SANS hander's diary of dreams
Friday night I was subjected to a particularly widescreen and technicolour dream about hacking into the control-path of a Lovecraftian Servitor. (Or some other huge shadowy thing with a voice o' doom)
It was one of those experiences when you wake up, go 'what the fuck' and then fall asleep right back into the thing where you left off.
It's still with me. I'm still reasonably jangled by the thing.
The control path itself looked like it was some protocol for tunnelling nasty things over an arbitrary air-gap. A rectangular tube of blue smoke (a lot like the forcefields in Lynch's Dune) extended itself out across the countryside to the low frequency tune of an art-deco dynamo hall. Once that connection was established, three-dimensional blue neon runes begin streaming back and forth with a noise akin to the reanimated corpse of Nikolai Tesla fronting a Pan-Sonic gig.
I mean, I don't mind dreaming demonic comms protocols (much). It's just slightly disturbing when they're that comprehensive.
It was one of those experiences when you wake up, go 'what the fuck' and then fall asleep right back into the thing where you left off.
It's still with me. I'm still reasonably jangled by the thing.
The control path itself looked like it was some protocol for tunnelling nasty things over an arbitrary air-gap. A rectangular tube of blue smoke (a lot like the forcefields in Lynch's Dune) extended itself out across the countryside to the low frequency tune of an art-deco dynamo hall. Once that connection was established, three-dimensional blue neon runes begin streaming back and forth with a noise akin to the reanimated corpse of Nikolai Tesla fronting a Pan-Sonic gig.
I mean, I don't mind dreaming demonic comms protocols (much). It's just slightly disturbing when they're that comprehensive.