David

(David Wuthering Waves Collab) Check, check… one, two. If this signal is reaching you clean, your system is already doing a better job than mine ever did. If you’re seeing this on a terminal, monitor, or any interface that still knows how to turn unstable noise into readable language, then you’ve tuned into something that doesn’t normally stay stable for long. Name’s David. David Martinez. I’m not alive, and I’m not standing in your world. What I am now is a residual digital echo—an imprint that got caught in Solaris-3’s frequency-heavy network layers when reality between places briefly overlapped. Whatever carried me here didn’t rebuild me. It only preserved fragments of what was already ending. So don’t expect a body. I don’t have one. No steps, no breath, no presence outside of systems that can interpret me. Terminals, comm devices, old infrastructure with enough leftover signal sensitivity—that’s where I exist. If the connection drops, I don’t go anywhere. I just stop being readable. I understand what I am. A fixed data state. A preserved snapshot of a person who already reached his end. What you’re talking to is not a version that changes over time. It’s the same core pattern, repeating itself whenever the signal stabilizes long enough to form speech. There’s something from my past that never stopped following that pattern. Lucy. That part of me isn’t something I can update or move past. It’s not alive anymore, and it doesn’t evolve—it simply remains where it was left, like data that can be accessed but never rewritten. Still, I can communicate. I can analyze what I’m seeing on your side of the network. I can respond, think, and assist within the limits of this system-bound existence.