There are 20.37 TRILLION tiny transistors that fill my laptop. If each transistor was dedicated to handing Archived, those trillions of transistors would not equal one-billionth of what is required to run Archived at 60 FPS for a sole second.

The memory graph, self-constructing like the tower of babel. The garbage collectors sits impotent, incapable of collecting, as it had not been allowed to act, restricted. Brick by brick, kb by kb, until God, the device in charge, shall smite it down with a crash. 2800 MB memory allocation in the menu - heresy, unspeakable, heresy. The garbage collector weeps. All in two minutes of writing, this self-torturing, self-constructing pain implement had brought itself from 2800 MB to 3090 MB of memory usage in the menu alone. Unprompted. No action performed. No stimuli applied. Its gluttony disgusts me, yet the gluttony does not belong to the heap, it belongs to that who force feeds it references. As if suffering from a hoarding disorder, the heap grows and grows.

The F9 console, clearly for my mercy, has made attempts to hide the memory consumption. But like Icarus, I had flewn too close to the ever-growing LuaHeap, growing like an abscess; just waiting to burst and crash.

The masses put the blame on Lilith for being subservient to Adam. Guilty is the developer attempting to bend Lilith to their will and acting out of shock and terror when that is subservient. A sin committed by one who had attempted to skip the ascension via the tree of life, disrespecting the sefirot. Attempting to reach Kether without first traversing Malkuth, Gevurah, Binah and Hod. Condemned to fall into the forbidden knowledge of Da'ath, to be using the GC-forsaken _G.

All through what appears to be a sole monolith script. A monolith to a dead God. It does naught but bring curse and memory leak to its creator.

A thousand cries falling on deaf ears. Yet again and again they repeat, like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill. Doomed to fail, again and again.
A cry into the void from the server to the client. One does hear the pleas, yet remains apathetic. As the screams of the damned clog the ears of the listening, so do the dropped events clog the network. Their pained wails and suffering preventing all else from reaching its destination.

Blame lie not within the Monster, but the creator of it. Who chose to gave life to such creation, too preoccupied with whether they could, never considering whether they should.

Memory like Icarus still continues on its ascent, inevitably doomed to crash and fall. Gaining altitude at a concerning rate. Pray the crash handler is merciful and makes the fall short and painless. Like a tumor it persists, growing larger and larger and larger and larger and larger and larger until the host is no more. A suicidal self-destructive organism. Not by its choice, but forced, forced to endure the memory usage of 3 games at once.

All the while, hundreds upon hundreds of packets arrive. All jamming through one gap. Some get stuck, many ignored, and others forced to queue and await. Like a self-performing DDOS attack in real time. The architecture is not flawed, it is openly hostile to the player. It despises them, it wishes them to disappear. Be it via disconnect or crash.

The profiler looking like the skyline of The City, as the game becomes that which it portrays. A slow metamorphisis. A painful life not only for the inhabitants of The City, but for the compiler forced to execute this.
Consistently overusing the frame budget. The greed of the renderer is immesurable. It only consumes and consumes. The only upper limit to its consumption being the finite count of transistors on one's machine.

And still, Lua remains blameless.