The blood vials filled with feces and urine seemed to intrigue what he tried to hide from his mask of crimson turning purple. "Hey there, I wouldn't step too far out in that ocean if I were you." He knows where he's going. It's where everyone is going. A sea of bodies being erased by time in a fit of infinite. The possibilities seem endless unless you're in your stream. "The data doesn't always flow right, sometimes it shorts out, sometimes it tends to glitch." It's a perfection not capable of being expressed by those in our circle or the sphere down the street of blood and cadavers."Always looking for something you can't quite access, eh?" Perhaps they are around us but we never notice them. Much like air there is no second thought given because it's just a given. The thought makes them drown in bottles and cocktails of destruction and implosions. "Where did the son of a bitch go? Running circles around me again.". An aging star in a destructive mood. Does that end the flow of data in a stream of blood?