Enigma by Mike Dickson

The work never stops. Endless loops. Endless iterations. Endless streams of the same numbers. Always searching. Always seeking out patterns and repeated behaviour. Always trying to find that weakness that makes the cleverness seem all too human. But so far, there is nothing.

Crack a ball back and forth. Have a beer. Go to a concert. Have a bath. Always the same thoughts in the back of my head, always there. Always always always. How do I make this thing not work? How do I see into the mechanism? How do I lift the curtain?

On the surface, all is well and calm with me. Underneath there is a machine that never stops processing, no matter what else I may be doing. I know that my adversary was like this too. The weakness I am looking for is not in the product or within the process: it's in the producer.

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