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Wallie

Mullaittivu, Sri Lanka

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500 XP

The missile knows where it is at all times. It knows this because it knows where it isn't. By subtracting where it is from where it isn't, or where it isn't from where it is (whichever is greater), it obtains a difference, or deviation. The guidance subsystem uses deviations to generate corrective commands to drive the missile from a position where it is to a position where it isn't, and arriving at a position where it wasn't, it now is. Consequently, the position where it is, is now the position that it wasn't, and it follows that the position that it was, is now the position that it isn't.

In the event that the position that it is in is not the position that it wasn't, the system has acquired a variation, the variation being the difference between where the missile is, and where it wasn't. If variation is considered to be a significant factor, it too may be corrected by the GEA. However, the missile must also know where it was.

The missile guidance computer scenario works as follows. Because a variation has modified some of the information the missile has obtained, it is not sure just where it is. However, it is sure where it isn't, within reason, and it knows where it was. It now subtracts where it should be from where it wasn't, or vice-versa, and by differentiating this from the algebraic sum of where it shouldn't be, and where it was, it is able to obtain the deviation and its variation, which is called error.

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Chained Together

6 horas jogadas

Title: An Epic Tale of Hellish Heights: Nx and Alphabet's 3.5-Hour Saga

So there we were, two absolute randos, me (Nx) and some dude named Alphabet, chained together in the fiery pits of hell. We had one mission: climb to the top. Easy, right? LOL, no. Picture this: 3.5 hours of pure chaos, confusion, and questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

The game starts, and we’re both like, “Hey, you know what we’re doing?” Spoiler: we didn’t. Alphabet decides he’s the leader (guess the name gave him some authority or whatever). We start climbing, and by climbing, I mean flailing around like two drunk squirrels tangled in a slinky.

First hour: We’re still trying to figure out basic physics. Alphabet keeps typing "???", and I’m just hanging there, contemplating the existence of gravity. We finally get some momentum, only to be smacked down by a swinging platform because Alphabet thought it was a “shortcut.”

Second hour: We’ve established a rhythm. By rhythm, I mean hoping that our telepathic waves connect at the same time for the perfect jump, which never happend. Alphabet blames my timing; I blame his face. We fall more times than a toddler learning to walk.

Third hour: Miraculously, we’re three quarters up. We’ve stopped hating each other (mostly) and started strategizing like pros. Alphabet keeps telling me to just go, quick, fast we need to go fast. My ADHD starts kicking in and I start bunny hopping just to miserably fail. Alphabet sends his usual "..." and "???". I laugh because, at this point, what else can you do?

Final stretch: We see the top. It’s right there, just a few more obstacles. We’re focused. We’re determined. We’re…falling again. Alphabet tries to blame me. Sure, buddy, blame me, but you missed the jump first. But somehow, by sheer dumb luck and maybe a touch of skill, we make it. We’re standing at the summit, virtual gods of this hellscape.

After 3.5 hours of not knowing each other, we finally unchain ourselves and part ways. Alphabet, if you’re reading this, I still think of you typing "..." or "???", but we did it. We climbed out of hell together and lived to tell the tale.

10/10 would spam "???" in chat with a stranger again.

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