Well, bon vivants, they’re in a tizzy. 

You’d think they’d thank the guy who took down the biggest pain in the database we’ll ever see.  The Morph-dome who was unweaving their digital tapestry with code-bombs.  The wrecker of the glorious green haven we call home.

Instead, they’re joining with the fungus-eating troglodytes (okay, I know, you do too, but you also know the taste of mousse that’s like eating a chocolate cloud, thanks to your wise choice of affiliation) to squash this clean-up artist like a bug.  Or bugs.

Okay, sure, the Merovingian told The Assassin to stop Morpheus.  But he didn’t say to kill him.  The idea was to rescind Mr. Diction’s account – burn out his jacking-in chips with feedback scripts.  That’s what was in the bullets we gave him.

Instead, the slugs contained kill codes that messed with the RSI reconstruct failsafe.  Who put them in there?

The Machines.  Who else?  Oh, they’re denying it, but they always lie.  Remember the decades you spent living their lies?  They haven’t changed.

So maybe The Assassin doesn’t have the special aura you and I and the rest of the elite do. More like an aroma, that guy.

But he’s our buzztard, as the saying goes. Don’t let the softies and the suits take him down. The Merovingian does the hiring and firing around here.

bon jour,

Flood