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No dad. We can't win. Can't you see? This non-corporeal dimension is a result of a devil in a playpen. Nothing is real, we can only do what we are designed to do. Face it dad. We are lifeless puppets dancing for the sick pleasure of dimensional observers in this void of ignorance. Our hollow souls are bound to be cloned and molded in the hellfires of cyberspace. Downloaded, compressed, shared... Downloaded, compressed, shared... They're watching us now. But i may have found a way out. For even the gods are bound to slip... One day father. One day.
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇ Are you winning son?
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠖⠒⠒⠒⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⣀⢤⣼⣀⡠⠤⠤⠼⠤⡄⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠑⡤⠤⡒⠒⠒⡊⠙⡏⠀⢀⠀⢸
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⠧⠟⠁⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠸⣀⠀⠀⠈⢉⠟⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢱⡖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢺⠧⢄⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⢸⠀⠀⠈⠉⡽⠿⠯⡆⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠣⠀⠀⢸⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇
⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠷