Post by Portia Travers on Nov 4, 2010 21:56:04 GMT -5
Portia’s nose scrunched up, mouth twisting into a piggy gape as she tried to hold in another sneeze. Gasping a little at the momentous effort, she pounded the F4 key on her laptop again and groaned as the screen shivered and froze. Ugh, she thought, disgusted, it’s like I have a physical connection to technology: my laptop gets a virus and I get one soon after. God, I hope this isn’t psychosomatic, because if it is, it says nothing good about my mental state. She stretched a little, raising her bony arms over her head and yawning. What time was it? Four flipping thirty in the morning. Another sleepless night, she thought, rubbing at her pinkish nose. The Swiss bank hack had taken a lot out of her machine— if she didn’t know better, Portia would say that her computer had gotten infected on the job. But that would make the virus more like a herpes simplex, the kind of codes that, amusingly, were usually passed around by porn sites. If she could tell anything from her own “mirror” illness, they didn’t have herpes. Just some serious sniffles.
Standing up, Portia started to get herself ready for the day. She had known that this would be another all-nighter at the museum and so had showered thoroughly before returning in the evening. She had also brought a small backpack full of “research” to change into and now swiftly unzipped it, pulling out another set of cheap yet professional-looking clothes. It certainly beat returning to her dingy flat on the outskirts of town, she figured, pulling off yesterday’s pants. No matter how she thought about it, it seemed as if something had managed to hitch a ride inside her hard drive during the hack-in. Something strong, Portia mused, deep brown eyes tensing slightly as she stared blankly at the empty archives hall. Something with the constitution and tenacity to cling onto her computer’s mainframe even as she exploded the connection between her and the Bank’s bank. But why would it do that? Why would it be there—?
Portia froze.
There had been another hacker inside the computer system. Something much subtler, something powerful that had been there for much, much longer. Something… professional.
Portia suddenly had a mental image of a foolish marauder disturbing a dragon in its lair. There was something big going on here, possibly mob stuff, and she had poked— had stolen from and virtually destroyed— its turf. “Fuck!” she shouted, echoes bouncing off of the walls. Spinning around on her heel, she instantly slipped into panic mode. “I’m dead! I’ve messed with the powers that be! I’ve pulled a Faust and now Mephistopheles is come to collect his damned soul— oh fuck!” Something was buried deep inside her computer, possibly letting her new acquaintances trace her back to the museum as she stood there in the cold British Museum archives, pants off and having a mental breakdown. Wouldn’t that just be an excruciatingly embarrassing way to go? Her mental cartoon of the marauder was set aflame as she started beating her forehead against the wall. She had to go and apologize, do something to make herself a helpful associate rather than a potential victim. But who to go to? Who to talk to? Portia started to shiver, nostrils spasming as she tried to choke back another sneeze, not noticing that her computer screen was shaking and spazzing behind her until—
It sneezed.
[AKA: Kaboom!]
Standing up, Portia started to get herself ready for the day. She had known that this would be another all-nighter at the museum and so had showered thoroughly before returning in the evening. She had also brought a small backpack full of “research” to change into and now swiftly unzipped it, pulling out another set of cheap yet professional-looking clothes. It certainly beat returning to her dingy flat on the outskirts of town, she figured, pulling off yesterday’s pants. No matter how she thought about it, it seemed as if something had managed to hitch a ride inside her hard drive during the hack-in. Something strong, Portia mused, deep brown eyes tensing slightly as she stared blankly at the empty archives hall. Something with the constitution and tenacity to cling onto her computer’s mainframe even as she exploded the connection between her and the Bank’s bank. But why would it do that? Why would it be there—?
Portia froze.
There had been another hacker inside the computer system. Something much subtler, something powerful that had been there for much, much longer. Something… professional.
Portia suddenly had a mental image of a foolish marauder disturbing a dragon in its lair. There was something big going on here, possibly mob stuff, and she had poked— had stolen from and virtually destroyed— its turf. “Fuck!” she shouted, echoes bouncing off of the walls. Spinning around on her heel, she instantly slipped into panic mode. “I’m dead! I’ve messed with the powers that be! I’ve pulled a Faust and now Mephistopheles is come to collect his damned soul— oh fuck!” Something was buried deep inside her computer, possibly letting her new acquaintances trace her back to the museum as she stood there in the cold British Museum archives, pants off and having a mental breakdown. Wouldn’t that just be an excruciatingly embarrassing way to go? Her mental cartoon of the marauder was set aflame as she started beating her forehead against the wall. She had to go and apologize, do something to make herself a helpful associate rather than a potential victim. But who to go to? Who to talk to? Portia started to shiver, nostrils spasming as she tried to choke back another sneeze, not noticing that her computer screen was shaking and spazzing behind her until—
It sneezed.
[AKA: Kaboom!]
