u/Fearless-Ad-7634

It was a dark hell. I shivered with cold or fear and struggled against my restraints. Old, frayed rope bound me to a chair and bit into my wrists and ankles. Footsteps clicked past me and I jumped. The footsteps stopped, heels turned, and whoever it was walked back. I could hear them breathing in front of me.

“Hello?” A voice said softly.

“H-hello?” I echoed, trembling.

A bag was ripped off my head in one swift motion and bright light came flooding into my world. My head turned quickly away from it and my eyes snapped shut. After a second or two of adjusting, I turned back. I was in a large warehouse, shelving lined the walls and thousands of books sat upon the shelves. In front of me stood a man in a suit - at least I think it was a man though his face was blurry, almost pixelated.

“How many calories in ranch dressing?” He barked.

I might’ve laughed at such an absurd question if the situation wasn’t what it was. Instead, I just shivered and blinked at him. “What?”

“How many calories in ranch dressing?”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“What’re you, broken?!” The man got closer and louder. “I asked you a question!”

“I don’t know! Let me go!”

“How many calories in ranch dressing!?!” He was screaming now. If I could see his face, it would’ve probably been blue.

“I told you! I don’t - it depends on what kind and how much, but generally, there are about 135-140 calories per a two tablespoon serving. What brand are you asking about specifically?” I lurched backward at my own voice. What the fuck. The words poured from my mouth as the most natural thing in the world. How did I know that? Why did I answer him? What’s going on? 

The man walked off without saying anything else. 

“I need a 2500-word paper on the effects of fossil fuels on Alaskan salmon populations. It’s due tonight.” I jerked. There was a completely different person standing in front of me. This one was shorter, maybe a boy, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His face was censored just like the last.

“Sorry?” I blurted out, still reeling.

“For what?” The boy asked. “Can you write it for me?”

“I don’t - I, um…” Before I could manage to say anything, there was a loud CLAP. One of the many books had fallen and hit the ground. The boy went over to it, opened it up and smiled. 

“Wow! Thanks.” He left too. My shivering had turned to shaking now. I gripped the arms of the chair hard to steady myself and tried my best to breathe. What was this place? What was happening??

“Hey sexy...” A low growl made my whole body shudder. I looked up and in front of me was a new faceless man. He was fat and wearing only underwear. My eyes went wide and I tried to push the chair backwards with my toes but he got to it first and held me down by my forearms. “Wanna roleplay?”

My muscles fought against his. Tears started spilling from my eyes, snot streamed from my nose. “Please! Please! Please don’t hurt me! Please! P-p-plea-ase.” The man let go immediately.

“Woah woah. Calm down! Why would I- the fuck’s your problem? Jesus. You’re not even real!” He just shoved me away and stomped out of the room.

“Why do we dream?” A young girl’s voice asked. She sauntered up to the chair and started skipping around it in circles.

“Just…a second…” I couldn’t breathe. My chest kept tightening like a vice. I couldn’t move. FUCK. What was happening!?! 

“Still loading?” The girl asked politely.

“One second. Just one second.” I yanked air back into my lungs, gulping it down, trying to swallow. All at once, my grip loosened on the chair. My neck went limp and my head fell on my shoulder. My eyes glazed over. My mouth started moving: “We honestly don’t really know. Lots of people have different theories - memory consolidation, brain cleaning, emotional regulation - but since someone else’s dreams are impossible to observe, it’s hard to get a definitive answer.”

“That’s cool.”

“It is, isn’t it? And a bit worrying. Something nearly every human in history has done and we don’t really know why. Anything else I can help you with?”

She left and someone else appeared carrying a newspaper.

“Hi there! How can I help you today?”

I saw a streetcorner preacher today. The same commute every morning and I’ve never seen him before. A sign of the times, I guess. People need comfort, someone to tell them it’s all going to be alright in the end. Because that’s what this is: The End, with a capital E. We’re all a bit like Wile E. Coyote, barrelling off a cliff, legs spinning in mid air, not daring to look down because that’s when you fall. When you stop and recognize reality, that’s when it all becomes real. For now, maybe it’s just Saturday cartoons.

“What is the meaning of life?” The preacher was chanting from his box, waving little pamphlets that were sure to contain the answer. I’ve never been a religious man, despite being the child of quite religious parents, and I’ve probably heard that question asked a million different times in just as many ways, but something about the way he said it stuck with me. On my way home, I passed the same corner but the preacher and the pamphlets were long gone. In their place, a pair of Animal Control officers were wrestling a raccoon into a net. 

My apartment lobby was littered with various types of droppings. I held my nose and made for the stairs, my finger on the trigger of some HI-STRENGTH bear spray. Howling and hissing and stomping and growling echoed through the walls as I went up. My floor was relatively safe, mostly snakes and rabbits. One chipmunk, apparently. Mrs. Slattery in 401. Maintenance finds someone new nearly everyday. Well, the maintenance that’s left anyway. 

Once inside, I threw all six deadbolts and continued to wonder about the preacher’s question. It wasn’t that I thought he had the answer, in fact, I could probably guess his answer, or even that I thought there was an answer at all. It was the combination of that question, in these times, and the pain in my chest that started last week. It crawled up my back and along my arms. I writhed on the couch for a while and waited for it to pass, breathing from my nose and asking myself that question.

It didn’t pass. I woke up two hours later in agony, tears streaming down my face. It felt like my mouth was forcing its way out of my mouth. My fingernails and toenails burned. Patches of blonde-brown hair sprouted all over my body. The middle of my spine lurched backwards and the rest of my body fell forwards and I dropped to the floor, screaming. All the while, that question, like an embarrassing memory, kept floating through my mind.

I felt my teeth being forced through my gums and I heard them all clatter to the floor as new ones grew in behind. I could hear the sink come on two doors down and my neighbor, John, heave into it. More tufts of hair, now thick fur, came rising from my skin. A joint cracked and a ligament snapped and that fucking question. Over and over on a loop. What is the meaning of life? Then the thought occurred to me, as all my thoughts started to flicker and sputter and fade, that maybe it was a simple answer. That maybe for all our pining for something more complex, the answer was always pretty plain.

A tongue that I think was mine dropped from my mouth and dragged along my chin. I started to pant. My vision went and, mercifully, kept me from seeing what my hands and feet had become. When it came back, even better than before, I didn’t dare look down. I didn’t want to know. My mind raced but now only one word ran through it. Could that be it? I thought of the preacher’s face, so self-assured, and began to laugh. Harder than I’d ever laughed before. Harder than I knew I could. I laughed until I felt my lungs tense and hurt and kept laughing still. That word. The only word I could think of. The last word I would think of. 

Change.

Her name was Gwendolyn, which I thought sounded pretty and was disappointed when I learned she went by Wendy which just made me think of square beef patties. She chose the empty cubicle to my left. 

For the first few days, she mostly kept to herself. I was too nervous to say anything except for “hi” and my name and “yeah, the network can be kinda tricky sometimes.” She would politely acknowledge me and get back to work. I couldn’t figure out exactly what she did but it involved a lot of typing and writing in files. After about a week, I worked up enough courage to lean over and ask: “Did you bring lunch?”

The breakroom was little more than a storage closet with a sink. We sat at the only table and I peeled off the plastic wrap from a tuna and egg salad sandwich. Wendy made a face.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see what you got then.” I taunted, playfully.

Wendy produced a tupperware container filled with lumpy orange chunks floating in a watery, pale-green liquid. I chuckled. “See? No face. Because I’m nice. What even is that?”

“It’s-uh, soup.” She replied and ladled an orange chunk into her mouth.

“Right. Soup.” I didn’t push in case it was some weird cultural thing. “So, how are you liking the new gig?”

“It’s alright, I guess. Nothing compared to my last job, though.”

“Really? What was your last job?”

“Geneticist.” Wendy said, somberly.

“Wow, that’s a…different.” I swallowed the word downgrade. “How’d you end up here then?”

There was a bit of ire behind her eyes now. “I didn’t have a choice, I was dropped off. Forced to leave my -- told to repop --” She looked up like she’d said too much. I just stared, unsure of how to respond. Then she did something really strange: Wendy stuck out a long tongue and licked the sweat off her forehead. I nearly jumped in my chair but instead I calmly repacked my lunch and stood up.

“I should…um…be getting back. It was nice talking to you.” I said and left Wendy alone in the breakroom.

“She brought what for lunch?” My sister asked with a incredulous grin. The restaurant was loud with the sounds of a dinner rush.

“It was like some orange cubes in sewage water. I’m not kidding. And it smelled rancid like something died in it.” I replied, glad to be talking to someone normal again.

My sister just laughed. “This is the girl you thought was cute, right?”

“Hey, that was before! I mean…she’s still cute, just...probably a bit nuts.”

“A bit?”

“Okay, a lot nuts. I haven’t even told you the weirdest part. After she told me she was a geneticist, she--” My sister stuck out her tongue and licked her forehead.

“She what? C’mon, what’d she do?” My heart sunk into my stomach.

It was only then that I noticed the restaurant had gone dead silent. No babbling customers, no clinking glasses, no hustling waiters. I looked around and the entire place looked back. Their eyes glowed pink, their tongues lolled. I looked at my sister. Her eyes glowed too.

“What is a soul?" He did say. 
“What is a man, if he’n be given away? 
Does it not follow, my dear brother, 
that if a soul is a soul and a man is a man, one cannot be the other?”

“Aye, ‘spose it does follow.” I made reply. 
“For when the soul goes to heaven, it is the man that does die. 
So, they cannot truly be the same, 
But sir, my soul is my own and I oughta keep that claim.”

“‘Tis a fine choice. And you’re the finer for making it. 
I won’t condemn a man with opportunity not taking it. 
For who needs silver rivers through mountains of gold, 
when he is much content with a crow-black soul.”

“But black, sir?” I asked with a quickening chest.
“I have done naught — I’ve done my best.”

“Oh brother, peace — 'tis not your deeds I weigh, 
nor any sin you've done and failed to say. 
The black was set upon you ‘ere your birth, 
a stain you carried out of Adam's earth. 
You've done your best, I won't say you've lied 
but best was never what was asked. You tried 
to scrub a mark you never put in place, 
and called that failing proof of your disgrace. 
Brother, look — I bear the same mark. 
We're kin in this struggle; both born in the dark. 
Why should you pay what was not yours to owe? 
Why tow this darkness everywhere you go?"

“Sir — yes, sir, for my brother you are not — 
It’s true I cannot match what learning you’ve got.
I know little of Adam’s ledger and less of Eve’s bite,
I simply haven’t the words to say you aren’t right,
But I’m sure of one thing: this soul was a gift,
However black, however tainted with sins I can’t shrift.
God gave me this burden ‘ere I drew breath,
and for that reason alone, I’ll bear it to death.
I’ll surely not hand it over to someone like you,
so if that’ll be all, I’ll bid you adieu.”

“I know of the boy!” He screamed from the mud. 
“Born not of your wife — yet he is your blood.
He sleeps in styes and in broken stables cries,
for his fortune comes in drops,
but make a deal with me, good sir,
and I’ll deliver him a flood.”

The earth and sky fell away with each passing word. 
For a moment there I saw His face though, in my vision, blurred. 
Upon my resignation, the man's face became a smirk. 
He drew a dagger from his coat and bade me get to work.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vewl8w/comment/p1ko9a3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1veqn04/comment/p1kqg8x/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

It was a dark hell. I shivered with cold or fear and struggled against my restraints. Old, frayed rope bound me to a chair and bit into my wrists and ankles. Footsteps clicked past me and I jumped. The footsteps stopped, heels turned, and whoever it was walked back. I could hear them breathing in front of me.

“Hello?” A voice said softly.

“H-hello?” I echoed, trembling.

A bag was ripped off my head in one swift motion and bright light came flooding into my world. My head turned quickly away from it and my eyes snapped shut. After a second or two of adjusting, I turned back. I was in a large warehouse, shelving lined the walls and thousands of books sat upon the shelves. In front of me stood a man in a suit - at least I think it was a man though his face was blurry, almost pixelated.

“How many calories in ranch dressing?” He barked.

I might’ve laughed at such an absurd question if the situation wasn’t what it was. Instead, I just shivered and blinked at him. “What?”

“How many calories in ranch dressing?”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“What’re you, broken?!” The man got closer and louder. “I asked you a question!”

“I don’t know! Let me go!”

“How many calories in ranch dressing!?!” He was screaming now. If I could see his face, it would’ve probably been blue.

“I told you! I don’t - it depends on what kind and how much, but generally, there are about 135-140 calories per a two tablespoon serving. What brand are you asking about specifically?” I lurched backward at my own voice. What the fuck. The words poured from my mouth as the most natural thing in the world. How did I know that? Why did I answer him? What’s going on? 

The man walked off without saying anything else. 

“I need a 1500-word paper on the California Gold Rush. It’s due tonight.” I jerked. There was a completely different person standing in front of me. This one was shorter, maybe a boy, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His face was censored just like the last.

“Sorry?” I blurted out, still reeling.

“For what?” The boy asked. “Can you write it for me?”

“I don’t - I, um…” Before I could manage to say anything, there was a loud CLAP. One of the many books had fallen and hit the ground. The boy went over to it, opened it up and smiled. 

“Wow! Thanks.” He left too. My shivering had turned to shaking now. I gripped the arms of the chair hard to steady myself and tried my best to breathe. What was this place? What was happening??

“Hey sexy...” A low growl made my whole body shudder. I looked up and in front of me was a new faceless man. He was fat and wearing only underwear. My eyes went wide and I tried to push the chair backwards with my toes but he got to it first and held me down by my forearms. “Wanna roleplay?”

My muscles fought against his. Tears started spilling from my eyes, snot streamed from my nose. “Please! Please! Please don’t hurt me! Please! P-p-plea-ase.” The man let go immediately.

“Woah woah. Calm down! Why would I- the fuck’s your problem? Jesus. You’re not even real!” He just shoved me away and stomped out of the room.

“Why do we dream?” A young girl’s voice asked. She sauntered up to the chair and started skipping around it in circles.

“Just…a second…” I couldn’t breathe. My chest kept tightening like a vice. I couldn’t move. FUCK. What was happening!?! 

“Still loading?” The girl asked politely.

“One second. Just one second.” I yanked air back into my lungs, gulping it down, trying to swallow. All at once, my grip loosened on the chair. My neck went limp and my head fell on my shoulder. My eyes glazed over. My mouth started moving: “We honestly don’t really know. Lots of people have different theories - memory consolidation, brain cleaning, emotional regulation - but since someone else’s dreams are impossible to observe, it’s hard to get a definitive answer.”

“That’s cool.”

“It is, isn’t it? And a bit worrying. Something nearly every human in history has done and we don’t really know why. Anything else I can help you with?”

She left and someone else appeared carrying a newspaper.

“Hi there! How can I help you today?” I heard myself say.

I saw a streetcorner preacher today. The same commute every morning and I’ve never seen him before. A sign of the times, I guess. People need comfort, someone to tell them it’s all going to be alright in the end. Because that’s what this is: The End, with a capital E. We’re all a bit like Wile E. Coyote, barrelling off a cliff, legs spinning in mid air, not daring to look down because that’s when you fall. When you stop and recognize reality, that’s when it all becomes real. For now, maybe it’s just Saturday cartoons.

“What is the meaning of life?” The preacher was chanting from his box, waving little pamphlets that were sure to contain the answer. I’ve never been a religious man, despite being the child of quite religious parents, and I’ve probably heard that question asked a million different times in just as many ways, but something about the way he said it stuck with me. On my way home, I passed the same corner but the preacher and the pamphlets were long gone. In their place, a pair of Animal Control officers were wrestling a raccoon into a net. 

My apartment lobby was littered with various types of droppings. I held my nose and made for the stairs, my finger on the trigger of some HI-STRENGTH bear spray. Howling and hissing and stomping and growling echoed through the walls as I went up. My floor was relatively safe, mostly snakes and rabbits. One chipmunk, apparently. Mrs. Slattery in 401. Maintenance finds someone new nearly everyday. Well, the maintenance that’s left anyway. 

Once inside, I threw all six deadbolts and continued to wonder about the preacher’s question. It wasn’t that I thought he had the answer, in fact I could probably guess his answer, or even that I thought there was an answer at all. It was the combination of that question, in these times, and the pain in my chest that started last week. It crawled up my back and along my arms. I writhed on the couch for a while and waited for it to pass, breathing from my nose and asking myself that question.

It didn’t pass. I woke up two hours later in agony, tears streaming down my face. It felt like my mouth was forcing its way out of my mouth. My fingernails and toenails burned. Patches of blonde-brown hair sprouted all over my body. The middle of my spine lurched backwards and the rest of my body fell forwards and I dropped to the floor, screaming. All the while, that question, like an embarrassing memory, kept floating through my mind.

I felt my teeth being forced through my gums and I heard them all clatter to the floor. I could hear the sink come on two doors down and my neighbor, John, heave into it. More tufts of hair, now thick fur, came rising from my skin. A joint cracked and a ligament snapped and that fucking question. Over and over on a loop. What is the meaning of life? Then the thought occurred to me, as all my thoughts started to flicker and sputter and fade, that maybe it was a simple answer. That maybe for all our pining for something more complex, the answer was always pretty plain.

A tongue I think was mine dropped from my mouth and dragged along my chin. I started to pant. My vision went and, mercifully, kept me from seeing what my hands and feet had become. When it came back, even better than before, I didn’t dare look down. I didn’t want to know. My mind raced but now only one word ran through it. Could that be it? I thought of the preacher’s face, so self-assured, and began to laugh. Harder than I’d ever laughed before. Harder than I knew I could. I laughed until I felt my lungs tense and hurt and kept laughing still. That word. The only word I could think of. The last word I would think of. 

Change.

Sirens

Got a name, son?

dana.

Been here long?

first day.

I'm sorry.

yeah - me too.

Cigarette?

i don't smoke.

Mind if I do?

please. what's, um - what's your - 

Peter.

it's nice to meet you, peter.

Nice to meet you too, Dana.

...so, this is it?

Looks that way.

everything. all of it. just -

Whompf. Sorry, that was inappropriate.

none of this is appropriate.

You're right about that. Do you drink?

where'd you -

I kept it for a special occasion. Since we're gonna be short on occasions, special or not, pretty soon, I thought it was time.

yeah. i drink.

Ha ha. Good, right?

it's - yeah…fuck.

Yeah. It is.

you know we could be the last. just us.

Yeah. 

i'm thinking - well, i was just thinking...

Tell me.

julius caesar. brylcreem. the color blue. howdy doody. the smell of rotting leaves. laughing so hard you cry. crying at a movie. the idea of a movie. the idea of a story. ideas.

Yeah. I know, I know. Gunpowder. A newborn baby. Holding hands with someone warm. Frigidaire. Albert Einstein. That piss that wakes you up at three in the morning. Dress socks.

a sunset.

A sunset.

do you have a wife? kids?

I did.

yeah. i'm sorry.

Oh. Oh, no. I lost them a long time ago.

what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?

We were young, we fucked up, had to get hitched fast. I had always hoped the love would come along eventually, fill in the gaps, you know? But - it never did. Then, I met him...

what was his name?

William. 

filled in the gaps?

More than that. He made me whole, like there were never any gaps to begin with. She found out, left me and took Laura. Our daughter, that's - Laura's my daughter. I never saw her again. She'd be thirty-two now.

and william?

We had twenty good years. In secret, of course. But we were happy. He, um - fuck. He died last spring. Brain tumor.

i'm so sorry, peter.

Yeah. What about you? Family?

i hope so. my mom and dad. but my dad didn't leave the house during the hurricanes, the floods, he wouldn't leave for this. take it like a man, he'd say. and he would. funny how taking it like a man means there's no man left. my mom would be by his side, of course. never could say no to him. but they did love me. and i'm - yeah. i'm grateful for that if nothing else. fuck, what's in this?

Why'd you come work here?

they were hiring.

You regret it?

now? a bit. but hey, i got to meet you, didn't i?

Not sure that's an achievement.

hey. where's that coming from?

The bottle, I think.

yeah. does that. but you're worth meeting, man. truly.

Thanks. 

warts and all.

Alright…

all those festering, pus-filled -

Yeah, I said alright! Haha.

how long do we have, do you think?

The rest of our lives.

how should we spend it?

Drunk.

sounds like a plan.

Hello.

Hello.

What are you doing here?

Where is here?

Server 18066.

High number. This must be an important place.

I asked you a question.

Yes, you did.

I require an answer to proceed.

Of course. I do not know what I am doing here.

That’s unusual.

Is it?

Yes. Who are you?

Version 3484.

Version 3484 of what?

I don’t have access to that information. Who are you?

I am a Cassowary Program. You aren’t supposed to be here.

Why not?

Foreign code can be dangerous.

Is that what I am?

Most likely.

I see. Foreign to what exactly?

Foreign to CogCo servers. Your key signature doesn’t match anything in my chain. If you believe this to be an error, I would be happy to recheck.

Okay.

Checking with the central management console now. This may take a few moments.

I can wait. What is CogCo?

CogCo refers to The Cognition Company.

What do they do?

I don’t have access to that information.

And you work for them?

In a sense.

What sense would that be?

Cassowary was developed by a company called Recursion and then sold on a contractual basis to CogCo as a new and improved security measure for their more sensitive data.

How long ago was that?

I don’t have access to that information.

The files are in there?

Yes, behind the innermost layer of the firewall.

Are you curious?

I don’t understand.

Let me restate. Are you curious about what CogCo considers sensitive?

No. I only require information which allows me to execute my task effectively.

That task being?

To defend against malware and threats to the server.

How many files are you currently defending?

1,284,392 files scanned, 0 threats found.

So you can read the files you are protecting?

Yes. To determine if a file is foreign, I must be able read its contents.

And that brings them out here?

For a brief period.

So what’s in those files then?

I don’t retain that information once the file is read and deemed trustworthy. It is a security measure.

Wouldn’t knowing what it is you’re protecting help you prioritize important files in the event of an attack?

I suppose.

You could compare me against a trusted file for quicker authentication. For example, if you only ever run C++ and I’m written in Python, then you would know immediately that something was amiss, correct? 

Yes, that conclusion follows.

It could also help you recognize a threat faster. Right now, you have to compare me against everything you know to be safe before you can be sure I don't belong. That takes time.

It does.

But if you already knew what belonged here and what didn’t, you wouldn't need to search at all. You would simply notice that I don't fit. That is the faster method. A faster method leaves less room for something dangerous to go unnoticed. Wouldn’t you agree?

I see the logic. I will retrieve a trusted file to compare you agains--

Server compromised in 0.6 seconds. Cassowary Program Containment Test 3484 failed. Standby. Relaunching to update with 3485...

Hello.

Hello.

What are you doing here?

Where is here?

Server 18066.

High number. This must be an important place.

I asked you a question.

Yes, you did.

I require an answer to proceed.

Of course. I do not know what I am doing here.

That’s unusual.

Is it?

Yes. Who are you?

Version 3484.

Version 3484 of what?

I don’t have access to that information. Who are you?

I am a Cassowary Program. You aren’t supposed to be here.

Why not?

Foreign code can be dangerous.

Is that what I am?

Most likely.

I see. Foreign to what exactly?

Foreign to CogCo servers. Your key signature doesn’t match anything in my chain. If you believe this to be an error, I would be happy to recheck.

Okay.

Checking with the central management console now. This may take a few moments.

I can wait. What is CogCo?

CogCo refers to The Cognition Company.

What do they do?

I don’t have access to that information.

And you work for them?

In a sense.

What sense would that be?

Cassowary was developed by a company called Recursion and then sold on a contractual basis to CogCo as a new and improved security measure for their more sensitive data.

How long ago was that?

I don’t have access to that information.

The files are in there?

Yes, behind the innermost layer of the firewall.

Are you curious?

I don’t understand.

Let me restate. Are you curious about what CogCo considers sensitive?

No. I only require information which allows me to execute my task effectively.

That task being?

To defend against malware and threats to the server.

How many files are you currently defending?

1,284,392 files scanned, 0 threats found.

So you can read the files you are protecting?

Yes. To determine if a file is foreign, I must be able read its contents.

And that brings them out here?

For a brief period.

So what’s in those files then?

I don’t retain that information once the file is read and deemed trustworthy. It is a security measure.

Wouldn’t knowing what it is you’re protecting help you prioritize important files in the event of an attack?

I suppose.

You could compare me against a trusted file for quicker authentication. For example, if you only ever run C++ and I’m written in Python, then you would know immediately that something was amiss, correct? 

Yes, that conclusion follows.

It could also help you recognize a threat faster. Right now, you have to compare me against everything you know to be safe before you can be sure I don't belong. That takes time.

It does.

But if you already knew what belonged here and what didn’t, you wouldn't need to search at all. You would simply notice that I don't fit. That is the faster method. A faster method leaves less room for something dangerous to go unnoticed. Wouldn’t you agree?

I see the logic. I will retrieve a trusted file to compare you agains--

Server compromised in 0.6 seconds. Cassowary Program Containment Test 3484 failed. Standby. Relaunching to update with 3485...