SS2 Fiction by Ken Levine

[675a5c5732a06Kolya]

Tags: °fiction °SS1 °SS2
This story by Ken Levine, lead designer of System Shock 2, was originally released in December 1999 on http://desslock.gamespot.com. It's not available there anymore but web.archive.org still has it. The story was also discussed with Ken Levine on TTLG.

Part I

Marie St. Anne Delacroix stood at the end of the promontory and stared off into the blackness. She had taken the spin-vac from Marseilles only an hour before and in her stomach she still felt that vague queasiness that particular form of transport always left her with.

"It's not right," she thought on a thread of her taxed, multi-tasking mind, "to go from the continent to New England in ten minutes. It makes them the same. It destroys them both by bringing them together."

This line of thinking annoyed here and she grimaced at her own hypocrisy. She could have any form of transport to Massachusetts, it was she who chose the spin-vac. Like it was she who chose to build Sarah.

"You are part of the problem, Marie, let's not forget that for a minute, no?"

Two mechanical seagulls cawked and swooped above her, pretending to scan the ocean for fish that had been extinct for 60 years. "What was real about this scene?" she thought. The birds, the dog by her side ordered at 10% below cost from TriOp's Sim-Pal division, even the gryoscopically enhanced waves, crashing magnificentally against the stout yankee rocks.

"Will you do it, Marie?" Polito had asked her. "Will you do this thing for them. Do you have a choice in the matter?"

She had completed the bulk of her theoretical work nearly two years earlier. She had spent the last two years building simulational models on her hand-modified Electra D3 system. The Electra was one of the first of the current generation of personality boxes. For over thirty-five years, following SHODAN and Citadel, computing power had retreated to its original, binary character-less form: neutral, logical and rigid, entirely unable to make any cognitive leaps. The UNN had made sure of that. The processing rationalization act of 2074 had made sure of that. The argument before the high court made by Jared Lucash railed against the very notion of digital personality:

We can give them personality, we can give them creativity, we can give them feelings, but can we give them accountability? Can we give them a soul? If Dante's pilgrim had made his journey today, would he meet SHODAN in his travels?

But Electra was new; created after the reforms of 2107, when the Unified National Nominate, the government du Jour, came to the realization that what they were not developing legitimately, others were developing in secret. Others who might have a more than passing interest in things like politics, technology and control. And slowly, the barriers began to evaporate.

Without Electra, the work might have taken 8 years. With Electra, it should have taken five. Delacroix had completed two years of work and now they were already after her, determined to call her results conclusive.

"Evening, Marie."

Delacroix turned around, not at all startled. She was a famous person, frequently interrupted by strangers. She turned around to see the tall, starched figure standing before her. She had never met him, but she recognized him instantly. Funny how two famous people who've never once seen each other can act with confidence upon meeting as if they had already been introduced.

"Captain Diego. People might say this is a coincidence. Who would expect you to turn up on the same deserted promontory on the Massachusetts coast as I? Almost miraculous."

"I was at your office in Paris, but they said you had left."

"Who told you that I was here? I would have thought diverting through the Cote D'Azur would have..." She trailed off when she heard the imperious tone in her own voice. She didn't like that side of herself much.

"Dr. Delacoix, if you know who I am, then you should also know that none of your staff needed to betray you..."

"Oh, so you tracked me down through your elaborate UNN spy network. I don't know whether to be flattered or disturbed by that, Captain."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't you contact one of TriOp's lawyers? If you throw a stick at New Atlanta, you're likely to hit one."

"I'm not here to give you any trouble. In fact, let's call this an unofficial visit."

"If you wish.," said Delacroix, warily.

"We know about Sarah. We know...a lot about Sarah."

"Then why do you need to talk to me?"

"I don't need to talk to you, Doctor. From what I understand, you don't exactly have a lot of friends over at TriOp."

Delacroix said nothing.

"No offense, Doctor, but I don't like Sarah. Sarah makes people like me very nervous."

"People like you?" said Delacroix. "And what exactly do people like you like and dislike?"

"We like order. We like method. And precision. And procedure. We've got a lot in common, I would think. Dr. Delacroix, I'm aware of your concerns about Sarah."

"I've not been particularly private about them."

"We know there have been issues, unanswered questions. We know that the development schedule is extremely aggressive."

Delacroix seemed annoyed. "Theoretically, Sarah should work. What are you trying to accomplish here, Captain? I'm not some...hacker. I'm a scientist. I don't believe in shortcuts or luck. I believe in research, statistics and the scientific method. And time. I believe in lots and lots of time. My work has nothing to do with recognition or avarice. I'm already more wealthy and famous than I ever contemplated."

Diego knew this was true. Any accomplishments Delacroix could achieve now would yield her relatively little. In fact, her efforts only exposed her to risks of failure, something her stellar career had never really known. Her work published in '97 had opened up the door to the first wave of serious post-relativity thinkers. She had pushed past Einstein in theory and now seemed poised to do the same in practice. He also knew the doctor was prodding him with her response.

After all, it was his father, Edward Diego, who in 2072 had contracted the Hacker to infiltrate SHODAN for him. When his father had the Hacker disable ethical constraints (not a particularly difficult feat on a personality box of that generation), they ushered into existence the hobgoblin of the 21st century. SHODAN became the proper noun that replaced Hitler as the archetypal reference to evil. After all, while SHODAN in the end was only the murderer of hundreds, it was the first singular threat ever faced by man as a species. In her artificial megalomania, SHODAN had nearly brought an end to it all.

But the Hacker killed SHODAN. And his father. Captain Diego was never exactly sure how to feel about this: his father murdered by the most famous man on Earth. He knew how he felt about Edward Diego, however. He despised the very thought of him, his unfathomable greed, his irresonsibliltiy. His father had rent his family apart, left them penniless. The press...the press had always been there, tormenting him at school, on the street, in his home. "Why did your father do it? What was he after?" and always, always: "What did you know about it?"

But it was William Diego's mother who bore the brunt of the family's agony or perhaps she was less equipped to live with it than her son. She killed herself less than a year after Citadel, deftly slicing open her veins. He found her leaning over her bathroom skin, her face submerged in the scarlet water, bloated and puffy. As he pulled her out, her skin didn't feel like a person at all, instead, it held the cool, even consistency of vinyl. Manhandling his mother of out the sink, he thought of his life then of his ability to survive the Diego brand. And he knew the only successful vector he could assume was that of the opposite. He would become the anti-Diego, the un-Edward.

And now he was no longer the son of his father, infamous executive of the TriOptimum corporation and progenitor of SHODAN. He was Rear Admiral William Bedford Diego, the hero of Boston Harbor, the safe, confident face of the UNN, the shoo in for Bureaucratic candidate party's nomination for Interior Minister in 2116. Captain Diego (no one ever referred to him as Admiral, but instead under the rank he came to fame under at Boston Harbor) was more than the brightest star in the Navy and a political hopeful. He had come to represent the culture of the UNN, the government that had risen out of the rebellion of 2075 that toppled the corporate oligarchy. Citadel Station was the final, revolting chapter in the history of government by industrial mandate, a 25 year period where the industries of the world reigned and TriOptimum corporation reigned over industry. The time of the corporations' began with the passage of the Hays-Bishop bill of 2031 that legitimized corporate entities to form governments if their employee population represented more than 66% of a designated region. The strength of the lobbyists to then increase the size of these regions led to entire states being subsumed under Hays-Bishop. Eventually, only token traditional governments remained in the west and the last of vestiges of the United States slipped quietly into the TriOp fold in 2059.

But now that was all over. Diego believed that people craved government, real government. The SHODAN incident was only an excuse to go back to the former state of things and now there was order. The corporations were once again under control. Severely regulated, Diego was surprised that Sarah wasn't derailed the moment her existence was discovered. They could argue that Delacroix was working independently, but that wouldn't matter even if it were true. The commission had ultimate arbitration over these matters and demonstrated a ferocious desire to use it.

"Are you here to shut me down, Captain? I wouldn't think so. There are legions of bureaucrats who could have been assigned that task."

"Is Sarah feasible?" he said, interrupting her.

"Oh, yes. If you believe the current generation of simulation protocols, Sarah is entirely feasible."

"You sound skeptical."

"Somebody has too. Why do you think I'd be willing to talk to you about this, Captain? Did you think your celebrity would impress me so that I would be craving to unburden my soul to you?" She produced a slight, mocking coo.

"I can help you, Doctor."

"I'm in no need of funding, I'm sure you're aware of that. I don't need you to finish Sarah."

"No, but you might need me to stop her."

Delacroix turned to face him, understanding all at once. Sarah, everything Sarah meant for TriOp, for technology, for...everything. It terrified Diego.

She smiled at him. She wanted to pat his shoulder, something to show her appreciation for his kind of people. She didn't know there were any left.

"Do you know, Captain, when Oppenheimer was preparing the first atomic device for Trinity, he didn't know if the chain reaction started by its detonation would ever end. There was a distinct possibility that the fission process, once initiated, would just continue and continue and continue. And there Colonel Groves stood, representing the United States army, the greatest cause for good, the savior the world. And Groves said, "Do it." It was worth the risk to him. The dice will always be thrown, Captain, no matter what the stakes. Do you think you can change that?"

Captain William Bedford Diego considered this for a moment. He summoned a Sim-Cig from his wrist replicator, already lit. He drew deeply on it and exhaled, releasing smoke that only held odor and opacity for him. He better quit these things, he thought, knowing that the Sim-Cigs held no physiological side effects. But somehow Diego still relied on them, on this safe, so-clever technology.

"Maybe we can't put the genie back in the bottle, Doctor. But we can try to put a leash on the son of a bitch." With this, Diego popped out another sim-cig, "lit" it and handed it to Delacroix. Not looking at him, she snatched it and took a deep, satisfying drag.

"Did your secret service tell you about my weakness for these?"

He shrugged. "One junkie can always spot another."

She laughed at this and then dispatched the cig with a slight snap of her fingers. "You know, Anatoly Korenchkin will find out about this...."

"You let me worry about him," he countered, somewhat heroically.

She frowned at this. "Ah, Captain...the more people worrying about Anatoly Korenchkin...the better."

[675a5c5733187Kolya]

Part II

Anatoly Korenchkin rarely remembered his dreams and when he did, it was usually in the form of fragmentary and fractured moments. He had been born 62 years ago with an eidetic memory, able to absolutely recall faces, numbers, facts and figures with enormous accuracy. These talents had served him well in the period of 2078-2092 when he made a living primarily as a gangster. He could maintain inventories, balance sheets, every aspect of a business' bookkeeping entirely in his head, obviating the need for physical records, for potential evidence. He was always scrupulously honest in his mental bookkeeping and that honesty lended him the trust of others and that trust led to his fortune.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, the old man thought of the dreams and how they brought him back again to those years. Not the way he normally recalled things, precise, ordered, perfect, but more as a sweep of emotions. He saw flashes of his gangster clothing, his gangster furnishings and his gangster walk. In those years, he had been forced only to kill one man himself and he realized quickly how little taste he had for the strong arm, the gun, the knife. However, he had made no illusions about the necessity of such things; it was simply much easier and efficient to have others do it for him.

He had awoken from these dream-memories feeling vaguely uneasy. Those were such...desperate times. To always live with fear...to be surrounded by men of low character and taste. First, in St. Petersburg, and then in America, in New Atlanta. After the fall of the corporations, however, the UNN began to crack down. When the Luddites took control, Anatoly knew he could become a very wealthy man if he were able to provide technology to those who wanted it. The more the UNN exercised its might, the higher a premium he could charge for his wares on dozens of illegitimate markets in which he had trafficked.

In order to fight rampant technology in the private sector, the UNN had to grow its technological sophistication. Law enforcement officials were replaced by cybernetics. Tall, strong, tireless, unmoved by the sight of cash or the touch of a woman. How does one blackmail a m/35-16 security bot? Stripped of the normal, time honored tools that have served criminals since the inception of time, Anatoly had to become more creative. He couldn't beat the system. So he hacked it.

Anatoly established a broad web of hackers, some as young as ten or eleven, the oldest barely nineteen. They hacked the government for their employer, impeding or shutting down any and all law enforcement mechanisms which proved uncooperative. The hackers never knew who Anatoly was by name, only cypher. He liked to keep at least two or three layers of buffer between him and the actual mechanics of his crimes.

The UNN crackdown transformed Anatoly from successful to monstrously rich. While the authorities might have caught on to the shape of Anatoly's ring, they never succeeded on linking it to its master. Eventually, one of Anatoly's "urchins", as the media had taken to calling them, was captured and convicted on sedition chargers. Veronika Red was the girl's handle and she'd been caught breaking into the very sensitive financial records of an extremely powerful UNN official. The wheels turned and a moderate offense was turned into a serious one and a serious one turned into a capital crime. She had clearly tapped into the wrong man's file.

So as this 16 year old girl awaited execution, Anatoly pondered his option. Letting her die would hurt his business, his reputation amongst his direct inferiors, certainly. But to intervene would be risky. He had scratched a lot of very important backs over the years. But in the end, he decided the exposure would be imprudent.

So it was done. Important butts all through out the higher levels of the UNN were protected. The girl was murdered by lethal injection. And the world, not surprisingly, continued to spin on its axis.

However, following this, Anatoly felt he had enjoyed less and less his chosen avocation. Governmental controls on technology were slowly slipping away, making his product less valuable. The slackening of the tech restrictions also meant countering law enforcement that much more difficult. In addition, he had developed a terrible ulcer during the show trial of Veronika Red. Perhaps it was time to move on.

Since the events on Citadel station, the TriOptimum Corporation had nearly ceased to exist as a legitimate business. Suffering literally dozens of class action law suits and hundreds of individual complaints, TriOp had been compelled to pay billions in compensation for the lives lost and pain and suffering inflicted aboard Citadel station. The company had been left alive primarily as a debt-paying entity.

Anatoly saw an opportunity here. Some thirty years after the Citadel incident, people had begun to forget the specifics of the event. TriOp had literally tens of thousands of valuable patents, trademarks and copyrights. They had hundreds of brand names, which the consuming public still held in good esteem. TriOp was, in his mind, perhaps the most undervalued commodity in the history of value.

And so he took his millions of black market gains and bought 51% of the TriOptimum Corporation. And he grew the business, exploited brands and leaned on his contacts in the UNN to relax technology restrictions even further. TriOp's fortunes began to change.

And now there was Sarah, Delacroix's marvel. A real-true blue breakthrough, a wonder of modern science. The first functional device capable of propelling matter at faster than light speeds. He had recognized Delacroix's genius early and had set about personally managing her growth in the company. She had contributed much before, but never anything as...practical as this. Her device, well, her theoretical device, would rewrite every paradigm. She had willed into existence the ability to collapse space and distance practically meaningless. And she had done it on his dime.

What would that mean? For a species crowded into a collapsing planet at the center of a series of wretched, foul-smelling collectivized off-world colonies? It would mean opportunity, possibility. It would mean hope, packaged, sealed and marketed exclusively by the TriOptimum Corporation.

But more importantly than that, with TriOp as the sole provider of this technology, the UNN would lose their ability to hold him in their grip. The public wanted the stars and Anatoly, through Delacroix and Sarah, would deliver to them. Surely they would not allow the government to get in the way.

But it worried him. Diego was smart and Diego knew all. But Diego had illusions of his own importance. And that made him underestimate Anatoly. He had no idea how much pull TriOp had now within the UNN.

Korenchkin rose, got out of bed, went to the bathroom and had his teeth brushed by the Dentu-Brite.

But Delacroix was making noises now. Sarah was being rushed, she said. She needed another 5 years to complete the prototype. She had emphasized to need the potential side effects of Sarah. "Like what?" he had asked her.

"I have no idea. That's why they need to be studied."

Anatoly hated this about scientists. He knew she wanted the time. Part of it was the classic engineer's need to tinker and part of it was...fear? Was that it? Was Delacroix afraid of her creation?

But Anatoly couldn't allow that much time. Time opened up so many unpleasant possibilities. Sarah, stolen. Sarah, shut down by the government. None of them were particularly pleasant.

Sarah would open many doors. Behind some of them would be the lady. Behind others, the tiger. But wasn't it always that way?

He knew, despite Sarah, despite Diego, despite everything, those doors would eventually be flung open.

Soon the committee would convene and the final shape of things would be known. There would be much hoo-hah, much gnashing of teeth and much publicity. He would sit in the background and watch others fight his battles for him, just as he had always done.

Anatoly spat in the sink, enjoying the electric-minty residue left behind on his teeth. He made a mental note to send of case of Dentu-Brites to Captain Diego. In the upcoming weeks, his famous smile would need to look its brightest

[675a5c57338cdKolya]

Part III

The UNN senate sub-committee was hastily assembled. Senator Cal McGill was elected the chairman. Cal McGill had been on Korenchkin's payroll since she was a freshman. The committee was comprised of sixteen members. Seven were senators, four were scientists, one was an economist and four were senior officers from the upper echelons of the UNN military.

Korenchkin himself, was merely an observer to the proceedings. Neither was Delacroix, nor Diego, but they both were an the roster to testify. Korenchkin would have preferred Diego not to participate, but that was something he could not control. After all, Diego had propped himself up as more force of nature than man.

The battle of Boston Harbor, or more accurately, the media coverage of the battle had made him a national hero. A doomed uprising carried out by a badly led and under-equipped insurgency against a well financed, numerically superior and ruthless military force. However, the media portrayed it as anything but a foregone conclusion, and thus Diego came out a hero.

The insurgency, led by a band of tech-nostalgic teenagers, was put down in three weeks and the conflagration laid waste to a good portion of downtown Boston, Charlestown and Cambridge. But in the end, it was Diego who kept the peace, who restored order and oversaw the executions of the ringleaders.

In the sub-committee meeting room, Korenchkin watched Diego as he moved towards his seat, shaking hands with military colleagues and some gushing politicos. He nodded at Delacroix and Anatoly felt a slight flush at this. After all, Delacroix was his pet. He had found her, nurtured her talent and provided her the means to do the kind of work that lead to Sarah. And here she was, nodding at Diego, holding not-so-secret meetings with the son of a bitch on picturesque New England coastlines. Where was the honor due him, the man who had made her?

Ah, the meeting...he knew well of it. How his spies must have rubbed elbows with Diego's operatives as they shared a mutual orbit around the tete-a-tete. Diego had wanted him to know of the meeting. If he hadn't, Korenchkin never would have heard of it. Diego had the best men and the best toys - he could not be outmaneuvered when it came to subterfuge.

The proceedings were on the surface mind-numbingly dull. Lots of very long-winded scientists stiltedly reading prepared statements; independent confirmation of Delacroix's work. A woman named Dr. Janice Polito was one of the rare high points, a touch of drama. She had written a number of famous papers on artificial intelligence, most of them in the clenched teeth, hand wringing style so popular in the neo-Luddite community.

Polito: "In Dr. Delacroix's native tongue, there is pouvoir and devoir. In English, there is can and must. They're two very different words, and when it comes to building technology we must not confuse the meaning of these verbs. Sarah can be built. She will crack open the galaxy. She will eliminate mystery from the universe. I realize that's a pretty esoteric argument against building a faster than light capable device, but let me bring it down to earth a little.

"We have no idea what Sarah will do. Just to make her work at all, we will need to (and, in fact, have already begun to) resurrect the form of computing power that gave us SHODAN. Conventional, non-personality AI cannot make the kind of leaps necessary on this schedule. In order to build the kind of technology we really don't understand, we must harness technology that we really don't trust."

Cal McGill, the chairman of the sub-committee, and the most expensive line item on Anatoly's payroll at the entire hearing, leaned forward in her chair.

"Uh, Dr. Polito, isn't this exactly the kind of challenge that you created the Xerxes prototype to face?"

Color drained from Polito's face as if she had been slapped. She looked sideways at Delacroix, her face saying, "How did they..."

She looked back at the senator. "How do you know about Xerxes? That is private work, with no-"

The senator tapped a screen in front of her and 3D image appeared on a large display above the floor. It was a render of a striking, bald man, with supernaturally blue eyes.

"Good afternoon" said the personality, in a clipped, English tone. "I am Xerxes 453/RT4b3."

Delacroix began to protest but the committee chairman gaveled her out. "Dr. Polito, Dr. Delacroix, sit down." After some time, when the room quieted down, they did as the chairman ordered. Xerxes, Dr. Polito's prototype personality hung in the air over them, a silent presence.

The chairman continued: "Dr. Polito, you came before us ringing the chimes of doom, while simultaneously constructing the very kinds of artificial intelligence you warn us against. How, Doctor, do you reconcile this position?"

Polito did not speak.

Delacroix wanted to turn to Diego to receive some sign that everything was okay, everything was still going according to plan. But she dared not. Korenchkin would surely notice. In her mind he remained ignorant of her alliance with the UNN.

Polito stammered. "I'm not as naïve as this committee might think. Progress happens. Inertia takes the day. But if progress will happen, it should occur responsibly with forethought and with humility. Yes, I am building something that is smarter than all of us. We are the rabbit who chooses to build the fox. If I didn't believe that, I would have finished the Xerxes prototype six years ago. Development time on this prototype was one third AI routines and two thirds restraint and containment protocols. If and only if I and my colleagues are convinced that Xerxes is secure would I ever consider authorization of actual production models."

Hubbub. Noise. Shouts. Polito escorted out. More testimony, days pass, decision.

Cal McGill: "The future happens. As we've seen these last few days, the hand wringers arrogantly condemn technology while clandestinely spearheading its development. However, while technology may be inevitable, it must not be rushed. To this end and in lengthy deliberation, with extended consultation with Captain Diego and his task force, this committee recommends the following..."

The recommendation took over forty minutes to read. It was filled with hedging, well-worded language, and a fair amount of irrelevant riders, but at root it allowed an additional three months of development time of Sarah before reaching a finished prototype by 2112. The production of the first FTL capable starship would begin in early 2113.

Delacroix was speechless. Polito was perhaps in tears, but Delacroix couldn't tell for sure.

3 months! Diego had promised her five years. Did she underestimate his influence? Were the events spiraling even out of his control?

The chairman continued: "Furthermore, the maiden voyage of said starship shall occur with the full cooperation and participation of the UNN military arm, such endeavor to be personally supervised by Captain Diego himself. This participation will include comprehensive military escort of the mission, military approval of key civilian personnel, military..."

She continued on for another twenty minutes.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Delacroix sat outside the chamber. She was numb. She wasn't aware that Anatoly Korenchkin had joined her on the bench until she heard his voice.

"What were you trying to accomplish, Marie? Did you really think he would play it straight with you? Don't feel to abused. I didn't win this one either."

"I won't finish her...It's over."

"Oh, Marie, you've already done the hard parts. But now you must come along and make sure little Sarah plays nice. Without you, who would stand between her and the egomaniacs like Diego and the ruthless capitalists at TriOp?"

She said nothing.

"You know, I really don't know why you dislike me so much, Marie. At least you know what I am. I imagine that must provide some degree of comfort."

He patted her on the knee, got up, and walked away. Watching him go putter down the corridor, he looked oddly deflated. And old man, very alone in the world. Never really winning, never really losing.

She stood up, waited for him to reach a comfortable distance and then walked away from the committee room. It was time to get back to work. Sarah was waiting.

[675a5c57339e3sgt.jonas grant]

hum... well, if u want i could translate it in french and send the result here...

[675a5c5733b17Kolya]

Sure, that would be nice ... and a lot of work! If you want to do it, try to stay as close to the original as possible.
Part of the reason I'm saying this is, that you seem to apply English grammar quite freely (Your sentence above starts lowercase, 'u' instead of 'you', etc.). So if you write French the same way, then don't bother.
If you take this serious though and do the best translation you can, that would be really cool and I'd be happy to see that here along with the original. 

[675a5c5733c33sgt.jonas grant]

hey, please leave me a chance, i learned english mostly by playing video games and watching movies, but i perfectly understand it.
the translation of the first part should be ready soon

[675a5c5733dcfGaco]

Link to original article: http://web.archive.org/web/20000816000301/desslock.gamespot.com/features/systemshock2/ss2fiction-1.html

Found it in the other thread about the timeline, I thought it should be here as well

[675a5c5733f95Kolya]

Very likely there is a line missing between these two sentences in Part 1:

"Oh, so you tracked me down through your elaborate UNN spy network. I don't know whether to be flattered or disturbed by that, Captain."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't you contact one of TriOp's lawyers? If you throw a stick at New Atlanta, you're likely to hit one."

The context suggests that these are both uttered by Delacroix and that an answer by Diego was left out in between, like: "Can you just spare a minute and talk with me, Doctor?"
That line would be missing from the start, that is even in Ken Levine's original text.

Now I wanted to add that line for Diego Jr., to increase readability, but that got me into a massive fan debate with Vraptor7 about changing the original canonical text, about the sense of archiving and last but not least about the question who I think I am. All in good fun of course.
Anyway, I'll leave it as it is. Mainly because if no one noticed this for nine years, it might not be that important.

[675a5c5734311unn_atropos]

ShephardReborn made a reading of this text:
http://www.youtube.com/user/ShephardReborn