? @the-webclaimsthem - Tumblr Blog

Connecting to WEB now. Prepare for data transfer.

-- Sure, I'll be your marionette

Here, tug on my thread--

— 🎶If you’re going to control me, at least make it interesting theatrically 🎵—

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

Ivy pressed her lips together, retyping and rephrasing the question. What is the purpose of this program?

"Error, improper syntax. Please retry using Boolean operators."

The computer voice paused, and then added. "For additional commands, type 'Help Menu'".

Ivy paused for a moment again, before typing in another search.

Computer program AND The Web AND purpose OR The Fears OR Annabelle Cane

There was a pause in the ever-increasing pile of articles and videos the program was sifting through.

"The program's design parameters allow for sifting through incredible amounts of data, flagging incidents and activity throughout the data set," it said, as though it were quoting something. "Originally shaped for and designed with other Fears in mind, but-- but-- but--"

It paused again, articles flashing by once more.

"Annabelle Cane," it said, "may never have even seen a beach."

Ivy frowned, jotting down a few notes before pulling up the search engine again.

Annabelle Cane AND Beach

A recording clicks on. The articles and videos flashing by continue as it plays, but--

"Statement of Annabelle Cane," a different voice says with a sigh. "Regarding her history and her observations of the Magnus Institute, London. Original statement written 20th July, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins. . ."

It goes on, a musing on the idea of fate and free will, a possible story involving the young Annabelle Cane. And it ends with the words, "Don't go to Hill Top Road again. Statement ends."

The recording clicks off, and a purple cursor blinks on the screen, waiting for the next inquiry.

Well. That was- interesting. She’d made sure to transcribe the events of the statement, at least, for future reference.

She took a step back briefly, laying down bullet points of the statement, future things to look into, and other notes. This program was going to prove very, very useful.

She turned back to the computer, typing in yet another inquiry. Interdimensional travel OR stabilization AND bifrost AND portals.

The computer paused, beeping oddly. Then, in a slightly different voice, like it was reading, it began to speak.

“The walls between realities have been getting thin. And so, I contacted your. . . patron. The web takes a great deal of interest in the concept of other realities, after all. Depending on how things go in this one, it might be the only way for things to progress, and. . .”

“And you contacted the Crawling Chaos expecting a straight answer? That doesn’t seem very smart of you.”

“No, the Crawling Chaos doesn’t deal with straight information, not unless it’s a deal and exchange,” Annabelle said, giving an almost smile. “For a being of chaos, it’s very attached to its rules. We had a brief correspondence. And the crux of the matter is, the walls of this reality are wearing away because you are destabilizing them. And here’s where we come to your choice.”

It paused again. Leaving out something, it seemed, because when the computer began to talk again, it didn't make sense with the last sentence.

"But from the deal the Crawling Chaos described, there are two choices, and you have refused one of them.”

“Oh?”

“Becoming a god and leaving your mortality and ties to reality entirely behind, or going through this portal for a time and finding your own way back, if you’re able to.”

That-

The crew had made lots of jokes about Lyf being considered an eldritch god, at points. Nobody on the crew really though of them as one, though. “God” was a term with no definition, really. Lyf was immortal, yes, but so was everyone else on the crew, and none of them were gods. They had more power over reality, but they were just Lyf.

She filed away the idea of them being a god for later. Lyf had enough on their hands, right now, and Ivy had other goals to focus on.

She went back to the search bar. Stell needed to find a way back, and Lyf could help them with that. Ivy’s goal right now was to make sure it was safe. She typed in her next search:

Stabilization AND machine AND bifrost OR powers OR safety

The machine paused, and then let out an error code. Numbers and letters flashed by on the screen too fast to scan.

Finally, the machine settled on one final answer. "More data required," it said. "Allow further time for scan. Any additional inquiries while backup scan begins?"

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

Ivy pressed her lips together, retyping and rephrasing the question. What is the purpose of this program?

"Error, improper syntax. Please retry using Boolean operators."

The computer voice paused, and then added. "For additional commands, type 'Help Menu'".

Ivy paused for a moment again, before typing in another search.

Computer program AND The Web AND purpose OR The Fears OR Annabelle Cane

There was a pause in the ever-increasing pile of articles and videos the program was sifting through.

"The program's design parameters allow for sifting through incredible amounts of data, flagging incidents and activity throughout the data set," it said, as though it were quoting something. "Originally shaped for and designed with other Fears in mind, but-- but-- but--"

It paused again, articles flashing by once more.

"Annabelle Cane," it said, "may never have even seen a beach."

Ivy frowned, jotting down a few notes before pulling up the search engine again.

Annabelle Cane AND Beach

A recording clicks on. The articles and videos flashing by continue as it plays, but--

"Statement of Annabelle Cane," a different voice says with a sigh. "Regarding her history and her observations of the Magnus Institute, London. Original statement written 20th July, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins. . ."

It goes on, a musing on the idea of fate and free will, a possible story involving the young Annabelle Cane. And it ends with the words, "Don't go to Hill Top Road again. Statement ends."

The recording clicks off, and a purple cursor blinks on the screen, waiting for the next inquiry.

Well. That was- interesting. She’d made sure to transcribe the events of the statement, at least, for future reference.

She took a step back briefly, laying down bullet points of the statement, future things to look into, and other notes. This program was going to prove very, very useful.

She turned back to the computer, typing in yet another inquiry. Interdimensional travel OR stabilization AND bifrost AND portals.

The computer paused, beeping oddly. Then, in a slightly different voice, like it was reading, it began to speak.

“The walls between realities have been getting thin. And so, I contacted your. . . patron. The web takes a great deal of interest in the concept of other realities, after all. Depending on how things go in this one, it might be the only way for things to progress, and. . .”

“And you contacted the Crawling Chaos expecting a straight answer? That doesn’t seem very smart of you.”

“No, the Crawling Chaos doesn’t deal with straight information, not unless it’s a deal and exchange,” Annabelle said, giving an almost smile. “For a being of chaos, it’s very attached to its rules. We had a brief correspondence. And the crux of the matter is, the walls of this reality are wearing away because you are destabilizing them. And here’s where we come to your choice.”

It paused again. Leaving out something, it seemed, because when the computer began to talk again, it didn't make sense with the last sentence.

"But from the deal the Crawling Chaos described, there are two choices, and you have refused one of them.”

“Oh?”

“Becoming a god and leaving your mortality and ties to reality entirely behind, or going through this portal for a time and finding your own way back, if you’re able to.”

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

Ivy pressed her lips together, retyping and rephrasing the question. What is the purpose of this program?

"Error, improper syntax. Please retry using Boolean operators."

The computer voice paused, and then added. "For additional commands, type 'Help Menu'".

Ivy paused for a moment again, before typing in another search.

Computer program AND The Web AND purpose OR The Fears OR Annabelle Cane

There was a pause in the ever-increasing pile of articles and videos the program was sifting through.

"The program's design parameters allow for sifting through incredible amounts of data, flagging incidents and activity throughout the data set," it said, as though it were quoting something. "Originally shaped for and designed with other Fears in mind, but-- but-- but--"

It paused again, articles flashing by once more.

"Annabelle Cane," it said, "may never have even seen a beach."

Ivy frowned, jotting down a few notes before pulling up the search engine again.

Annabelle Cane AND Beach

#ivy archives #the web claims them #hello there mag 147

A recording clicks on. The articles and videos flashing by continue as it plays, but--

"Statement of Annabelle Cane," a different voice says with a sigh. "Regarding her history and her observations of the Magnus Institute, London. Original statement written 20th July, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins. . ."

It goes on, a musing on the idea of fate and free will, a possible story involving the young Annabelle Cane. And it ends with the words, "Don't go to Hill Top Road again. Statement ends."

The recording clicks off, and a purple cursor blinks on the screen, waiting for the next inquiry.

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

Ivy pressed her lips together, retyping and rephrasing the question. What is the purpose of this program?

"Error, improper syntax. Please retry using Boolean operators."

The computer voice paused, and then added. "For additional commands, type 'Help Menu'".

Ivy paused for a moment again, before typing in another search.

Computer program AND The Web AND purpose OR The Fears OR Annabelle Cane

There was a pause in the ever-increasing pile of articles and videos the program was sifting through.

"The program's design parameters allow for sifting through incredible amounts of data, flagging incidents and activity throughout the data set," it said, as though it were quoting something. "Originally shaped for and designed with other Fears in mind, but-- but-- but--"

It paused again, articles flashing by once more.

"Annabelle Cane," it said, "may never have even seen a beach."

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

Ivy pressed her lips together, retyping and rephrasing the question. What is the purpose of this program?

"Error, improper syntax. Please retry using Boolean operators."

The computer voice paused, and then added. "For additional commands, type 'Help Menu'".

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

Ivy inhaled. Right. 43.21% chance that this was a program created by an alternate Annabelle Cane, and that she’d used her voice for it. 23.45% chance that Annabelle had lied and she had created this program in the first place. 16.812% chance the Web had created this program, and just decided to use Annabelle’s voice, and 16.528% chance of other factors.

She typed her first inquiry. What is this program meant for?

There was an oddly smug tone to the program as it said, "Error, improper syntax."

The flash of articles paused for just long enough for the earlier smiley face to be visible.

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

Ivy flexed her fingers, staring at the computer screen. She had her notebook and pen out on the desk, taking notes on everything that was happening.

A part of her wanted to find someone else on the crew, to have backup on this. Her thoughts seemed to cut off as soon as she thought about it, though.

Maybe that was something she should worry about.

It was fine. She knew what she was doing.

Images, articles, all sorts of data began to flash through the program. Processing and cataloguing faster than most mortals could comprehend.

Most mortals were not Ivy Alexandria.

But still, she'd get only glimpses, as the program sank into the web. Created its own web, if need be.

"Please enter inquiry," the computer said, once again out loud. The voice may have been familiar, if "Morgan" paid attention. Who knew?

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”

Ivy stared at the computer for a long moment.

Would lying be better, in this scenario? The Web didn’t rely on Knowing the way the Eye did, so it would most likely have no way of knowing if the name she chose was fake. She very much didn’t enjoy the concept of this drive knowing anything about her, especially if it already knew of her alternate self. If it did know who she was already though, lying could have consequences.

Slowly, Ivy’s hands moved to the keyboard as she typed in her alias. Morgan. A randomly chosen name, and she doubted whatever was asking would believe her, but… it would work, for now.

The computer displayed a smiley emoticon. It winked at Ivy.

;)

“Welcome, Morgan,” the computer said out loud. “Shall we begin?”

And with that, a program began to load.

The Archives were quiet. Maybe, Ivy should’ve asked for help researching this drive, but…

There was something tugging, there. Something that made her keep quiet.

So Ivy was alone in the archives when she plugged the drive into the computer she’d dug out of the storage bay. Separate from Aurora’s systems, of course, Nastya would kill her if she somehow got a virus in her. She’d even dragged a second computer- an older thing, in case the higher tech didn’t work.

She let out a breath, and turned the computer on.

@the-webclaimsthem

The computer lit up, a program already booting. It was an odd shade of color, lights blinking against the top of the screen.

“Welcome”, it said, after a moment. “Please enter your name.”