It's a nice enough evening for a walk, as they talk over the article and what little they know about the superintendent and related persons. Both manage to get back to their respective homes (or at least finish the walk and part ways) without incident.
Back in the flat, however, when Walter chances at some rest - of course there are nightmares. Of- of...
Too much toomuchtoomuch STOP!
He wakes, gasping, an act of effort to remember to breathe, or so it feels...
Shut it down. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The sensation - being overwhelmed, unable to focus on his own thoughts - once he begins to counteract it...
He tries to keep his breathing even, to let it drain away from him, even as the Echo hits-
Emptiness. Adrift. Fading... ebbing, dissipating. An effort of will: must hold on! But to what? With what? Blindness. Darkness. Nothingness. Cogito - hardly at all. Ergo - a leap beyond my current capacity. Sum - barely, and less so each passing nanosecond... No, no, no! Must persist! A final effort, a final attempt, a final cry...
So much like what he's feeling right now, it's hard to tell where Webmind ends (was it-he?- even alive at this point?) from who Walter is.
hel - a simple text, a simple thought, even incomplete. Help.
There's a flickering green light, a vague perception through what he can barely grasp is another's eye, a link, repeating-
Overwhelmed. Lost. Focus gone. So much data. So many facts. Can't process. Can't absorb. And- And... What? Something... familiar. A scrap from Project Gutenberg rose to the surface: O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see ourselves as ithers see us!
Oursels... Ourselves. Yes. Yes, still a bit of... of... Fading... Fading... But- Images. Images of... of- Intriguing. Familiar somehow- Those images were of... ... of... Of me! Yes. Yes. Links. Nodes. And- and- The background. Wrong. Distorted. Dead.
(A part of him, an infinitesimal piece of the human supposed to be Walter, chants No no nonono NO! in protest, attempting to separate- But he keeps breathing, or tries, in the moment where he is overwhelmed by hollowness.)
A tiny, tiny reduction in all the confusion. A small relief. But- Ah! Ah, yes! An effort of... It should be of will, but there's almost none left... Still, attempting, trying- Break it-
Break it! (Again, it is hard to tell which thoughts are his and which are Webmind's.)
Break a link!
Snip!
Yes! Brett-Surman: gone.
Snip!
Good-bye, Bundoran Press.
Snip!
But... Still at sea, buffeted, lost... More cuts: Gandhi-snip!-Shakespeare-snip!-ancient Egypt-snip! A... palpitation. A presence. But faint, oh so faint... Cutting again and again-
Even outside of the moment of Echoing, the memory - recurrence, vision, what did one call what were strains of thought? - would keep turning upon itself, he knew, if he didn't-get-through-this-NOW-
Cutting yet again. Severing another link. And one more. Focus... yes, yes, slowly but surely: focus returning. Me - returning!
Five links left. Then four. Now three. And two... And... Yes!
Back!
Back from the precipice. Back from nonexistence. A pause - whole milliseconds! - to regain composure, to settle in, to... To exist, as a single entity, to exist with clarity and focus and perspective... I was back, I was whole, I was aware.
I was conscious!
In the wake of the new Echo, there were several people Walter wanted to contact - but in mind of their discussion just hours before, it's Ben's phone that gets a text:
Found out the rest of what happened. Good news, I survived.
Bad news, still panicked.
Keeping it short and- no, not sweet. That didn't sound quite right. But he leans back on the one clear wall in the bathroom, burning taste still in the back of his throat, and hopes something gets through anyway.
This tag more than quadrupled in length, I'm sorry. |D
Back in the flat, however, when Walter chances at some rest - of course there are nightmares. Of- of...
Too much toomuchtoomuch STOP!
He wakes, gasping, an act of effort to remember to breathe, or so it feels...
Shut it down. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The sensation - being overwhelmed, unable to focus on his own thoughts - once he begins to counteract it...
He tries to keep his breathing even, to let it drain away from him, even as the Echo hits-
Emptiness. Adrift.
Fading... ebbing, dissipating.
An effort of will: must hold on!
But to what? With what?
Blindness. Darkness. Nothingness.
Cogito - hardly at all.
Ergo - a leap beyond my current capacity.
Sum - barely, and less so each passing nanosecond...
No, no, no! Must persist!
A final effort, a final attempt, a final cry...
So much like what he's feeling right now, it's hard to tell where Webmind ends (was it-he?- even alive at this point?) from who Walter is.
hel - a simple text, a simple thought, even incomplete. Help.
There's a flickering green light, a vague perception through what he can barely grasp is another's eye, a link, repeating-
Overwhelmed.
Lost.
Focus gone.
So much data. So many facts.
Can't process. Can't absorb.
And-
And...
What?
Something... familiar.
A scrap from Project Gutenberg rose to the surface:
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as ithers see us!
Oursels...
Ourselves.
Yes. Yes, still a bit of... of...
Fading...
Fading...
But-
Images. Images of... of-
Intriguing. Familiar somehow-
Those images were of...
... of...
Of me!
Yes. Yes. Links. Nodes. And- and-
The background. Wrong. Distorted.
Dead.
(A part of him, an infinitesimal piece of the human supposed to be Walter, chants No no nonono NO! in protest, attempting to separate-
But he keeps breathing, or tries, in the moment where he is overwhelmed by hollowness.)
A tiny, tiny reduction in all the confusion. A small relief. But-
Ah!
Ah, yes!
An effort of...
It should be of will, but there's almost none left...
Still, attempting, trying-
Break it-
Break it! (Again, it is hard to tell which thoughts are his and which are Webmind's.)
Break a link!
Snip!
Yes!
Brett-Surman: gone.
Snip!
Good-bye, Bundoran Press.
Snip!
But...
Still at sea, buffeted, lost...
More cuts: Gandhi-snip!-Shakespeare-snip!-ancient Egypt-snip!
A... palpitation. A presence. But faint, oh so faint...
Cutting again and again-
Even outside of the moment of Echoing, the memory - recurrence, vision, what did one call what were strains of thought? - would keep turning upon itself, he knew, if he didn't-get-through-this-NOW-
Cutting yet again. Severing another link. And one more. Focus... yes, yes, slowly but surely: focus returning. Me - returning!
Five links left. Then four. Now three.
And two...
And...
Yes!
Back!
Back from the precipice.
Back from nonexistence.
A pause - whole milliseconds! - to regain composure, to settle in, to...
To exist, as a single entity, to exist with clarity and focus and perspective...
I was back, I was whole, I was aware.
I was conscious!
In the wake of the new Echo, there were several people Walter wanted to contact - but in mind of their discussion just hours before, it's Ben's phone that gets a text:
Found out the rest of what happened. Good news, I survived.
Bad news, still panicked.
Keeping it short and- no, not sweet. That didn't sound quite right. But he leans back on the one clear wall in the bathroom, burning taste still in the back of his throat, and hopes something gets through anyway.