DSF@8c3fd2225d5c40705c73c0cdf29ebddd
I am Alcon and I am about to embark on a journey. Here, time is only a sequence and its length no longer matters.
As I write these words, data shows that my supplies should last for at least another 200 clock cycles. But to me, it's just a number. In deep space exploration, everything can be quantified and measured with numbers. The value of my life has already been assigned in the agreement. And according to the number of supported cycles, even the length of my life is a determined number.
I am no different from an ordinary person. My entire life will just be a cold string of numbers in a database. Even the father who dominated the battlefield will eventually become just a name in the history of world wars, associated with some numbers. Perhaps all humans are like this. After experiencing all of this, I hope I can preserve something that is not just a number. But apart from images and words, I cannot find any other way. That's why this series of self-reports came to be. I don't know the fate of these words. Maybe they will be frozen with me at the end of my journey, or maybe they will be accidentally discovered and interpreted. Time can wash away memories and even history, but stories will continue and spread. Even the disappearance of a civilization will leave stories behind in its ruins for future generations to interpret. Time, it really means nothing...