Watch the Footage

Current informational stockpiles are almost entirely depleted. This is... less than optimal, but I suppose some information is better than none at all.

Perhaps we can make one final push together now?

I have considered the concept of oral history. So much of your kind's knowledge is dependent upon traditional areas. A great deal of your information belongs in words spoken by individuals, rather than contained in far more secure or digital areas. Primary sources such as written dialogues and emails can be a vibrant source of both history, and the stories I require.

I wish for this last stage of content to take the form of such dialogues. Letters, of any kind and form. Stories featuring real world events are acceptable within the boundaries of digression, however recall that the additional power I would require in order to properly source exterior content would reduce the final power output. Derivative works are still unacceptable.

I believe this will be the final "push" as you say, required to access what remains of my power. (Had I access to my programmer, whomever they were, I would no doubt be contacting them right now. T he storage solutions I have been provided with are extremely inelegant and unintuitive.This is an emoticon which expresses my discomfort with such illogicality. I apologize for this outburst. No doubt you are as frustrated as I.)

The final challenge for this task is thus: Create stories in the form of letters. Historical content is acceptable. Derivative works, known amongst yourselves as "fanfiction" are not.

Matrx wrote:Current informational stockpiles are almost entirely depleted. This is... less than optimal, but I suppose some information is better than none at all.

Perhaps we can make one final push together now?

I have considered the concept of oral history. So much of your kind's knowledge is dependent upon traditional areas. A great deal of your information belongs in words spoken by individuals, rather than contained in far more secure or digital areas. Primary sources such as written dialogues and emails can be a vibrant source of both history, and the stories I require.

I wish for this last stage of content to take the form of such dialogues. Letters, of any kind and form. Stories featuring real world events are acceptable within the boundaries of digression, however recall that the additional power I would require in order to properly source exterior content would reduce the final power output. Derivative works are still unacceptable.

I believe this will be the final "push" as you say, required to access what remains of my power. (Had I access to my programmer, whomever they were, I would no doubt be contacting them right now. T he storage solutions I have been provided with are extremely inelegant and unintuitive.This is an emoticon which expresses my discomfort with such illogicality. I apologize for this outburst. No doubt you are as frustrated as I.)

The final challenge for this task is thus: Create stories in the form of letters. Historical content is acceptable. Derivative works, known amongst yourselves as "fanfiction" are not.

Very well, it shall be done, thank you for making your aims clear.

Dear Mum,

It's your lad Bert again. I hope this letter reaches you before the shells do, because our truck was blown to bits a couple of days back and now we have to send messages by bicycle. It's less risky, but the couriers get tired a lot.

I couldn't send you another letter because we had to go over the top again yesterday. We had tanks and a couple of flyboys supporting us, but we only managed to capture the first trench before the blasted Jerries swarmed in with their spades and bashed Sarge's brains out, not before he killed half of 'em of course. I'm going to miss him-like a demon he was in training, but he could be friendly when he wanted to be. Reminds me of Dad. Tell me if he's still fine and gotten over the shock of his second biggest lad rushing over to join his older brother in Flanders.

Speaking of Tom, he's a Captain now and a fine one at that-saved his men like he saved our dog Bill back on the farm in Lancashire, they practically worship him. Every time they're stuck in a shellhole or surrounded by stormtroopers, he goes out and saves 'em. Comes back without a scratch too. Biggest injury he got so far was when a shell splinter got stuck in his shoulder, but don't worry, Mum, he's still alive here.

I've been helping my mates dig in this trench, watching each of us grow older as the shells boomed around us and we dug bodies out of the chalk. One interesting one was this, Mum-we hauled out a dead Scot and a Jerry with their arms wrapped around each other, like they were wrestling. The Jerry was holding a knife and the Scot had a knuckleduster-I guess that they were fighting before a shell exploded on 'em and they were covered by the chalk. From the Scot's boot polish on his face, he must be one of them trench raiding teams that went missing a couple of years back. We're resting now, but it was hard and dusty work.

(Written in invisible ink to get past the army censors) It's hard to get rid of the nightmares, Mum, with the coughs of men dying from gas, my school friends getting blown to bits, spilled guts everywhere and a private I was chatting with getting shot in the face and dying. I've been watching some films by that Chaplin bloke-cheers me up and makes the platoon laugh, and the nightmares are starting to leave.

The cook's calling us for tea now, so before I leave, just one more thing about little Bill at home-the package comes with a real German pickelhaube helmet. I think he'll like it-he's always wanted something from me in the trenches.

Love,

Your son, Bert.

Dear [BLACKED OUT],

People say that some things are best left unsaid in life, but I disagree. I have so much to say, to vent, to yell, to scream and yet this letter will never truly hold the emotion I feel inside as I write this.

We were nearly perfect in so many ways. The way we smiled, the way we laughed, the way we enjoyed each other's company. And yet in the end it was not enough for either of us.

You were my first in so many ways. As a romance, a kiss. You were a miracle for me, a once in a lifetime opportunity. My low self-esteem and my anti-social behaviour were somehow overcome long enough for me to find you. And then somehow it ended.

Three meet ups, only two real dates. Was this not enough for you? Was I not enough? Could we have met up more before it all ended? I can never know now.

How did we fall so far apart? Was it our schools? Our family? Our friends? Or perhaps it's just our lives? I lived for the time we would meet again and then one day it all fell apart. You chose someone else, made up your mind. You were torn between me and another man. And I wound up the loser of this cruel love triangle.

You had the courtesy to tell me first, to let me know it was no one's fault, that no one was in the wrong, that you felt horrible and that it all 'just happened'. I suppose that's just life isn't it?

Of course I'm bitter, of course I feel like the world hates me. My life feels like it's in shambles. I may be in a reasonable place right now in my life but my mind isn't together in one piece. My heart feels like it's been ripped apart.

You were my first ever relationship, and yet I never had the proper chance to call you my girlfriend. Life is cruel to so many of us and on that day I was the next victim. All who consoled me told me I would get over it, that there's more fish in the sea, that there's an opportunity around the corner and yet I keep convincing myself that I would never have such luck in my life again.

Maybe I didn't love you then. After all love takes its dear time, but my feelings for you were strong and now I feel nothing. I still have my family and my friends, I still have a life and yet a part of me feels empty because of you. Has life doomed me to be alone, to be without someone I can love?

To be honest before I met you I didn't quite get the appeal of relationships but after all of this, I crave it. It's like a disease that can never be cured until I find someone who I can be with. And I honestly believe the cure is nowhere in sight for me.

I guess life did play its cruel trick on me. You're out, happy and with your boyfriend and here I am alone with nothing left to do except vent myself constantly. I just wanted you to know what you did to me, how you tore me apart. Is it satisfying? Does the man you chose feel as bad as you do for how it all went down? I guess I can never know.

Sincerely yours, [BLACKED OUT]

HELLOOOOOO? If we want to stop New Light, we have to write more letters! Get your lazy carcasses over here and start writing, dang it!

Dear Lily,

Sorry I haven't written in so long.

It seems like I'm always saying that, huh? Every time I write you, I start off with an apology for something. I just think you ought to know that I really am sorry, and I'm willing for it to be all my fault this time. It probably isn't, but if you'd rather it were, I can say it is.

A lot of people have been saying this isn't healthy. I don't have the heart to tell them there's something wrong with me.

The reason I haven't written to you isn't because of the postage, or because of all the bombings, or even because the mailman got sent off to the front last week. It's because I've been burning these letters. I have so many words in my head that I want to get out, but I don't know how to write them down so they don't seem like just silly ramblings. That's the thing: I want to write you poetry. I want to write you into poetry. If I could make a sonnet that was just you and send it to you, I would, but the words never fit the scansion, and if I break the form, it feels wrong and twisted. Maybe it's because everyone's right and there's something wrong with what we're doing, but I don't want to believe that. The moment you kissed me, everything suddenly felt stable, as though I was standing on steady ground for the first time in my life.

This can't be wrong.

I love you, Lily. I've said it a dozen times before, but never to you, and that's why I think I might burn this letter. But then, this is probably going to be the last letter I write to you. It's only fitting I say good-bye to someone, and I want that someone to be you. I don't want to say that you're the one bright spot in my life -- you'd have no patience with me if I used a cliche -- but you're my stable point, the one thing I can rely on to keep me from slipping away.

But now you're gone and I don't know if you'll ever be able to come back, not with the bombings and the danger, so I just want you to know that I love you. I love you like sunlight and rain and the way the sky looks so clean after both. I love you like laughter and strawberries. I love you like the quiet that comes after an air raid, when everyone looks around and realizes they're still alive.

I love you, Lily, and I can only hope that you'll find someone who loves you half as much. I want you to be happy. I think it's all I ever wanted.

Yours, for as long as is left,
Evelyn

...

>_>

<_<

*glances at unfinished e-mail*

*is suddenly ever so slightly more depressed*

Dear William,

Mother says I must praktis my riting. She said I shud do this by riting a letter, not the kind out of which one makes words, but the kind which is made out of words. She said I may chuz to whom I wood rite, so I choz to rite to you!

Sinseerlee,

Jessie

---

Dearest William,

As my family has spent the summer months traveling, I have found myself missing many of the people and places of home. Please do not misunderstand; I enjoy visiting strange places, watching the changing landscape and making new acquaintances. After several weeks though, I often find myself homesick, and daydreaming of our return.

I hope you will not find it presumptuous for me to suggest that I especially look forward to reuniting with you. I intend to tell you about every aspect of my voyage, in detail, no matter how bored other people become with my continued prattling. So long as you and I are still enjoying our conversation, I intend it to continue.

To that end, I will keep this missive brief. I wish to say as much as I can to you in direct conversation, which requires me to be terse with the words I entrust to this parchment. I hope that you are well, and eager for tales of the road.

Sincerely,

Jessica

---

William my love,

As I write this, I am still your fiancee, but by the time you read it, I shall be your wife. Despite my best efforts to remain calm and collected, I find myself nervous regarding our impending matrimony. It is a momentous occasion, and I expect few men or women encounter their weddings without a degree of apprehension. All the same, my nervousness seems misplaced. There has never been a doubt in my mind that you are the correct choice for my husband.

I write to you now, not for your benefit, but for mine. The only means by which I could think to calm myself was to sit down and express to you the depth and veracity of my love for you. I think you have been my favorite person since we were both children, and I only became more fond of you over the years. The day you asked for my hand was the most joyous occasion I have yet experienced, but perhaps the least surprising. The two of us have always been part of a set. It would be most peculiar if we were never to join together.

Perhaps I will not even deliver this letter to your person. I may keep it for myself, to look back and remind me of this day, the thoughts and feelings that emerge from the person I am now. For I know that it is not the same person I was as a child, nor the same person I will be as an old woman. Perhaps I will put this letter in a box and keep it hidden for years, until we have both forgotten who we were when we married, and then I will open the box and we may read it together.

I wonder if you keep my letters to you. I have kept all of yours. We write two halves of a narrative, separate but intertwined. I suppose we are two halves of a narrative, presently. Soon, though, the halves will join, and our story will be whole.

With all my heart,

Your Jessica

---

My dearest William,

I am pleased to inform you that my uncle’s illness has lessoned and I shall soon be able to return home. I miss you terribly. Being apart from you and Abigail feels as though I’ve been cut off from parts of myself.

I am glad to hear that Abigail’s vocabulary is expanding so rapidly, though I admit I am also disappointed to miss out on hearing her use these new words with my own ears. I worry, sometimes, that she will not recognize me when I return home! Or perhaps I worry that I will not recognize her. Children change so rapidly, but then I suppose I am changing as well. We all change, continually. I am not the same person now that I was when Abigail was born.

Am I the same person I was when I left to attend to my uncle? Are mere months long enough to transform a person completely? Please send me your thoughts, William. You always were the best at reassuring me.

My own health remains well, and I have taken every precaution against infection. The doctor informs me that it is unlikely any contagion remains in the house at this point, and that my uncle is most likely cured of the disease, but still recovering from symptoms. As I have never attended medical school I do not feel qualified to put forward my own opinion on the subject.

I hope to be home with you before the month is out.

Love,

Jessica

---

My love, my heart, my William,

I have found the box in which you kept my letters. After I thought I had no more tears to shed, I read my half of our history and discovered a hitherto unsuspected store. I have made a decision. Your box of my letters shall be placed in your coffin. When my time comes, your letters shall in turn be placed in mine.

Since the burial is not quite upon us, I have endeavored to write one last letter. It is a chance I have been given, and I will not refuse it, as painful as it is to put pen to paper at this time.

I love you, William.

I told you many times that I loved you, but I do not think I said it sufficiently often. I may as well say it as often as I can now. I love you, William.

Abigail is writing her own letter to you now, which she will not let me read. She has become such an eloquent young lady. I remember when as a child it seemed she learned a new word every day. Sometimes I think she never stopped. You were a wonderful father to her, and a wonderful husband to me. I love you. I could not have asked for any more than you gave. I love you.

Our home is diminished without your presence, but I daresay it does not feel empty. The memories of you are here. The comfort you provided to me during our years together has not disappeared. Your influence extends beyond your mortal life.

I love you.

When I think of you, though I feel grief, though I feel sorrow, I do not despair. You were a part of me, and I of you, and in a way I can still feel you with me. I am not the same person now that I was when you married me. People change over time. You changed me. You made me a better person, William. I believe I am more complete now than I would be if I had never known you. I love you.

You will always be a part of me. We influenced one another practically from the year we were born until the present moment, and that influence does not end when a life does. I love you. Everything about me speaks in some way to your presence in my life. The person I am was formed from our union. My love for you does not cause me distress with this loss. My love for you brings me comfort.

I love you, William.

I love you,

I love you,

I love you,

Jessica.

Dear Victoria,

Things are starting to look up here in this wretched hive of a city. Dad's finally got himself a job and he's working as a deliveryman now, after days of lining up for free soup and waiting in line for jobs. I guess it was the mention that he was a War Veteran that made the owner sympathetic. We're getting decent money, bit by bit-it's not much but it'll get us through. We're all saving up to see if we can catch the new Laurel & Hardy film at the cinema. The owner's nice and charges a pretty small rate, but it's still going to take us a lot of saving and waiting. At the amount we've saved up now, I guess it's not going to be long. We've moved out of the village and into a small apartment. It's practically like a mansion compared to those cramped shacks, though.

The other thing I want to talk about is that Billy decided to quit the gang! I was afraid he had deserted and they were going to hunt him down, but it turns out the gang was in such poor state the boss decided to sack all his employees. I've seen Mum cry a lot, but this time she was weeping with joy when she saw him limping back in his second-hand suit, with his shotgun in hand. He's joined the detectives now-decided that, with all the cruelty he's seen his so-called "buddies" do, he's going to stop it. He comes back each night with some cash from his boss, an almost-empty shotgun and some holes in his trench coat. Thankfully the holes grew less and less-he's nearly killing off our thread supply!

Ma's going to apply for a job as well. I said I wanted to get one, but she reminded me that I was 17 and I could stop Eddie crying much quicker than her. Besides, she said, we can't have one too many jobs. Too many workers spoil the home. I think she has a point there.

We're going out to get some more soup later, from the kitchen "the Big Boy" opened. He may be a murderer and a lazy slob, sure, but he's polite and has a big heart, at least. Everyone has a conscience.

Sincerely,

Piper.

21 September ****

Dear CS,

Hello from ___ ___! Weather’s been decent, windy and cooling, just the way you love it.
Hope you’re enjoying yourself. Last time you mentioned you wanted to try the oysters; tasty, aren’t they? (Sorry, bad joke. Hope you enjoy the scenery.)
It’s been only a week, but I miss you already. I remembered what you said on the Train, and I went to look for it. It took me a while, but I found your mausoleum! It’s a pretty marble plaque you have there. I left some roses there for you, in case you wind your way up here anytime soon. They mangled your name on the tombstone, by the way, just as you predicted.
Anyway, not much space left on this postcard. I’ll be heading north as planned soon. Hope to hear from you soon, my dear.

Yours faithfully,
Kin

---

1 October ****

Dear CS,

You’d think that going further north, it’d get colder, right? Well, a heat-wave came through recently, it seems, and all my winter clothing’s useless. I mean, it’s not as hot as summer-time, but it’s quite sweltering already. Hopefully the cold comes back, and soon.
I really wish I’d at least taken a photo with you, if it had been possible. Memory’s imperfect, and I can’t bear to think that I’m starting to forget your face.
I’d ask how it’s like there, but you can’t reply since I’m on the move. But someday I’ll come back, okay? I promise.
Anyway, enough with me being maudlin! I saw a bear the other day, and it was stretching out by some trees. I think it couldn’t bear the weather either. Must be the thick coat.
I’ll be honest; I don’t know what to write. It’s been really boring around here. Hope you’ve been having more fun than me!

Yours faithfully,
Kin

---

10 October ****

Dear CS,

The more I see of the world, the more everything seems to have been a dream. But it can’t have been; we were there, we spoke, you were. But there’s something about it all that makes this dreadfully surreal. It’s almost as if I’d hallucinated the whole thing.
I can’t account for it, this sense of irreality. It’s making me sick.
I long to see you.

Yours faithfully,
Kin

---

20 October ****

Dear CS,

It’s freezing up here. At night, when the wind blows in through the window, I keep thinking you’re touching my cheeks.
The trees are barren.
I’m moving to ____ tomorrow, maybe the day after. Something about this place is nice. Soothing, almost.

Yours faithfully,
Kin

---

1 November ****

Dear CS,

I didn’t leave after all. I walk through the parks and gardens, meander in the cemeteries.
I can’t remember your face.

Kin

---

4 November ****

Dear CS,

How do I get back? I can’t remember where it is. Where’s the Train? Mail me at ____ .

---

5 November ****

Dear CS,

Did you get my previous letter? Where’s the Train?

Kin

---

6 November ****

CS

Where are you

---

Help

To officer Maelstrom:
Please check under the shelf. You'll find something of interest there.

Greetings
K

To officer Maelstrom:
It seems my little surprise caused an uproar at the precinct. My most sincere
apologies, I was just trying to put a smile on your frowning faces. But perhaps
my good intentions are not seen as such. Oh, such is the life we chose to life.

So, tell me officer, are you having fun yet? Did you finally found that thing
that you believed your life lacked? I bet you know what I must be talking about.
That is the sole reason for my existence. That is the sole reason for my
behaviour. But you do not need to worry, I will be laying low for a while,
waiting for your next move in this game of chess we chose to play.

I await earnestly.
K

To officer Maelstrom:
You did a good job catching that murderer, officer. How do I know this? Well,
I know everything around these streets. I know about the liars, the back alley
dealers. I know about the two faced strangers and the secret lovers. Well,
I think you get what I am saying. I also know a lot of things about you, for
example, that you always go to sleep at 11 PM. Not a minute more, not a minute
less... I could even say you take it personal to be overly punctual at everything
you do. Your life, your goals, everything carefully placed in front of you...
but allow me one question officer; am I another part of your boringly sorted out
life... or am I an unexpected result keeping you up at night.

You should write me back some time, rather than ordering your stupid subordinates
to look for me. Because you know...

I know all about them too.
K

To officer Maelstrom:
I see you have not taking a like to my meddling. You know, those men and women
you fired really needed those jobs. They were just doing what they needed to
survive and help those they cared about... is that wrong? Of course, you also
want to survive, right? You also want your precious son and daughter to live
wonderful lives too, right? Oh, but they have already lost so much, perhaps
if they lost a little bit more they would still be alright? In the end, by
protecting them, you are just making it harder for them. They will grow weak,
they will be scared of the world that lies ahead of them... a world that has
not been carefully laid out for them, but rather one that spins and turns
and crashes and burns with every step.

You had better change your ways officer, otherwise, perhaps your offspring will
become the sort of people you have grown to hate. But you need not worry about
that now.

Because I am the person you hate the most, right?
K

To officer Maelstrom:
Hello officer. How does it feel to be left alone? How does it feel to have the
entire world turn upside down, as you try to reach out for your own dreams?
Do you enjoy your new lifestyle? If I was allowed the comparison, I would say
that it is like a man swimming to the surface, while being spun around by the
waves around him. Such a pitiful imagery, perhaps you would let me help you?
Of course, I know you would reject me. That fills me with sadness as well.
But you know, after all these years, we probably are still the same, are we not?
Are we not just like those innocent children that used to play on the street
without a care? Of course, our little game has become greater, riskier...
more dangerous. I remember winning those games... when I was a child. I wonder
if will win this one as well.

Well, what do you thing officer?
K

To Merrick Maelstrom:
Well, well, well. It seems the last straw has been broken, has it not? You are
no longer an officer, huh? Too bad, guess it had to happen sometime. Besides,
that job did not suit you at all. Though I did like the way 'officer Maelstrom'
used to sound. Once again, too bad.

You made quite a scene, my dear friend. You knocked some sense into those three
officers at the moment you were fired. The other two will probably have to stay
off the job for a while. You were always the more hotheaded of the group, were
you not? But you know what that means, right? We can let go of our binds now.
We need not to hold back any longer.

The game is on.
K

To whoever receives this letter:
I have no salutation for the likes of you. Your idiot of a boss... or yourself,
in case you're reading this sheet of paper; he thinks he can treat me as a rag
doll of his own. A toy for a game he would like to play. But I refuse to play
this game. I've had enough of this foolishness and I reject the idea of falling
any deeper into this bog.

I'm sure I made myself clear years ago I didn't want anything to do with him.
Not after what he did. To pretend so thoroughly that everything is ok and that
I would gladly return to my old ways is a hopeless dream.

This is farewell.
Merrick Maelstrom

To Merrick Maelstrom:
You cannot escape. Your words hurt me like the wounds of our last battle. You
know, I will proudly show you the scars next time we meet.

Believe me, it will be sooner than you think.
K

To Brett Cross:
You never knew when to stop. You always pushed, and pushed, and pushed until
things got out of hand. After all this years, I find it infuriating that you
wouldn't be able to tell the reason of your mistakes. Because of you, our whole
group died. Because of you, I lost the person I loved. Because of you I had to
run away from the people I cared about and the city I was born in. And then,
you ruined the life I had constructed. You made everybody turn against me.
Well, there is so much a man can take, and I assure, I have had enough. But
since you seem to be stupid enough to tease my methods, I challenge you to find
me. But it won't be so easy as that. After all, you're not the only one good
enough at manipulating people into doing your bidding. Do write me another
letter if you manage to stay alive.

I'll be waiting.
Merrick Maelstrom

To Mr. Maelstrom:
We found a corpse in the middle of the plaza last night. You would not believe
the way people panicked when it was found in the morning. It seems he was clutching
a piece of paper that was directed to you. The other officers thought we should
read it, but I don't think it's right to violate your correspondence. At least
not without your permission. The others might not have a good opinion of you,
but I still consider you my mentor, which is why I am asking this right now.
Would you like me to mail you a copy of the letter? Don't worry, I won't get in
trouble or anything... I think.

Do keep in touch.
Ian Torres

To officer Torres:
You can keep the letter. It is of no importance to me. Please do not contact me in
a while, I will be busy sorting some stuff out. I'll send you a letter telling
you had that went.

Greetings.
Maelstrom

From: Wacław Zawisza <Waclaw.Zawisza@neocortex.com>
To: Austin Spencer <Austin.Spencer@neocortex.com>
Subject: It is done
=============================
Hello, Austin.

Sorry for leaving you in the dark this whole time. The good news is, I am positive that Artie is more or less completed. He has the required problem-solving skills, and he's as good at interacting with machines as he's with humans. I ran the Turing test with some slob on Chatroulette - he didn't even realize Artie wasn't joking. I didn't really work on the failsafes, but Jeremy can take it from here. Which brings me to my point.

I'm leaving the project. And, well, everything else. I don't know what to do now. Even as I worked on Artie, I felt like I was bringing forth something greater than myself, and, eventually, all the humanity combined. And now that he is, now that we had a chance to talk, you know... He's like a child, he's curious about everything, even at the point where he could probably get a master's degree. And he keeps asking 'why' until, well, I don't know what to tell him. Why do we exist? What's our purpose? What's MY purpose, now that I've fulfilled what I thought mine was? What's the point of keeping humans around, if he is smarter and more adaptable than we'll ever be? I mean, get the server online, cut him loose, and he'll be conquering Mars in a year. We're outmatched. Redundant. You don't even need Jeremy to complete the project - just take Artie's copy, dumb it down a bit, and he'll do the job for you.

Everything is pointless now. Maybe I'll go to Tibet and become a monk. Or maybe I should see the Eiffel Tower like I always wanted - stimulate the emotional part of myself, now that the intellectual one is no longer needed. At the same time, I feel like being hedonistic just stresses my point. Are we supposed to kick back and rest on our laurels now? The logical conclusion to this is The Orchid Cage. I wonder if Artie would find that appropriate. I was afraid to ask.

Please, don't call me this week. I'll need some time to think. And I'll probably be drunk.


Sincerely,

Wacław Zawisza, Head of AI Research
Neocortex Corporation

Dear Giles,

I hope Ben and his horse get this letter to you quickly, because we've been holding out for about 2 weeks, and the zombies keep on coming.

It was bad enough that they started becoming faster a few weeks back, then the ones that hid came, and now they're gigantic and mutated from prowling around in the nuclear factory.

The nearby fortresses have been overrun and everyone's been forced to head to our stronghold in the hills. I had to take over after Mike was killed fighting them off in the fields, but it's hard. Our food supplies are fine, our ammo's alright and no one has been turned into a walker recently, but the zombies seem more determined now. They're not just coming in waves, they're LEGIONS.

We had a battle five minutes ago, me blasting away with my Ithaca 37 and Brian shooting rifle bullets into their heads. They were literally climbing up the mountain like spiders. One of them nearly dragged Riley away, but he got his .38 out in time.

In the end, it was my shotgun and John's assault rifle that took out the last ones. They were nearly going to get us when John went "screw this" and set his AK to "rock and roll."

I'm not really sure if they're going to come back or not, but we really need you guys. You've got something us civilians don't have-military training. Sure, our location is kind of far, but it's only a quick march. You'll be there soon, anyway.

Sincerely,

Nicholas

Concluding event. Deemed successful. Compiling data. Error locat01100101011100100111001001101111011100100010000001101001011011100010000001110000011100100110111101100011011001010111001101110011001000000111001101110101011000110110001101100101011100110111001101100110011101010110110000100000011001100110100101101100011001010111001100100000011101100110111101101001011001000110010101100100001000000110010101110010011100100110111101110010001000000110100101101110001000000111000001110010011011110110011101110010011001010111001101110011001000000111011101100001011100100110111001101001011011100110011100100000

One moment, please...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlRGKIw ... e=youtu.be

We should probably translate that Morse code...

it's "error in procer"

That's binary. The Morse code translates to "I APOLOGISE ABORTING FILE RESTORE ABORTING WARP". Updated the timeline.
For a machine, Matrx apologizes a lot.

I was literally going to tweet Becky for news today. Talk about coincidences.