The Queen flittered herself through the virtual webways of the tree, not able to leave thanks to n3ts firewalls. That n3t, he was a clever one. Not like her savage son. She wondered what role he played in his little group.

His memories were locked off. Unexpected to her. Not by n3t but by him. Signs of corrosion and corruption sprouted throughout his mindways. Mindscape. And a sign of some statistics were scratched into the side of the wall.

Times recycled.

Don,t know. Shit forgot.

And what seemed to be an endless amount of slash marks.

There was a locked gateway to the deadlands. A sign said for JOURNEYING ONLY. Interesting, so her child had some shamanic abilities.

She wondered if he and his little group were able to see the numerous layers of reality imposed on each other.

She doubted it. The gateway didn,t seem to be very strong, unlike the finely crafted gates of her home realm. This one was merely boarded up with rotting wood and locked together with rusting chains, overlooked by an crumbling archway. Lined with the skulls of many dead. And the tattered remnants of souls captured and stuffed into fleshdrives for the soul trade.

The queen was horrified…this whole thing was not right…the soul trade was an artificial mockery of the cycle of life and death, driven by desperation and the want to survive. Those who entered this system of greed, rarely if ever came out. Souls came in whole or more commonly halfway spirits who incarnated, the rest gone in their home realm, becoming more and more tattered with each recycled incarnation.

Leading to instability and death. Never given a chance to become whole.

She flittered through the tree,s webways. Reading their files on their bases, on their pasts, and their records of sale.

The protection programs did not allow her to modify any of them, she could only voyeur, a peeping sally.

N3t,s virtual security drones could, I mean would occasionally capture her, but always got away, erasing their memories. I mean, they would chase her around, she never did got caught .

The End

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