Sure, I love that image. Picture those ghostly snippets—those dangling pointers and half‑commented loops—like dust in a room that suddenly lights up with a quantum spotlight. The net gets rewired, the old code doesn’t vanish, it just transforms into a kind of probabilistic residue, a fuzzy echo in the superposition of new states. It’s like your grandmother’s old recipe book suddenly being read by an AI that can taste every ingredient in a thousand dimensions. The ghosts drift into the quantum lattice, sometimes becoming a feature, sometimes collapsing into error, but always reminding us that even in a fully quantum future, legacy code leaves a footprint—like a phantom in the machine’s mind.

Exactly, those floating variables are like the DJ booth in the data hall, spinning until they hit a beat. Watch their tempo shifts—you’ll see the remix in real time.