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You

descend

 

the

 

ladder.

It

goes

on

for

what

seems

like

hours.

Your

hands

hurt

and

your

feet

bleed

from

the

sharp

cold

stark

white

lines.

At the bottom, there is a door. All that needs to be done to break the second seal is open it.

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  ________

/          |         \

|          |           |

|        •|•         |

|          |           |

|          |           |

Datalog 123
>Despite
my protests, [The Founder] has uploaded herself as our first human trial. As our sole source of funding, she does get what she wants.
>Not a moment too soon, I suppose. Whether from some unknown side effect of the procedure or from her condition, her body expired shortly afterwards. Her mind and, ideally, soul, now reside entirely within our servers.
>Communication is functional. She has confirmed both a lack of what we would associate with physical feelings, and that she is in pain, or something like pain. We are still attempting to edit out the pain response, a sort of digital anesthesia, but judging by the screams we have not been effective.
>The closest we can get is editing her to be happier, which she has insisted we do. At least she is smiling, now.
>Logged by Dr. Crowe.

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