The trojan war dragged on, year after year. The CORS of friends and foes alike rested in peaceful javas crypts. But even then, their memory slowly decayed, corrupted. Thunder birds and vultures sent by Zeus roamed over the batttlefield.
Hector tried to negociate a surrender protocol with the greek fleet, but its request received no response. Even with the traditional olive branch, a renewed token of peace.
He thought about JSON, and its golden fleece, who cursed Troy a generation before. His heart bleed, realizing everything was already lost.
It was simply too late. Their sources and food caches were poisoned. In the background, he could feel the weight of head and bodies turning to him, for answers. For courage.
He had NaN to give.