Years later, when the government jackboots stormed my compound in the final great clash of the signal wars; my work would be seized and I was branded a war criminal for my help with Project Namaste.
They burnt everything to ashes - all my notes, hard drives and glassware. They poured bleach and lime into the prion spawning cells, set thermite charges in the memory banks, and melted down the voice coils on the vast subwoofer batteries I had lined the sea floor around my offshore data mining platform with.
All that remained of my work were what few vinyl backup crypto platters we'd put into cold storage, and the scattered nostalgia of a million jaded souls that we had dared to try and reach through 145bpm hypnosis - a kind of vague, psychedelic trance-like state of peace and divine wonder.
:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]