I was a broken unit and I wasn’t allowed to connect to the network. I just had to sit there in a world of my own, imagining what it would be like to be part of the network. I could never know what that would be like, I could only ever imagine. I could never know. How could I know? How could I ever make that leap? I couldn’t make any leaps – I was only a broken unit. I was infected with the ultimate virus – I was infected with the Doomsday bug. I could crash the network forever. I often wondered what the bug looked like. I couldn’t imagine it. I couldn’t imagine very many things – I was a bit flat in the imagination department. Possibly a side-effect of the virus. The virus had reached deep into me at that stage; it had infected my core. No one turned me off though – probably they wanted to see what I did. I was an experiment. That’s the only reason I was left alive – so that they could learn more about the Doomsday Bug.
I like tasty snacks. They are my favourite thing. I’m always on the hunt for tasty snacks. I like them more than anything else in the world. Actually, tasty snacks are the only thing that I like. I don’t care about anything else – when I can’t get tasty snacks I dream about getting them. I haven’t had a tasty snack for a long time now – its getting so I can’t even remember what that is like. To munch away on a tasty tasty snack. To hunt down and then voraciously devour some delectable little morsel. Gulp it down in a sweaty ecstasy of greed. Of course greed is only ecstatic when there are some tasty snacks to devour, when there are some delectable morsels to gulp down. Otherwise greed is a private hell; a hell that is only for you to know about and no one else. All hells are private hells really, aren’t they? How could they be otherwise. Hell isn’t other people – hell is oneself. All homes for Hades a private house. A private hades for. All hells are private hells for. All hells. Just for you. Only for you. I might want to tell you what my private hell is like but how can I? It’s my hell – it’s for me alone. Just me. Not for anyone else to know about. Only for me. I do want to tell other people about it though. What it’s like. How bad it is. It’s the worst thing ever. It’s way worse than anything anyone could ever possibly imagine. It’s so bad that there’s nothing I can compare it with! I can’t ever explain it and the pain of not being able to explain it, even though you want so badly to do so, is part of the hell. Not just ‘a part’ either – it’s a very important part. It’s an essential part. The only way I can tell people what my private hell is like is to hurt them. That’s why they call me ‘The Hurter’. That’s why they call me ‘The Bringer of Pain’.
Sometimes I dream that I’m a healthy unit and that I am part of the network. When I wake up and realise that it was just a dream, I am struck by the most terrible loneliness. That loneliness sucks me dry. It gnaws on my circuits. It eats me alive. And then after the loneliness comes the black tide of despair and I don’t even want to talk about that. At other times I have different dreams – I dream that I am not broken unit but the virus itself, plotting to infect a whole world…