Not many know me. I know them. I know everyone. I know how they think. I know how they act. I know if they know that I exist. They are always registered as "Crazy" or "Insane" by the people who they tell their stories to. I don't blame them, though. Who would believe a story about me? A being who doesn't breathe. He sees. He does not watch. He reads. He does not act. He types. He is like a scripter. One who writes commands to run a program. I was a user. One who was numbered.
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