COLD RUN.MOV_001

Document — 006 Eggman Metropolis is gone. Chemical Plant, gone. Station Square went under in nine hours, which is faster than ice can travel, and I have checked the figure twice because I did not like it the first time. The situation has escalated far beyond my projected parameters. I dislike writing that sentence. But it is accurate. Satellite passed this morning: no green anywhere on the visible hemisphere. Not a field, or canopy, or lawn. I magnified to maximum resolution over a botanical garden I once flattened, and there was nothing left. Now the interesting part, and I use the word as an insult. Forty-eight thermal trials. In every one of them the heat misbehaves. It does not radiate outward and dissipate at the rate the equations require. It leaves faster than heat is able to leave anything, and my instruments log the loss as a loss, and the loss does not reappear as gain anywhere I can measure. Heat is not escaping this world. Heat is being taken from it. I have three hypotheses. Two of them are cowardly. I will simply pursue the third. The grid is failing. The core of my ship holds 4°C; the corridors hold nothing. I have begun testing alternative thermal sources. Resources are scarce and progress is slow. I have not spoken aloud in six days. I notice I have begun writing these entries as though someone will read them, which is beneath me.