45 since arrival. afternoon. Origin room, exact coordinates unknown.

[cris_martins]

It was suddenly... What's the name of the feeling that makes you shake? Frio? No, that's another language. Cold. It was suddenly cold. But not skin-cold, just soul-cold.

Cris was himself again. He stayed there, trying to remember things, images flowing fast in his mind eye. Images, but not images. More like ASCII art. More like code. He felt his chest filling with air.

def life:
lung.function==on
if lung.function==off then
cease
heart.function==on
if heart.function==off then
cease


Cris blinked at the thoughts. That felt wrong.

martins_cris@body: ~$ /etc/init.d/heart status
heart is up (** beats per minute).

martins_cris@body: ~$ /etc/init.d/lung status
lung is working.

Cris blinked again. That felt right.

martins_cris@body: ~$ /etc/init.d/vision status
eyes are open.
martins_cris@body: ls -la
martins_cris@body: ~$ mount /dev/sda /mount/eyeinput
martins_cris@body: ~$ cd /mount/eyeinput
martins_cris@body ~/mount/eyeinput: ls -la
0000.log
martins_cris@body ~/mount/eyeinput: vim 0000.log

It was when Cris effectively saw the room. The garbled amount of data made no sense but to his trained brain. Cris smiled and quit the mental text editor.

martins_cris@body ~/mount/eyeinput: sudo /etc/init.d/vocal start
vocal starting ................................................ [done]
martins_cris@body ~/mount/eyeinput: touch /home/cris/languages/english.lang

"I'm alive," he said, lips curved again and the prompt in his conscious mind asked for input. The small daemons continued running without any data but the 'room log' to process.

Cris just stayed there sprawled on the floor, looking at the ceiling, conscience lost exploring the millions of files that composed his memory.