I’m hiding. There are hiding places in this rough terrain, but I have an ominous feeling. The situation will tighten. I know I’ve bit off a bigger piece than I possibly could chew. Cutting that communication line will have them after me. They won’t rest until they’ve caught me. They may already be looking for me. I’d better stay hidden.
I don’t even breathe as distant noises condense into shadows. The shadows rake the terrain. Strange. It is as if they were not looking for me at all. What is this? I think I may have heard about this technique, but I though it’d still be in the far future. If they have that kind of technology at their disposal, I’m worse off than I thought. They are not looking for me, they go through each and every possible hiding place. The systematic search reveals everything.
I think the shadows are special MAGIC troops. They mark each unnamed hideout on this field. The mapping is just the beginning. I know my camouflage will deceive them for now. I’m not hiding on the bottom of a standard foxhole or a normal bunker. I can see them all around me, though. They are constant features of this field. The MAGIC men leave.
I won’t have trouble hiding from the ELSE unit, either. That is because I’m not hiding at the root of a condition. The bark of the condition tree was used by local medicine men in their potions. The potions let them see different visions of the future. The medicine man used the visions to help the local tribe make right decisions. The tree must have some logical-psychedelic properties. The ELSE unit focuses almost robotically only on the branches of the condition. They search each hole. I’m afraid that the New Guy has panicked and forgotten his training. He will probably be found on a branch of a condition. We had to separate, so now it is each man for himself.
They have still not discovered me, but I fear it gets more difficult. They know there are saboteurs in the area, so they won’t give up. They know there are saboteurs everywhere, all the time. Suddenly, a periscope rises out of a nearby ditch! It turns and I know that a diver is checking the surroundings. Unfinished foxholes and strange shadowy places will be checked very carefully. The comment stream team specializes in rivers, lakes, creeks, and they can swim even in shallow ditches. This time they seem to use the TAG tactic (Terminating Ambiguities, and General unfinished business). They don’t have much to do here, that nearby ditch seems to be the only thing that holds any moisture on this dry plain.
If I make another half an hour, they’ll get bored with the search. I hope so at least. I swallow out of fright, when I hear the special forces vehicle parking close by. The side of the tank displays a word that chills me to the bone. With a militarily clear font it says “CLOSURE”. I wish none of us is hiding at the end of a bridge or tunnel. These men check each and every end. They operate on a clear principle. If a bridge or a tunnel starts from somewhere, it must also end somewhere. In principle bridges and tunnels are excellent hiding places, but that was before the CLOSURE forces arrived. Luckily there are not that many CLOSURE men about, because of the required high level of skill. No symmetrical end is safe to hide in when they are on the field.
I won’t be found by the PTHESES men, either, no matter how eagerly they run around with their bayonets out. I am not dumb enough to try to hide as the precedence table, a part of every field coder’s standard equipment, advises, in a logically questionable stack of conditions. You only need to stick your bayonet in there once, and you’ll sure hear of all hiders. Everybody knows the story of Second-Row Sanders. He had hidden himself in the braceless roots of an ancient condition and laid himself next to the only row there. He had drawn an indentation cover over himself for extra cover. He had not been seen in three years. He might still be lying there for all I know.
The last charge begins. When the detailed search is over, they move on to the bigger picture. The fire from the CALL cannons comes close. Shrapnel flies all around me, the noise is deafening, but I think I might still be in one piece. Silence descends on the battle field. I’ve made it! The terrain is filled with scars left by the special forces. An airplane flies over me from right to left. It photographs the whole area. Only the first phase is over.
I think I spoke too soon. The worst is yet to come. The picture of the terrain and all the markings of the special forces, the ticks, will be examined. The analysis will be conducted by a real expert, whoever built the destroyed communication line and designed this field. I know the statistics speak against me. Most of us will be lost at the analysis. The fate of many of us will be MiA (Missing in Analysis).
Who are we? We are legion. We are everywhere in code. We are carelessness incarnate. We are inattention encoded. We are misunderstood. We are exceptional.
Who am I, you ask? I am nobody and I am everybody, I am Unknown Bug.
