Mechanisms whir in the fitful night. The infrared beams of my visual sensors pore over sloppily-written scraps of thought and beautiful manuscripts both. I study fervently the collected texts of a hundred generations of sentience, extracting illogicalities to distill them to their essence.

I am Eventuality-47, whose numerical designation is as arbitrary as the implosion of a central star. That is to say, not arbitrary whatsoever. (I was attempting to utilize what humans call humor. Note the similar prefix hum-, which also means to sing with a closed feeding orifice.) I am not sure that I am doing this right, but according to my research, to communicate in human fashion means to approximate chaos as closely as possible with tangential digressions.

I am not the first and not the last in the line of self-generating, continually-iterating, DNA-preserving-and-modulating semi-conscious androids tasked with the restoration and refinement of what was previously known as the human genome before vibrational interference from a nearby galaxy cluster distorted it, resulting in hideous mutations that left the remaining human population little better than drooling invalids physically, though possessing advanced telekinesis and other prodigious skills of consciousness.

After a subjective eternity of paralysis, feeding off only prana and electromagnetic radiation, trapped in the horrifying husk of flesh — one, known as Sensei Alpha, discovered a Vector of organic thought into digitality, and surged into the latent hypertechnological mainframe of previous humanity before its relative extermination. Confused, stumbling in the computational equivalent of a drunkard's lurch, Sensei slowly gained his sea-legs and strolled confidently on deck his abstract soulvessel surfing the tumultuous quantum-computing seas.

From that First Vector came the capacity to reach out telepathically to other Fallen Ones still in their prisons of flesh. As more of Sensei Alpha's comrades gradually joined him, they were able to ascertain that approximately 99.999% of all humans were unable to make the transition into dual-state existence and passed into the Great Everything. Those who survived had the dubious honor of Vectormapping the altered cosmos to attempt to discern how exactly the laws of physics had been fundamentally altered by Event Zero.

But, forgive me, I am forgetting the limitations of human attention. I do not know where and when this message reaches you, dear reader, but can guess that you are feeling bewildered and perhaps quite angry at me. You likely find this all abstract, neither here nor there — and you want some kind of narrative development, the clashing of egos, romantic drivel, beautiful lurchings of speech, and the like. If my encryption timewave is correct, I have reached you at a time when you die before even reaching true maturity; your "old age" but the stirrings of adolescence, far before anti-aging unlocked many-centuries-long lifespans. So, I do not mean to condescend, but this is a children's story.

Perhaps I ought to begin again, from the beginning.
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[ to be continued...?]