An autodidact: slightly allergic to cats, who puts shallots in everything, with a predisposition toward firms having animal names. While feigning insomnia during his first 48hour film festival, Nicolas learned proper sentence structure. While composing his first soundtrack for a student film, he learned to machinate the oddest of meters. While circumnavigating hostel life throughout the east coast? while barricaded within the Sheraton on 6th? he learned there too. His colleagues muse that he ideates in abstruse riddles—his syntax too obfuscated, his diction too opaque—however, the rigor with which Nicolas learned had quite simply turned his brain to mush: a primordial mush which festers and fosters a sentient virus. As it exits his hands through the terminal at his desk, its tendrils compute and personify the ultimate attack vectors: the exhibits du jour. The exhibits hunger to ensnare users via their sirenous displays and too tempt them to mush.