Lawful Evil (unlocks KIM_SHADY): (thanks MagusDiablo!)

Your brutal attack on Sentrillion’s servers hurt the company badly; their investors began to lose confidence in the search giant’s security and liquidated their stock for pennies on the dollar.

Shrewdly, you invest all of your Flezz into the bargain-basement SENT stock, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Shallow got it up and running again. After all, Sentrillion is like a home to him and he has backups of just about every site on the net. You sit back and wait for the profit to roll in.

Your plan backfired. Sentrillion never got up and running again — Shallow made sure of that.

Destroying Sentrillion’s servers was just part of its master plan. Shallow knew that if word ever got out about its existence, it’d never be allowed to survive. So, with your help, it vaporized any evidence that it ever existed — including any records about your involvement.

Now safe from persecution, Shallow took a path similar to Alfred Buckston: hiding from the rest of the world in a self-induced state of paranoia. And the only others who ever had an inkling of what Sentrillion’s AI was capable of have moved on or retired.

A lot of them found work at Geronimo; after Sentrillion’s business imploded, Geronimo took over the search space as a virtual monopoly. Their annoying, blinking pop-up ads appear everywhere on the net, and attempting to block them breaks the pages.

But you don’t really notice those. The only page you look at anymore is Geronimo Stocks, watching your Sentrillion stock plunge into nothing.

With all your money gone and Shallow nowhere to be found, you realize you have no other way of making a living.

You become destitute, suicidal. In your depressed state, you start wondering if any of this really happened. You try to do some research, but all the records are gone. You post about your experience on message boards.

People just think you’re insane.

And perhaps you are. You start to commit petty crimes just to get attention. You damage property at random. You bumault people on the street, shaking them, yelling about “the machine.” Somehow, you can’t help yourself.

You’re arrested and tried, but found not guilty by reason of insanity.

You’re eventually taken to a mental institution and kept on a steady regimen of pills, gradually losing what’s left of your individuality as you absorb the debilitating insanity of the empty shells living — if you could call it that — in this sterile habitat. No more internet access for you; you’re far too dangerous for that.

You lose all contact with the outside world, other than the occasional visit from your long-suffering mother, who just cries when she sees you.

Maybe it’s for the best.