A poem

So I have time on my hands. I wrote a poem:

we went for a walk today. me and my hosts.
i napped when i got back, and dreamt.
out on the hills. looking down, i saw two lakes,
with reflections so clear i thought they were pictures.
no, not pictures - more like screens.
two screens.
and flickering between, something else.
but i woke up, and it's in the past now.

Safe

This is what my computer set-up at home used to look like:



And this is now:



... I’m safe. Thank you to everybody who has written or tried to connect with messages of support or concern. They didn’t try to silence me (at least, not there in the office), but Randall did summarily dismiss me. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him happy.

You know I said I was working on automating my flat? Before I left I had a webcam up in my bedroom as a motion sensor. The stream was archiving over SSH on a friend’s server. At 3.01AM before the flat network collapsed, the camera caught this:



I keep getting strangers trying to auth me on MSN and Skype. I think the only people I can trust are either dead or imprisoned. Some kid tried to Skype me but there was nothing but silence on the other end.

I trapped the kernel panic on Bertha before Randall restored the machine from last week’s ghost, and now I know there are survivors in lab 4. Running was imperative, but as soon as I’m ready I’m going back. There’s no way I’m gonna sit around here.

I'm working on a plan. I'm going to need help, so if you’re on this side keep an ear to the ground. And if you’re not, I’m coming for my friends.

Help

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Things are going wrong. Everywhere.

Randall looked at the queue. He thinks I'm responsible for the message. He's giving me nothing but black looks all fucking day. Half the time he's on the phone, murmuring. He never fucking murmers. Randall barks.

He's got us on overtime, doing this security audit of the website. He's deleting everything related to Ed. Why? WHY IS HE DOING THIS?

Miriam's confused and I don't think there's a thing I can say to her - not when she's on the other side of two server racks and Randall is on the other side of this desk. Murmuring.

I'm blogging this because... because they took Ed. They must have. And if they'll take Ed, they might take me.

If (holy hell, IF) I get home tonight, I'm grabbing the few things I need and leaving.

Somebody fucking help me.

Monday

I can't believe I survived a day at work. Randall was pissed when he found out I hadn't done anything about the moderation queue, but I just don't have it in me to delete the last words of a friend and, in my eyes, a hero.

I still can't believe my friends are dead. Miriam is pretty much all I've got to stop me losing it completely. I need a holiday.

Ed and Holly

It's only just come through on the company feeds that Ed and Holly are believed dead in in industrial accident at the Village last night. Why did it take so long for this news to come out?

Ed was a good man, straight and true - and an even finer friend. The few chances I met his wife I was struck by the kindness and humanity of them both.

I feel cold, bitter inside. Not only are two good people dead, something is amiss. Ed's messages on the website carry an omen of something perhaps more sinister. What can I do now to protect his memory? What can I do?

I need to talk to Miriam, but I can't phone her at three in the morning. But I will, before we return to that godforsaken office, that godforsaken company, that beast that has swallowed my friends and spat out... nothing.

A certain coldness

It's bad enough that I'm getting to bed so late each night, but... Something's just not right. And I think it's something to do with work. I shouldn't write about it in depth, and to be perfectly honest, I don't want to. But forces have started pulling things apart and I don't feel like I'm safe any more. I don't feel like any of us are safe.

I'm shivering and afraid. And I'm looking out the window in the direction of the Village and I swear I can see a redness on the horizon that just isn't usually there.

I can't sleep like this.

Late Nights

Man, I thought I'd have more time to write than this.

My flatmate has gone home, which is great. I'm doing all of the things you totally have to do when you're alone in the flat. You know, loud music, defrost the fridge, do all the recycling... (Simon hates it when I try to recycle - I know it's because it makes him feel guilty).

I've been working harder than ever in the office (as you'd expect, approaching the release), and it's like... I always intend to be in bed before 1AM, it just never happens. I've been up for hours getting some data of Sally's onto some friends' servers, just some stuff she wants to keep safe. It's odd, I found myself in IRC rooms with guys I haven't chatted to since university. But the moment you're in a bind, they're right there.

I owe you guys.