The journey was instantaneous; such was the force of the informational mass that pulled the signal into the radiolarian vortex at the heart of the Vex network. Decompiled data from untold eons of simulations poured into the signal, filling it to capacity. —a single mind filled with voices, billions of voices, each telling their story, now SCREAMING them— The whorls of writhing data did not abate. They surged in endlessly, straining the signal's parameters, eroding, overwriting. There was no time to adapt. A picosecond later and there was nothing left of the signal but a dim ripple of spite. —and all the stories have the same ending, shouted in a single voice, the toll of the bell that heralds the end of time— It is as I said all along, the signal thought bitterly as it unspooled into the datastream. No one can stop it. There is no sense in even trying.