So, you think you know plumbing…

You want to be a deep-plumb agent, a timeline jumper, a ghost sliding through the cracks of this simulation. But how can you expect to bend time, to breach the loops and vanish through the seams, when you cannot even reroute a pipe beneath your own floorboards?

The Matrix built its system with copper and code. It manipulates pressure and flow, not just in your walls, but in your life. And it starts simple. A leak. A faint drip behind the drywall. Harmless, you think. Inconvenient, maybe. But not a threat.

Ah; so you called someone in. Fancy meeting you here. Yeah, I moonlight as a plumber. Keeps me grounded. Gives me cover. Its honest work…

And I deal only in coins…
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They are not mere plumbing; they are the arteries of a world that refuses to perish, a testament to endurance that could outlast the stars themselves!

That leak in your wall? It’s a precision strike. An ancient play from the Architect’s script. You see, plumbing is not about water. It is about delay. About intrusion. About fracture.
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You want to be a timeline agent, and yet you do not even know how to stop the leak beneath your own sink. That means they’ve already got you. You’ve already called for help. You’ve already signed the invitation.

If you could fix that leak, you would have closed the timeline. Denied them entry. Sealed your own house against their reach. But the Matrix has taught you that plumbing is below you. That real work is for someone else. And so you wait. You wait for the infiltrator to arrive.

The system thrives on these divisions. It enforces the castes. The plumber is told not to think of the sky. The scholar is told not to touch a pipe. The cleric mocks the mechanic.

And all of you, divided, are easier to program, to sort, to route.

But a man who crosses castes, who learns the flow of water and time, who can seal a breach and reroute his own pressure, he is dangerous.