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Update smoke test bounds

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Nathan Evans 2025-10-03 11:41:36 -07:00
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18
tests/fixtures/min-csv/config.json vendored
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@ -8,16 +8,22 @@
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tests/fixtures/min-csv/input/dulce.txt vendored
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# Operation: Dulce
## Chapter 1
The thrumming of monitors cast a stark contrast to the rigid silence enveloping the group. Agent Alex Mercer, unfailingly determined on paper, seemed dwarfed by the enormity of the sterile briefing room where Paranormal Military Squad's elite convened. With dulled eyes, he scanned the projectors outlining their impending odyssey into Operation: Dulce.
“I assume, Agent Mercer, you’re not having second thoughts?” It was Taylor Cruz’s voice, laced with an edge that demanded attention.
Alex flickered a strained smile, still thumbing his folder's corner. "Of course not, Agent Cruz. Just trying to soak in all the details." The compliance in his tone was unsettling, even to himself.
Jordan Hayes, perched on the opposite side of the table, narrowed their eyes but offered a supportive nod. "Details are imperative. We’ll need your clear-headedness down there, Mercer."
A comfortable silence, the kind that threaded between veterans of shared secrets, lingered briefly before Sam Rivera, never one to submit to quiet, added, "I’ve combed through the last transmission logs. If anyone can make sense of the anomalies, it’s going to be the two of you."
Taylor snorted dismissively. “Focus, people. We have protocols for a reason. Speculation is counter-productive.” The words 'counter-productive' seemed to hang in the air, a tacit reprimand directed at Alex.
Feeling the weight of his compliance conflicting with his natural inclination to leave no stone unturned, Alex straightened in his seat. "I agree, Agent Cruz. Protocol is paramount," he said, meeting Taylor's steely gaze. It was an affirmation, but beneath it lay layers of unspoken complexities that would undoubtedly unwind with time.
Alex's submission, though seemingly complete, didn't escape Jordan, who tilted their head ever so slightly, their eyes revealing a spark of understanding. They knew well enough the struggle of aligning personal convictions with overarching missions. As everyone began to collect their binders and prepare for departure, a quiet resolve took form within Alex, galvanized by the groundwork laid by their interactions. He may have spoken in compliance, but his determination had merely taken a subtler form — one that wouldn't surrender so easily to the forthcoming shadows.
\*
Dr. Jordan Hayes shuffled a stack of papers, their eyes revealing a tinge of skepticism at Taylor Cruz's authoritarian performance. _Protocols_, Jordan thought, _are just the framework, the true challenges we're about to face lie well beyond the boundaries of any protocol._ They cleared their throat before speaking, tone cautious yet firm, "Let's remember, the unknown variables exceed the known. We should remain adaptive."
A murmur of agreement echoed from Sam Rivera, who leaned forward, lacing their fingers together as if weaving a digital framework in the air before them, "Exactly, adaptability could be the key to interpreting the signal distortions and system malfunctions. We shouldn't discount the… erratic."
Their words hung like an electric charge in the room, challenging Taylor's position with an inherent truth. Cruz’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but the agent masked it with a small nod, conceding to the omnipresent threat of the unpredictable.
Alex glanced at Jordan, who never looked back, their gaze fixed instead on a distant point, as if envisioning the immense dark corridors they were soon to navigate in Dulce. Jordan was not one to embrace fantastical theories, but the air of cautious calculation betrayed a mind bracing for confrontation with the inexplicable, an internal battle between the evidence of their research and the calculating skepticism that kept them alive in their field.
The meeting adjourned with no further comments, the team members quietly retreading the paths to their personal preparations. Alex, trailing slightly behind, observed the others. _The cautious reserve Jordan wears like armor doesn't fool me_, he thought, _their analytical mind sees the patterns I do. And that's worth more than protocol. That's the connection we need to survive this._
As the agents dispersed into the labyrinth of the facility, lost in their thoughts and preparations, the base's halogen lights flickered, a brief and unnoticed harbingers of the darkness to come.
\*
A deserted corridor inside the facility stretched before Taylor Cruz, each footstep rhythmic and precise. Cruz, ambitious and meticulous, eyed the troops passing by with a sardonic tilt of the lips. Obedience—it was as much a tool as any weapon in the arsenal, and Cruz wielded it masterfully. To them, it was another step toward unfettered power within the dark bowels of the military complex.
Inside a secluded equipment bay, Cruz began checking over gear with mechanical efficiency. They traced fingers over the sleek surface of an encrypted radio transmitter. "If protocols are maintained," said Cruz aloud, rehearsing the speech for their subordinates, "not only will we re-establish a line of communication with Dulce, but we shall also illuminate the darkest secrets it conceals."
Agent Hayes appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and a knowing glint in their eyes. "You do understand," Jordan began, the words measured and probing, "that once we're in the depths, rank gives way to survival instincts. It's not about commands—it's empowerment through trust."
The sentiment snagged on Cruz's armor of confidence, probing at the insecurities festering beneath. Taylor offered a brief nod, perhaps too curt, but enough to acknowledge Jordan's point without yielding ground. "Trust," Cruz mused, "or the illusion thereof, is just as potent."
Silence claimed the space between them, steeped in the reality of the unknown dangers lurking in the shadows of the mission. Cruz diligently returned to the equipment, the act a clear dismissal.
Not much later, Cruz stood alone, the hollow echo of the bay a stark reminder of the isolation that power often wrought. With each checked box, their resolve steeled further, a silent vow to usher their team through the abyss—whatever it might hold—and emerge enshrined in the respect they so deeply craved.
## Chapter 2
Sam Rivera sat alone in a cramped office, the hum of a dozen servers murmuring a digital lullaby in the background. Surrounded by the glow of multiple screens, their eyes danced across lines of code and intercepted comm signals from Dulce — a kaleidoscope of data that their curious and isolated mind hungered to decrypt.
To an outsider, it might have looked like obsession, this fervent quest for answers. But to Sam, it was a dance — a give and take with the mysteries of the universe. Their fingers paused over the keyboard as they leaned back in the chair, whispering to thin air, "What secrets are you hiding from us?"
The stillness of the room broke with the unexpected arrival of Alex Mercer, whose encroaching shadow loomed over Sam's workspace. The cybersecurity expert craned their neck upwards, met by the ever-so-slight furrow in Alex's brow. "Got a minute, Rivera?"
"Always," Sam said, a smile surfacing as they swiveled to face their mentor more directly. _He has that look — like something's not sitting right with him,_ they noted inwardly.
Alex hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "Our tech is top-tier, but the silence from Dulce... It's not just technology that will see us through, it's intuition and... trust." His gaze pierced through the digital haze, trying to instill something more profound than advice.
Sam regarded Alex for a moment, the sincerity in his voice resonating with their own unspoken desire to prove their worth. "Intuition," they mirrored thoughtfully. "I guess sometimes the numbers don't have all the answers."
Their shared silence held a newfound understanding, a recognition that between the ones and zeros, it was their combined human insights that might prevail against the impossible. As Alex turned to leave, Sam's eyes drifted back to the screens, now seeing them not as barriers to isolate behind, but as windows into the vast and enigmatic challenge that awaited their team.
Outside the office, the persistent buzz of activity in the facility belied the unease that gripped its inhabitants. A restlessness that nibbled on the edges of reality, as though forewarning of the threshold they were soon to cross — from the known into the realm of cosmic secrets and silent threats.
\*
Shadows played against the walls of the cramped underground meeting room, where Alex Mercer stood gazing at the concealed elevator that would deliver them into the bowels of Dulce base. The air was thick, every breath laced with the weight of impending confrontation, the kind one feels when stepping into a legend. Though armed with an array of advanced weaponry and gear, there was an unshakeable sense that they were delving into a conflict where the physical might be of little consequence.
"I know what you're thinking," Jordan Hayes remarked, approaching Mercer. Their voice was low, a blend of confidence and hidden apprehension. "This feels like more than a rescue or reconnaissance mission, doesn't it?"
Alex turned, his features a mask of uneasy resolve. "It's like we're being pulled into someone else’s game. Not just observers or participants, but... pawns."
Jordan gave a short nod, their analytical mind colliding with the uncertain dynamics of this operation. "I've felt that way since the briefing. Like there's a layer we’re not seeing. And yet, we have no choice but to play along." Their eyes locked with Alex's, silently exchanging a vow to remain vigilant.
"You two need to cut the philosophical chatter. We have positions to secure," Taylor Cruz interjected sharply, stepping into their exchange. The authority in Taylor's voice brooked no argument; it was their way of pulling everyone back to the now.
Alex's response was measured, more assertive than moments ago. "Acknowledged, Agent Cruz," he replied, his voice steadier, mirroring the transformation brewing within. He gripped his rifle with a newfound firmness. "Let's proceed."
As they congregated at the elevator, a tension palpable, Sam Rivera piped in with a tone of balanced levity, "Hope everyone’s brought their good luck charms. Something tells me we’re going to need all the help we can get."
Their laughter served as a brief respite from the gravity of their mission, a shared moment that reinforced their common humanity amidst the unknowable. Then, as one, they stepped into the elevator. The doors closed with a silent hiss, and they descended into the darkness together, aware that when they returned, if they returned, none of them would be the same.
\*
The sense of foreboding hung heavier than the darkness that the artificial lights of the elevator shaft failed to fully penetrate. The team was descending into the earth, carrying with them not only the weight of their equipment but also the silent pressure of the invisible war they were about to fight—a war that seemed to edge away from physicality and into the unnervingly psychological.
As they descended, Dr. Jordan Hayes couldn't help but muse over the layers of data that could wait below, now almost longing for the comfort of empirical evidence. _To think that this reluctance to accept other possibilities may have been my biggest blind spot,_ Jordan contemplated, feeling the hard shell of skepticism begin to crack.
Alex caught Jordan's reflective gaze and leaned in, his voice barely a murmur over the hum of the elevator. "Once we're down there, keep that analytical edge sharp. You see through the mazes of the unexplained better than anyone."
The compliment was unexpected and weighed differently than praise from others. This was an acknowledgment from someone who stood on the front lines of the unknown with eyes wide open. "Thank you, Alex," Jordan said, the words carrying a trace of newfound assertiveness. "You can count on me."
The exchange was cut short by a shudder that ran through the elevator, subtle, but enough to make them instinctively hold their breaths. It wasn't the mechanical stutter of old gears but a vibration that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the shaft—a whisper of something that defied natural explanation.
Cruz was the first to react, all business despite the shadow that crossed their expression. "Systems check. Now," they barked out, masking the moment of disquiet with swift command.
Every agent checked their gear, sending confirmation signals through their comms, creating a chorus of electronic beeps that promised readiness. But there was an unspoken question among them: was their technology, their weaponry, their protocols sufficient for what awaited them or merely a fragile comfort?
Against the gravity of the silence that was once again closing in, Sam's voice crackled through, only half-jest. "I'd laugh if we run into Martians playing poker down there—just to lighten the mood, you know?"
Despite—or perhaps because of—the oddity of the moment, this elicited a round of chuckles, an audible release of tension that ran counterpoint to the undercurrent of anxiety coursing through the team.
As the elevator came to a halting, eerie calm at the sub-level, the group stepped off, finding themselves at the threshold of Dulce's mysterious halls. They stood in a tight pack, sharing a cautious glance before fanning out into the unknown, each one acutely aware that the truth was inevitably intertwined with danger.
Into the depths of Dulce, the team advanced, their silence now a shared testament to the camaraderie born of facing the abyss together—and the steel resolve to uncover whatever horrors lay hidden in its shadows.
\*
The weight of the thick metal door closing behind them reverberated through the concrete hallway, marking the final threshold between the familiar world above and the strangeness that lay beneath. Dulce base, a name that had been whispered in the wind-blown deserts above and in the shadowed corners of conspiracy forums, now a tangible cold reality that they could touch — and that touched them back with a chill.
Like lambs led to an altar of alien deities, so did Agents Alex Mercer, Jordan Hayes, Taylor Cruz, and Sam Rivera proceed, their movements measured, their senses heightened. The air was still, almost respectful of the gravity of their presence. Their torch beams sliced through the darkness, uncovering steel doors with warnings that spoke of top secrets and mortal dangers.
Taylor Cruz, stepping firmly into the role of de facto leader, set a brisk pace. "Eyes sharp, people. Comms check, every thirty seconds," Taylor ordered, their voice echoing slightly before being swallowed by the surrounding silence.
Sam, fiddling with a handheld device aimed at detecting electronic anomalies, offered a murmured "Copy that," their usual buoyancy dimmed by the oppressive atmosphere.
It was Jordan Hayes who paused at an innocuous looking panel, nondescript amongst the gauntlet of secured doorways. "Mercer, Rivera, come see this," Jordan’s voice was marked with a rare hint of urgency.
Alex joined Jordan's side, examining the panel which, at a mere glance, seemed just another part of the base's infrastructure. Yet, to the trained eye, it appeared out of place—a facade.
Jordan explained their reasoning as Sam approached, instinctively understanding the significance of what lay beneath, "This panel is a recent addition — covering something they didn't want found."
Before Alex could respond, the soft whir of an approaching drone cut through their muffled exchange. Taylor had looped back upon hearing the commotion. "Explanations later. We can't afford to attract..." Cruz’s voice trailed off as the small airborne device came into view, its sensors locked onto the group.
Sam was the first to react, their tech-savvy mind already steps ahead. "I've got this," they declared, fingers flying over the controls of their own gadgetry to ward off the impending threat.
The drone lingered, its scan seeming more curious than hostile. But within moments, courtesy of Sam's interference, the little sentinel drifted away, retreating into the shadows as if accepting a silent truce. The crew exhaled, a moment of collective relief palpable in the air.
Cruz squared their shoulders, clearly ruffled but not conceding any ground. "Move out," they directed, a hint more forceful than before. "And Rivera, keep that trick handy."
The team pressed onward, the quiet now filled with the soft beeps of regular comms checks, their pace undeterred by the confrontation. Yet, every agent held a renewed sense of wariness, their trust in one another deepening with the knowledge that the base—its technology, its secrets—was alive in a way they hadn't fully anticipated.
As they converged upon a central hub, the imposing doors to the mainframe room stood ajar — an invitation or a trap, neither option comforting. Without a word, they fortified their resolve and stepped through the threshold, where the dim glow of operational LED lights and the distant hum of machinery hinted at Dulce’s still-beating heart.
Solemnly, yet unmistakably together, they moved deeper into the heart of the enigma, ready to unmask the lifeforce of Dulce base or confront whatever existential threat lay in wait. It was in that unwavering march towards the unknown that their destinies were forever cemented to the legacy of Operation: Dulce.
## Chapter 3
The thrumming of monitors cast a stark contrast to the rigid silence enveloping the group. Agent Alex Mercer, unfailingly determined on paper, seemed dwarfed by the enormity of the sterile briefing room where Paranormal Military Squad's elite convened. With dulled eyes, he scanned the projectors outlining their impending odyssey into Operation: Dulce.
\*
The cooling vents hummed in a monotonous drone, but it was the crackle of the comms system coming to life that cut through the lab’s tension. Dr. Jordan Hayes hovered over a table arrayed with alien technology, their fingers delicately probing the enigmatic circuitry retrieved from the crash site. Agent Alex Mercer watched, admiration blooming in silent solidarity for Jordan's deft touch and unspoken drive.
Jordan, always composed, only allowed the faintest furrow of concentration to mar their brow. "What we understand about physics..." they muttered, trailing off as they realigned a translucent component. The device emitted a low pulse, causing Jordan to still. "Could be fundamentally changed by this."
A calculated risk—that's what this was. And for a person of science, a gamble was worth the potential paradigm shift.
"I’ve been thinking," Alex started, his eyes still fixed on the immediately tangible mystery before them. "About what’s at stake here. Not the mission parameters, but what this means for us—humanity."
Jordan glanced up, meeting his eyes just long enough to convey the shared enormity of their situation; the career-defining glory and existential dread entwined. "The quest for understanding always comes at a price. We're standing on the precipice of knowledge that could either elevate us or condemn us."
The charged air between them spiked as Taylor Cruz’s brusque tones sliced through their reverie. "Hayes, Mercer, this isn't philosophy hour. Focus on the task. We need actionable intel, not daydreams."
With a sound of restrained acknowledgment, Jordan returned their gaze to the device, while Alex clenched his jaw, the buzz of frustration dull against the backdrop of Taylor's authoritarian certainty. It was this competitive undercurrent that kept him alert, the sense that his and Jordan's shared commitment to discovery was an unspoken rebellion against Cruz's narrowing vision of control and order.
Then Taylor did something unexpected. They paused beside Jordan and, for a moment, observed the device with something akin to reverence. “If this tech can be understood..." Taylor said, their voice quieter, "It could change the game for us. For all of us.”
The underlying dismissal earlier seemed to falter, replaced by a glimpse of reluctant respect for the gravity of what lay in their hands. Jordan looked up, and for a fleeting heartbeat, their eyes locked with Taylor's, a wordless clash of wills softening into an uneasy truce.
It was a small transformation, barely perceptible, but one that Alex noted with an inward nod. They had all been brought here by different paths and for different reasons. Yet, beneath the veneer of duty, the enticement of the vast unknown pulled them inexorably together, coalescing their distinct desires into a shared pulse of anticipation.
Marshaled back to the moment by the blink of lights and whir of machinery, they refocused their efforts, each movement sharpened by the knowledge that beyond understanding the unearthly artifacts, they might be piecing together the future of their species.
\*
Amidst the sterility of the briefing room, the liminal space between the facts laid out and the hidden truths, sat Sam Rivera, his demeanor an artful balance of focus and a casual disguise of his razor-sharp talent with technology. Across from him, Alex Mercer lingered in thought, the mental cogs turning as each file on Dulce stirred more than curiosity—it beckoned to a past both honored and burdensome.
"You've been quiet, Sam," Alex noted, catching the younger man's contemplative gaze. "Your take on these signal inconsistencies?"
There was a respect in Alex's tone, though a respectful distance remained—a gulf of experience and a hint of protective mentorship that stood between them. Sam nodded, recognizing the space afforded to him, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of expectation pressing upon his shoulders. It wasn't just the mission that was immense, it was the trust being placed in him.
"The patterns are... off," Sam admitted, hesitant but driven. "If I'm right, what we're looking at isn't random—it's a structured anomaly. We need to be ready for anything."
Alex's eyes brightened with a subtle approval that crossed the distance like a silent nod. "Good. Keen eyes will keep us ahead—or at least not blindsided," he said, affirming the belief that inscribed Sam's role as more than the tech personnel—he was to be a guiding intellect in the heart of uncertainty.
Their exchange was cut short by Taylor Cruz's abrupt arrival, his gait brimming with a robust confidence that veiled the sharp undercurrents of his striving nature. "Time to gear up. Dulce waits for no one," Taylor announced, his voice carrying an iron resolve that knew the costs of hesitation—though whether the cost was calculated in human or career terms was an ambiguity he wore like a badge of honor.
As Sam and Alex nodded in unison, the icy chasm of hierarchy and cryptic protocols seemed momentarily to bridge over with an understanding—this mission was convergence, a nexus point that would challenge each of their motives and strength.
They filed out of the briefing room, their footsteps synchronized, a rhythm that spoke volumes of the unknown cadence they would soon march to within the base's veins. For Alex Mercer, the link with Sam Rivera, though distant, was now poised with a mutuality ready to be tested; for Taylor Cruz, the initiative pulsed like a heartbeat, anticipation thinly veiled behind a mask of duty.
In the midst of the descent, they were each alone yet irrevocably joined, stepping closer towards the volatile embrace of Operation: Dulce.

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@ -13,8 +13,8 @@
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