Ep. 2 - "This Little Blue Box" - [Closed]
May 8, 2015 21:38:09 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 8, 2015 21:38:09 GMT -5
<< Week 2, Day 5 >>
The small shuttle was bathed in a soft glow, emitted from the screens set up in their own little corner — an arrangement that could only be described as ordered chaos, but each had its own purpose, its own use. Most, though, had text and code scrolling through at a pace too quick for the human eye. The codes were at least a month old, something she started to work on after her little chats with Layby and Cleaver when MECH first became a threat. But the way the poor towers sounded like they were being over clocked, their fans whirring just a bit too high, that didn’t start until about a week ago.
The only thing unusual about this scene was the woman curled up in the computer chair, asleep. A mug sat forgotten (one among many) on the edge of the desk, its liquid half empty and as dark as the rest of the room. Stale from a few hours sitting, if the ring was anything to go by.
It was the wrong stuff, the decaf bullshit. But it was too late by the time she’d taken her first few sips… and the caffeine high was gone. She had flopped back into her chair with a swear and a glare into the darkness, unwilling to admit defeat to sanity and reason… her body didn’t agree.
Her dreams were not pleasant. Black, a vacuum, but not the comfortable drift it should have been — it was the kind that sat in the pit of your stomach, made you hyper aware of your own heart beat thundering in your ears, the vertigo of too many hours awake and not enough to eat, all teetering on the thin edge of barely veiled worry. It was a light sleep, full of twitching muscles and blinking lights and weird, annoying, beeping
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
Her body was in motion before her eyes could even finish focusing, reluctant to even open at all. Grunting she rubbed at her face, reached for her glasses, checked the clock. Four hours of sleep. Not terrible… her search was still in progress, nothing of note except a few documents here and there had been pulled to the side…
’Then why the hell did you wake me up?’ She grumbled to herself, blinking until she saw… ah. There it was, a polite little blue window blinking on the lower central screen. ’Message?’ She could feel her eyes narrow, cursor hovering over the little, unassuming thing. ’Nah.’ Paranoid? Maybe. She ran that sucker through every safety she could think of, and then when it all turned up clean, she sat back and glared at that fucking little window because… her contacts rarely ever sent her an email… so who the fucking why for what?.
She ran her tongue over her teeth (they felt disgusting, as did her breath) and shot foreword, pressing a key with a little more force than was necessary, and let the wee little innocent blue message box reveal its contents.
”Alright, what d’you got t’say?”
The small shuttle was bathed in a soft glow, emitted from the screens set up in their own little corner — an arrangement that could only be described as ordered chaos, but each had its own purpose, its own use. Most, though, had text and code scrolling through at a pace too quick for the human eye. The codes were at least a month old, something she started to work on after her little chats with Layby and Cleaver when MECH first became a threat. But the way the poor towers sounded like they were being over clocked, their fans whirring just a bit too high, that didn’t start until about a week ago.
The only thing unusual about this scene was the woman curled up in the computer chair, asleep. A mug sat forgotten (one among many) on the edge of the desk, its liquid half empty and as dark as the rest of the room. Stale from a few hours sitting, if the ring was anything to go by.
It was the wrong stuff, the decaf bullshit. But it was too late by the time she’d taken her first few sips… and the caffeine high was gone. She had flopped back into her chair with a swear and a glare into the darkness, unwilling to admit defeat to sanity and reason… her body didn’t agree.
Her dreams were not pleasant. Black, a vacuum, but not the comfortable drift it should have been — it was the kind that sat in the pit of your stomach, made you hyper aware of your own heart beat thundering in your ears, the vertigo of too many hours awake and not enough to eat, all teetering on the thin edge of barely veiled worry. It was a light sleep, full of twitching muscles and blinking lights and weird, annoying, beeping
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
Her body was in motion before her eyes could even finish focusing, reluctant to even open at all. Grunting she rubbed at her face, reached for her glasses, checked the clock. Four hours of sleep. Not terrible… her search was still in progress, nothing of note except a few documents here and there had been pulled to the side…
’Then why the hell did you wake me up?’ She grumbled to herself, blinking until she saw… ah. There it was, a polite little blue window blinking on the lower central screen. ’Message?’ She could feel her eyes narrow, cursor hovering over the little, unassuming thing. ’Nah.’ Paranoid? Maybe. She ran that sucker through every safety she could think of, and then when it all turned up clean, she sat back and glared at that fucking little window because… her contacts rarely ever sent her an email… so who the fucking why for what?.
She ran her tongue over her teeth (they felt disgusting, as did her breath) and shot foreword, pressing a key with a little more force than was necessary, and let the wee little innocent blue message box reveal its contents.
”Alright, what d’you got t’say?”