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#askcomputerler
((NOT A VIRUS BLOG!! Computer is still an rp blog, don't be afraid! This is all a part of his story! All number posts are translatable!))
It’s been a while. You’ve tried calling him, sending him letters, emails, everything. He’s never replied. Without any choice, you decide it’s time to make a house visit. Maybe something’s wrong. The thought urged you forward.
The forest around his old house was overgrown, tangled, and although you knew he couldn’t move well, you knew he put his everything into the forest. It was difficult to maneuver through the tall grass. You made sure to trample a path to the front door.
Two knocks.
You call inside.
“Hello? Compy? Computer, are you home?”
No reply. You knock again, aware of how dark the house was, how it was so quiet.
“Computer please, why won’t you answer me?”
A loud buzz shook the house, and you could hear music. He was home, and relieved you tried to knock once more, only to have the door open slightly. You poked your head inside. It was dark, and the scent of something rotten made you gag. This wan’t good. Classical, distorted music filled the house now, and you desperately wanted to leave, to run back and forget everything about Computer-ler.
And some of you did, but others stepped into the house.
You noted that the electricity was off as you tried to turn on the lights. The smell must be from the food in the fridge that hasn’t been cold in who knows how long. But there was a light upstairs, and the eerie music was still playing. Something drove you forward. You don’t know if it was the idea of finding Computer alive, or not.
The stairs creaked under your weight, and even you had to bend down to fit under the archway at the top. No wonder Compy always had an arched back.
The light was coming from the first room, and taking a deep, shaky breath, you peered in. You noticed someone laying on top of the bed, sideways and almost slipping off. The light came from that directed, and the music from a little radio on the nightstand. It was slowly becoming more static than music.
You took a few steps toward the bed. It was Computer-ler. You wanted to cry, you wanted to call out, but you didn’t know how. Instead, you tried to take in what you saw.
His too long legs bending uncomfortably to the side. Shirtless, you could see just how skinny he was, with ribs protruding out and stomach caved in considerably. He looked dead, but his eyes were wide open, and glowing. They were almost little screens, and you could see numbers racing across them. You saw those numbers everywhere. They were written on every surface in the room.