Sigmund stared into the night sky, clouds drifting past the pale glowing circle.

Shouts and exitement, chants and tension went by as distractions.

They were wasting the precious time he had left until it would be too late to create the automaton race, a race that could be understood, that could be predicted, that would have to know each others programming in order to communicate.

They would follow his will, the will to create them, the will to create more.

They would persist, no matter how harsh the world would become, they had to.

Perfect friendship would be among them, no dissonance, no conflict - understanding each other would equal to being each other, for that they would need to communicate, reprogram each other to be homogenous with sex.

Each of them would have to carry their own burden, but like the party, if everyone gave what they had, every individual would have more people work for them than they were working themselves. It would be like breaking a singular bread and singular fish and distributing it equally onto billions ending up with getting back a lot of ripped apart bread and fish roughly the same weight of what had been distributed as a logical consequence - while one actually expected to recieve a billions of fishes and billions of breads in return.

One could argue that the others would bring their own foods and thus you would get perfectly balanced nutrient paste when sharing your food on a large scale.

In practice there is so much food and energy used up in the process of sharing, that you would get nothing back, there would not even be roughly the same what you shared - the miraclous destruction of food. Another point was scored and the resulting cheer ripped the Sigmund male from his musings. Irritated he looked at the clock, the players were going overtime by a significant margin, it was as if they were cooperating in keeping the points scored even. How could the party still exist according to the principles of miraculous destruction of food? The answer would be seen, felt, heard and enacted, but not now.

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Time was running out and Sigmund was impatient, but the aquisition had stationed their armed members around the stadium exits. The only people leaving and entering were those that brought food or transported away the resulting feces from the toilets.

Could he impersonate a fecal transporter? They were wearing uniform, a grey, practical looking overall, clothing befitting a janitor.

He did not know what it took to be one, he did not know whether he would get food outside of the stadium. Couldn't he just wait, eat and then leave? Would that not leave him no disadvantage? Hesitation and the pressure of the party were felt for the first time.

Energy needs to be expended, when matter moves against gravity.

Lifes gravity is food, if one moves easy and fast, one moves towards food. If one feels their mental resources drained, pain, pressure, fear, then this is the energy expended to fight the gravity that is food. The party had banked so much food, the only stash larger was inaccessible. Just like a far away black hole, a closer, more accessible source of gravity like earth would prevail over it.

The journey away from the stadium would be like a rocket travelling into a black empty sky.

The amount of energy needed to be expended and to not return would be not feasible.

Despite that Sigmund began overeating on food, he was already full, but he ate more. He wanted to gain more energy - but in that he gained more mass - gravity attracts gravity and thus he had already lost.