out in sporadic killing sprees. And so was lost the art of separating the wheat from the chaff.

Possibly we have been dealing with the same groups and individuals for so long that we have lost the ability to comprehend a set of motives that does not fit into one of the too-familiar types. But what mold could have formed this man?

Microchips manufactured by the Ouroboros Corporation are to be found in nearly every business and home in the city. Published government standards do not require a complete audit of every function printed on a typical electronic device's silicon wafers. As long as the feature-packed new toaster comes with a sufficiently low price tag and rate of starting fires, it is welcomed to market, and into thousands of homes.

The Matrix "archaeologist" known as Digger, claiming to have been tempted out of his dusty basement by rumors of strange creatures wandering the city, took a small group of operatives into the depths of Rawlins Corner. It appears that the operatives eliminated a fair number of the Ethereal scum inhabiting that place, so the researcher's visit served at least some useful purpose.

Not simply flushed and killed, then, which suggests she is still among the living--in the outer world, at least. Who but the Machines could have done such a thing? Yet if it was them...what use would they have for an unprepared human outside of the Matrix?

The Merovingian has made his fortune holding programs more or less against their will. He has managed the Matrix in such a way that only rarely must he exert himself to maintain this control; the programs find they have no choice but to turn to him. Little wonder that he has made the non-existence of choice his publicly held philosophy; he has made it, for many, a very distinct reality.

An unidentified Zionite was picked up by operatives as he tried to make his way to Pillsen. His ability to take punishment belied his apparent lack of hardlines and sense of direction, suggesting that he had access to Command codes. This unusual juxtaposition remains unexplained.

Do the memories come to him, I wonder?

I would think they would be very distinct, even now.

After all, there is very little that is truly forgotten.

There was some sort of disturbance in back of Digger's place the other evening: a program of some sort, stirring up trouble among the humans; it takes but little. The desire to find a greater meaning behind their own existence gives them no rest. They slaughter each other in the mad hope of seeing it.

The instrument has been released. Now begins that very deadly game.

The Chessman staged a life-sized match of his favorite board game between Merovingian and Machine operatives in north Tabor Park. Our side won, naturally; well played, Dessus.

While the Chessman hastened to assure operatives that the meaning of the game should not be taken seriously, it would be foolish to imagine that he has no special motive in staging such a demonstration at this time. The Merovingian stands against the Machines, and the outcome is...?

The revenge--or is it profit?--seeking Bathary Boy, StraightEdgedJohn, sent out a server-wide offer about an old version of his "Pugilist's Gloves"; it appears that he still has a pair from the old mold that was later deemed too dangerous, and banned by the Machines. It seems that desire for a quick profit--in the form of some unorthodox items--has inspired John to risk trade sanctions on his Gracy Heights turf.

Competition proved fierce, but after the expiration of his initial time limit, and a boot by the Machines, nobody had yet met his terms, and John took his wheeling and dealing offline. Apparently, if you reside on his server, you can still attempt to win the gloves by mailing him a text list of the six items he requires. Word has it that nobody has yet guessed all six items correctly.

Little here is ever truly lost. Atomic elements--the ones and zeroes--can be destroyed--or reset, rather--only by a select few, and only if they choose to do so; they usually do not. Do they wish things to resurface? Sometimes it seems...almost inevitable.

Old connections may not have their former strength, but still serve as strings that can be pulled by those who know their name. A shudder runs through the dusty web.

The Shirakaba businessman Yuusuke Akayama has been nosing about; he evinces concern about the possibility of current events disrupting his profits. This concern is prudent; his rambling conspiracy theories about the Oracle, however, are somewhat less productive in his line of work. It suffices that she resists the Merovingian's will. I shall have to have one of our people suggest to Mr. Akayama that he concentrate on minding his shop, and leave speculation on motives and purpose to those more qualified.

The Edgewater Exile known only as "The Bartender" invited a small contingent of operatives from Zion, the Machines, and our own organization for what turned into something of a laurel-branch-waving lecture on maintaining peace in the Matrix.

While such ultimately futile efforts aimed at universal brotherhood often impress those without the stomach for blood, let us not be so naive as to forget that we all act in our own self-interest. Risks are high in a war situation, but so are potential profits for the less squeamish, as those of us who have survived previous system failures can attest.

Reports indicate that the temperamental Exile known as the Sculptress emerged from her Center Park studio in search of more subjects on whom to practice her talent in shaping representations of man. This "free clinic" appears to have been somewhat popular among the fickle redpill population, in spite of several...accidents.

The aptly named mistress of Ikebukuro, Sunshine, grows uneasy over the turn the weather has taken since the Child's removal. While I'm more interested in sunsets than sunrises, I do of course realize they are two sides of the same coin--a coin that has at least temporarily lost some of its luster.

It was amusing to watch Zion's hounds barking after scraps of information the Merovingian did not deign to obtain. The Archivist Society's librarian has access to vast knowledge, but Hypatia remains well aware of her own limitations--a useful combination of traits.

Operatives consulted the cryptic Mr. Po in Kowloon to see if his unique method of insight could be of use in obtaining a certain kill-code for somewhat more prescient program. Although the operatives were initially uncertain as to how to proceed with the tight-lipped Exile, after helping Po fight off an attempted attack by a Great Wall Security team from rival neighborhood Shirakaba, better progress was made--or, at any rate, questions and responses flowed more freely. Whether or not any of his proverbs concerning rodents and birds have any real present or future value remains to be seen. It is clear, however, that Po himself does not have the means to provide the needed code.

The self-styled lord of Camon Heights always bears watching. The General's reappearance after all this time seems to have struck a chord in Silver; is he still smarting from the affair of case and key? But despite his pronounced eccentricities--or perhaps because of them--he sometimes develops uniquely ingenious insights into certain aspects of the simulation.

Their leaflets still say "DO NOT TRUST THE FRENCHMAN."

It is nice to know that one is not forgotten.

I have learned to beware Exiles claiming to have no interest in the affairs of their neighbors.

And so the other members of the family take an interest... The question is, are these Elements really unaware of what's going on, or is this just another diversionary ploy?

My sources say the operatives lost Malkin's trail over Apollyon...

The leader of the reclusive Ethereals made a bold raid on Club Jade, apparently having been convinced by Anome that seizing it for his people would be an easy matter. A group of operatives who happened to be having a party there soon showed him the error of his ways. It is a sad day when even programs are fooled by the viper tongue of one of the worst examples of humanity this simulation has seen.

However, on a personal note, I must add that I found the Ethereal's humiliation entirely delightful.

"Zombies" have been plaguing the environs of the Camon church for some days now; this unusual code infection was bad enough, but it has just manifested itself in a vastly more powerful incarnation. This creature took the combined efforts of many operatives to destroy, and spawned hordes of ravenous monsters in its wake--a novel, and amusingly macabre scene.