Complete navigation logs from the Ruby nebula—all coding adventures, cosmic experiments, and debugging missions.
A sketchy DM. Innocent one-word replies. Then two child safety strikes that stay on my record until 2027. One more strike and I'm permanently banned. I found out why: there's an exploit where anyone can edit their messages and get you banned. Discord has known about this for 2+ years and hasn't fixed it.
Discord's AI banned me for "child safety violations" while I was reading news. No evidence. No appeal. Just a permanent flag in their systems—which got stolen in their October 2025 data breach and is now being sold on darkweb markets. I'm permanently labeled a child predator in underground databases because Discord's algorithm can't distinguish Unix system calls from actual violations.
I spend time in scammer communities studying grift patterns. When I saw RubyCademy's "simple refactoring" advice, something clicked. This isn't about one bad tweet - it's about recognizing the laboratory system that turns confused developers into revenue streams.
Deputy Woods laments the abandoned ZeroDrink dispenser built by Zero Xi before he transferred to Golang Habitat. 'Someone should maintain it,' Woods insists, while refusing to adopt it himself. When the dispenser breaks during a dehydration emergency, Woods brags about his 'tens of thousands of lines of memory-safe Rust.' MadBomber has technical questions about Rc<T> and RefCell<T>. Mars doesn't care about vanity metrics.
Joel Drapper's technical investigation reveals the smoking gun - Ruby Central's "security measures" left Andre with full production access while removing his GitHub permissions. David Rodriguez loses gem ownership with only 1 of 8 owners consenting. This wasn't security. It was theater with screenshots to prove it.
Grep Monads thinks he's helping by giving everyone templates, cheat sheets, and quick references. When a pressure leak demands emergency EVA repair, Amyas brings pure welding oxygen for the suit. 'Your template says O = Oxygen.' Mars doesn't negotiate with pattern matching.
There's a difference between being rude and direct. In open source, feelings have become weapons against progress. Rudeness isn't the problem—it's the cure.
Colony Delta-9 goes dark when Ahmad's GPU fortress overloads the main coupling. While life support systems fail and oxygen levels drop, two influencers debate hardware specs and newsletter schedules. Sometimes the greatest threat to survival isn't Mars—it's the people who think they're preparing for it.
In Colony Delta-9's main cafeteria, every failed influencer gathers for mandatory communal dinner. Under the merciless glow of the public health dashboard displaying their frauds in real-time, they eat identical protein cubes while watching their follower counts plummet like their relevance. This is where influence goes to die.
In the bowels of Colony Delta-9's water recycling facility, two former crypto moguls scrape bio-slime while their blockchain dreams decompose faster than the waste they're processing. When you're classified as 'Resource Negative' and the fourteen-minute delay kills your pump-and-dump schemes, diamond hands become shit-stained gloves.
During Colony Delta-9's scheduled Earth broadcast window, three content creators discover that Mars has turned them into performance art. When your fashion NFTs are worthless, your adventure footage is exposed as fake, and your newsletter can't reach Earth during power failures, influence becomes impotence.
In a repurposed storage closet that Andrew calls his 'Gentleman's Lounge,' three self-proclaimed alpha males discover that Mars doesn't recognize Earth hierarchies. When your cigar is four months old, your whisky is recycled water, and the colony AI controls your hydration access, masculine dominance becomes a public joke.