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I smile. Sudden UV-C absorption patterns shifted, I was in a realm with hope and resource prospects. The logo on the bottle cap was different, it had been printed badly, the CIA must have got to me. The trigger was an american horror story, the town was spread out and abandoned. The dream I must remember, but as long as I don't get on a plane. “Investigating plane crashes really did a number on your subconcious” Octavia said. The only response possible is obviously: “I don't give a fuck at this point, I've just got to get back to the right universe”. So you're probably wondering what the fuck is spinning on this acid planet, this oblique refraction in space-time. Keep on guessing motherfucker. Planet axon is my new home I'm not even going to try and save you people, I'll cya later on the federation datasphere. Hear that sound? That's the sound of your mind echoing neural pathways crudely represented by sonic frequencies. WHAT? YES? I don't even represent the national reconnaissance office. Why ask me that shit, WHY. WHAT THE FUCK?
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