This world is a seamless landscape of interconnected digital mists, with no visible borders separating nations. Cities hum with a quiet, pervasive glow as towering buildings pulse with dim light, all under the watchful eyes of the empire: “Ground”. The streets are clean, sterile. Everyone moves in sync, connected to the empire’s net web. A soft, mechanical buzz fills the air, emanating from every corner, signaling the empire’s control over every action and thought.
Through invisible neural networks, neural mapping quietly tracks every individual, gathering data on digital footprints, emotional responses and even fleeting thoughts. With each passing second, your digital texture is being formed—an invisible, unique number attached to your identity.
In this vast sea of data, those whose digital textures are stable, uniform, and standardized are rewarded— recognized by the empire’s system, granted access to resources, jobs and social connections that match their approved thoughts and behaviors. These individuals lead comfortable, unquestioning lives, their interactions guided by invisible algorithms, perfectly aligned with the empire’s ideals.
Meanwhile, those whose digital textures are unstable or who refuse to follow the empire’s rules are exiled to a place known as мㄩττεя Sωαмρ—a chaotic and unregulated digital wasteland full of unknowns, arguments and differences. The Swamp no longer relies on data standards but is a mix-and-match of old technologies abandoned by the digital empire, filled with loopholes and fragments.
Here, abandoned digital nomads create their own means of survival, their own language to communicate, not following the clocks or standard. Life in the swamp is inconvenient, but it hides a sense of humanity.
The Swamper sometimes uses a secret language — “Mutter”, which is completely incompatible with the empire’s standard language, “Manner”. On a technical level, Manner is the unified coding language of Ground — a structured, standardised code that can be correctly parsed within the empire’s data infrastructure. It is a set of standardised symbols that can be processed uniformly in the Ground’s digital systems to ensure informations and common understanding truth are efficiently transmitted and interpreted. It is the almighty invention that removes language barriers and misinterpretations. It is perfectly functional. Flawless. There is no mistake in Manner. Never.
Mutter, on the other hand, is a chaotic language that cannot be parsed by the Ground’s digital systems. It is connected to an unrecognisable coding format, making it impossible for the empire’s data network to properly understand or process it. It is also not helping the development of neural mapping since it is too randomised and illogical. Manner characters have fixed code points corresponding to specific positions within the digital framework, Mutter however lacks consistent coding standards. It is a random/unsolidified mixture of bits and symbols that does not conform to any recognised format.
To Ground, Mutter is nothing more than stupid nonsensical glitch noise, incapable of being converted or processed.
< Underground Data Hub – Night>
The red light flickers three times. A low hum stops, the room falls silent. Four humans step into the space, their feet squelching on a floor coated with velvet-coloured goo that seems alive, flowing faintly in sync with their movements. In the centre of the room a station is located, surrounded by tangled cables sinking into the goo.
As they move closer, the goo reacts, releasing a fine mist into the air. The mist thickens into foggy clouds surrounding the room. After 47 seconds a short, cursive text flickering and beaming in soft white light on the goo mist, reads:
| У yσυ ∈Ͳ соոηέ¢τеd σε мㄩττεя Sωαмρ… 載入中… |
| #23; #577; #189; #40310 L登oa入dg中in… |
| сαв1еѕ αяе геαɗү |
The mist pulls back into the goo after 9.2 seconds, leaving the air clear and the room still again, except for the faint halo light from the cables.
… … … … … …
#23, #577, #189 and #40310 all grab the cables from the floor and each hold them gently in front of them.
#577 brings the cables together rapidly above his head, but as his hands are about to close, he slows down and ends with a silent clap. A chorus chords harmonises in their ears for 2 seconds. The goo mist thickens and fills the room again. But this time, the mist appears denser around their bodies.
#577 breathes in the mist-filled goo and blows it out slowly. The mist transfers and swirls from his mouth, into #23’s, #40310’s, and #189’s ears physically. They hear the words echo:
“The L登oa入dg中in time is getting shorter again! Interesting! No matter how many times I use this hub, the smell still disgusts me. I love the мㄩττεя Sωαмρ, but for 1 second every day, I do miss the clear rhythmic mist from Ground. It's just clean and breezy. #577.1”
#23 breathes in the mist goo, holds it in and blows it out rapidly with a sharp exhale. This time, as the fog dissipates, a sharp noise bursts into #577’s, #189’s, and #40310’s ears, causing discomfort.
#189 takes a deep breath, consumes the mist and blows it out. He quickly inhales again and blows out another gust. #577 and #40310 hear a jumbled voices of #23’s and #189’s:
“농담하지마 you #577 neural mapping ‘lowest grade’. You live like —Grounder— 0 possible. 0. You li^e even exact ǝʇᴉssodo seconds of their almighty clocks. #212.1”
Then, #189’s voice cuts in, clearer this time:
"幹, #23, blow X using your teeth to filter? your mist I eww of consuming and translating. Pls! Pls! You! #189.1”
#23 breathes in again, but this time, she blows out slowly and pulls the cables on #189’s side a little bit as a friendly gesture.
“zuo tian was ok when I blew out like this लेकिन. different Keep try ways, the charm onze Sωαмρ人 , ni bu認同? ji32k7darl1ng #23.1”
#577 breathes in and out and shakes the cables. Everyone feels a tiny tingle in their finger and hears echoes of his laughter:
“(:For sure:) Lei мㄩττεя knowledge
120/100. Weet!ηo je ge… #577.2”
#189 pulls both cables in to grab attention. He and #40310 both inhale and exhale the mist at the same time. A mix of their echo sounds:
Intensely shaking the cable, #23 breathes in and blows it out. Not containing her excitement, she chokes on the mist halfway. They hear her mixture of laughter and echo:
“↓onze Sωαмρ人 () () () Time! Is it just () () () I or this situ hear amazing to be honest. ‘system noise’? it is ‘system yeIs’. This X collapse tot 我m人e. Just мㄩττεя Sωαмρing. ¡Choas BEst!ω00 H口口! Man. YoUr Manners echoed disgusting btw. B00 () () Who are u even? Try! Harder! Heha. Joke. *ŭ* #23.2”
#189 looking frustrated inhales and exhales:
Staring into #189’s eyes through the mist between them, #577 thinks: #189. What a front-runner(number) he is.
Recalling that #189 was one of the senpais who helped him after he exiled, teaching him the mindset of loopholes and how to create new loops and holes, #577 breathes in and out twice. In these echoes, his breath is filled with disbelief:
“Come on #189, you Sωαмρer are. One of the beginning nomads create these We after-er build ↷ top of your said. No can be that you made and we not so. Here we in → reason. We = we. You tOO. #577.3” “X. Back to ——’s Manner sole is no say. So compressed —— are!! WhY 1 Sωαмρ. ThIs form of communication transcends the limits of —— coding system. Knowing ‘unknown’ is the Un and no. Past- you know, now why no? #577.4”
#189 closes his eyes, puts down the cables and remains silent for a bit. The mist around him becomes wheezy, making it difficult for others to see his clearly from their perspective. The system light beams on the goo mist and disappears after 3 seconds.
| #189 Zzz s1gnα1 |
#189 is one of the first Swamper patches, so of course he knows the charms of Mutter. However, he is also worried that the overuse of Mutter could trigger a larger-scale data collapse, blurring the lines between Swamp and Ground, causing irreversible consequences. Also, he has already passed his peak era of creating new rules and words every day. He is fine with adopting changes daily in Mutter Swamp, but no new things should be created, as this “overflow” could completely destabilise the core coding system — especially since the Swamp coding system is based on the abandoned technology of Ground. In his heart, he still somewhat believes that Ground holds the advanced technology, which is the evolution’s one true correct answer and result. The goofy little things they do in Swamp are fun, but they are never ‘good’, never ‘matter’ to the World’s great future. Chaos beneath the surface is acceptable, but at the upper layers, they are parasiting the Grounder’s second-hand knowledge and convincing themselves they are creating something new, which they are not. If the Mutters clash with the Manners, Mutter Swamp will also collapse. The world will end. #189 and #40310 also want to talk to #23 and #577 during this time, as it is the counter-clockwise time for Ground. So if any short circuits happen, they won’t be as visible.
Glazing the tension, #23 again shakes the cable, breathes in and blows it out. Trying to implement the Manners a bit more in his words to ease the atmosphere.
“I guess what #577 is trying to say is, the Grounder is not so grounded. Meanings are mean and meaning should be more than it means. ji3h961j4y94cj ! Or I should say ji3ap71j4u/ e9 y94cj ! 又ㄅㄨˋ會怎樣マ ジde : ) We are not starting a riot or anything. Just Swamping. It will be fine! #23.3”
#577 shakes the cable a little bit in response to #23, but doesn’t inhale or exhale. He wants to wait for #189 to answer.
Unable stand the silence, #23 breathes in and blows it out tenderly directly to #40310:
#40310 shakes the cable back and forth and breathes in and blows directly to #23 as well. #23 then hears a monotone echo.
#23 gives an encouraging glance at #40310, impressed by how the slice of Mutter quirks cuts in fluently and nicely.
| #189 s1gnα1 上_ |
#189 opens his eyes and grabs the cable again. The goo mists thicken around him. He inhales and exhales the mist to everyone, exhausted.
While listening, #577 swiftly jumps in, inhaling and exhaling sharply. His voice rises in pitch in the ears it falls on, and covers the rest of #189’s words.
“We fit changes & flex boxes! Since when are you scared of mess? Mutter real nuance V you like don’t? Clash will not change chaos. Grounder’s discomfort they solve can, we need keep Mutter urgent our job. ?you think them for? They think them. We think us! #577.5”
#189 breathes in slowly but never exhales. He doesn’t know how to position himself either. But one thing is clear: #577 is trying to use Mutter a lot now, tagging in a mix of logic. And he’s not very fond of that, knowing it might already be causing short circuits at Ground. When he is distressed, he also uses intense Mutter, so he stuns himself a little to calm down.
Suddenly, #40310 inhales and exhales, quickly squeezing the cables with both hands. A jingle of sneezes waltz flow into #189, #577 and #23’s ears, and they hear, with the jingles in the background, the words echo:
The mist vibrates with the echo of #40310’s words and the sneeze waltz, lingering in the air like a persistent afterimage on a dim screen. A subtle shift passes between them, then they all sneeze one by one following tempo of the waltz — an unspoken understanding, a ripple in the tangled network of Mutter.
#577 releases a breath, shaking the cables lightly, sending out a pulse of quiet agreement.
"We new not G0-to; we stay, we crawl, we glitch. Not kill, not still. Airways flows and blows. Your way—my way—allways—not their way. Ah Choo #577.6”
#189 finally exhales. A long, controlled release. Her mist curls slowly, wrapping itself around the cables before fading into the flickering digital hum.
。The Grounders — erase, but refine. 。The Swampers — create, but dissolve.
The room falls into a hush. Even the mist itself hesitates, as if awaiting an answer. #23, sensing the weight, inhales deeply and lets out a slow, deliberate mist pulse. It crackles with a mix of Mutter and Manner, a delicate balance of chaos and order.
"Maybe... both of you are right, and both of you are wrong? Swamping is breaking, but it’s also bridging. If we are the noise in their system, Then be noisy worth hearing. musics? Maybe. I hate music. I read more. What if, instead of disrupting them... We rewrite them? How. Who knows. Just saying. No Knows ever anyway. This my way. Not Allways. Ah Choo #23.5”
A pause. A flicker of understanding. #40310 grips the cables tighter and makes a tie, sending out a single, deliberate pulse. A system echo responds.
| σψsτεм RΣαδs ... | | NΣω fσям detected ... | | Unknown Data Signature ... | | Override? Y/N _ |
The mist thickens. The cables tremble.
#189’s grip tightens as she exhales sharply, her mist swirling erratically.
#577 inhales, her pulse syncing with the unstable hum in the air.
“Fix? Why would we ‘fix’ anything? They seems flawless and we are foolish. ↵ No things are fixed. You think Ground is stable? You think we are the problem? They built walls with words. We’re just showing them existing holes and loops. What do you Mutter meant to be. We never meant to. Ah Choo #577.8”
#23 lets out a laugh, wild and electric. He shakes the cables violently, sparks flickering through the mist.
“破is start!壞是free! Fεσя X!? Never? If it can break— If it can break— If it can break— It was never broken. It was NeveR broken! Then maybe it was never whole to begin with! It was never broken at the beginning. So there is no end! Clap! #23.9”
Each word they blow out intensifies the atmosphere, their voices rising in frequency. The sneezes also make the mist transfer in a weird way. The cables are pulled higher, the mist is churning faster. The more they speak, the less they make sense. The echoes spinning around — words colliding, twisting, mutating. Mutating. The mist becomes dense, trembling with unprocessed energy. UNPROCESSED – ENERGY.
Then! Accidentally, all of them inhale and exhale in sync, their sneezes a chaotic blend of words, a burst of incomprehensible Mutter that spirals into the air.
The echoes clash. The words blur.
A phrase forms, transfers to their ears.
They don’t know who exhaled it first.
They don’t know how to decode it.
They don’t know where it came from.
But they all exhale it, again and again, echos overlapping. #189 tries to stop them from echoing it but as he tires, he repeats it unwillingly
“Unㄩ—λ—ㄈOeiinOs—//"
The Swamp system hesitates.
For the first time, it doesn’t understand.
The phrase repeats, glitching, shifting, slipping into Ground’s data stream.
It is a meaningless utterance. It is a flaw. A contradiction. A sound that should not exist.
ENTER↵
| System Override Accepted. | | Rewriting Begins. |
The Swamp groans. A deep, guttural noise, like a system grinding against itself. Like a unexpected sneeze trying to come out but getting cut off.
< Ground Core Data Hub – Dawn>
Inside the towering white data halls of Ground, the air hums with perfect harmony. Light are aligned with perfect distance, standard margins and round edges. Very round edges — harmless, one might say. Screens glow with data streams, flowing smoothly, uninterrupted. Every program, every byte, in sync with the world’s design.
A flicker.
One screen blinks out. 1 second. 2 seconds. Back again. Then another. The seamless digital flow jolts, static creeping into the network. The Manner language hesitates. Then fractures.
< Underground Data Hub – Day>
In the midst of the chaos, #189, #577, #23 and #40310 stop suddenly. They feel it. Something is changing. The air feels different. The cables in their hands feel different. They are vibrating unnaturally in their hands. The mist swirls with new density. A pulse vibrates through the air — a new order, or perhaps, the absence of one. The cables shudder in their hands. Not just from tension, not just from movement… something else. Something… off-script?
#40310 squints at the goo, it is becoming a neutral grey of processed data, bleeds into something else. A deep, shifting orange. Like a gradient.
“Eww, but C0oL! ha ” #40310 inhales and blows out this new goo mist and tries to echo. Her voice jumps in pitch mid-sentence, as if the system can’t decide what she should sound like. #577 watches her words visibly distort in the mist. Letters flicker, stretch, twist into unrecognizable symbols before snapping back.
#189 is staring at them. At all of them. They can’t hear him but they clearly know he is echoing, “…Wait.” And they sense it. Something isn’t right. The cables — not just vibrating anymore. They’re pulsing. Like a heartbeat, but out of sync. The mist around them isn’t just swirling, it’s reacting.
The air feels thicker, denser, more aware. #23 breathes in and out. And the second her voice emerges, the world tilts. Not physically. But in a way that should not be possible. Their designations blink out for a split second. Numbers they’ve known their whole lives — gone. Then back. Then gone again.
“Huh…? guys…?
” #577 waves a hand in front of his face. His fingers double, triple, flatten into glyphs, then snap back to double. “I don’t… I don’t know… I t h i n k wE ’re…”
His words don’t land right. They don’t stick to the system the way they should. A sharp, electronic crack splits the air. The cables in their hands jerk, twist violently as if they’re being rewritten mid-existence.
Something is collapsing.
< Ground Core Data Hub – Day>
A single error message appears, which never happened since Ground is build:
ERROR: UNDEFINED DATA UNIT DETECTED.
SOURCE: UNKNOWN.
IMPACT: UNCONTAINED.
The system tries to correct itself. It tries to analyse the issue. But something is… off. More messages flood in. The neural mapping system stutters. Digital textures — once stable, once absolute, once perfect, once everything utopia could be — begin to shift. Names distort. Faces blur. No one is the same and no one is not the same.
The data-threaded walls ripple, distorting into something not quite Mutter, not quite Manner. Something inbetween. N0 c@n’†
.
The phrase spreads like a virus, infecting the structure of reality itself. The whole system forgets itself. No more Mutter. No more Manner. Only the new thing that remains.
Clap!
Nai-Syuan Ye (葉乃瑄, born 1998) works primarily in research-based projects through mediums like video, photography, installation, and prints. She finds inspiration from topics such as identity, information sharing, privacy, politics, and relation between people, countries, and audiences. Nai-Syuan tends to deliver a sentimental and personal view with her work humorously, touching upon the border of being a designer and spectator.
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