If only they were less like small animals, Andrew thought, seated in front of a huge array of lcd screens, watching the interlace draw fuzzy dots as it cycled. He pressed one of the screens lightly with his pinky, watched the fractal pattern ooze out from the focus of the tip. Nowadays, it seemed everything was a pattern but he didn't mind. Patterns intrigued him, engulfed him, and made him as close to giddy as an Emotional Level was going to get.
"Well, everyone has to make a living," he thought to himself as he began to type, a crescendo of bits worming their way into the system, replicating, broadcasting, backing themselves up, and generally working themselves into a tither. Each line of code spoke softly of its decisions and mandates. Each method call invoking a neighborhood of guild workers, highly-trained in precision craftsmanship, to burst from inactivity for a common good.