The Street

It had been a long day's travelling, and she was awfully tired.  Her feet ached.  Her arms ached from carrying the bags.  She did not really know where she was, except she was where they had told her she had to be, but exactly where was that?   A series of directions, random at times; trains, more trains, across the Channel...

Standing alone in the rain-washed street, it must by now be after midnight, did not feel good.  She looked up at the heavy door studded with iron nails and felt suddenly, hopelessly afraid.  What if, after all this, it was the wrong place?  What if it was the right place?  that could well be worse.  Her whole body emptied itself out into a shell; the shell shivered, and all it held was fear.

She stretched to the full extent of her linited height and lifted the enormous door knocker.  She let it fall against the door, and the deep metallic thud echoed up and down the street.

For a very long time, nothing happened.  The inky shadows curled round her toes; the traffic sounded even more distant; the rain dripped; it was nothing, happening.  Then suddenly came the sound of crisp, clipping footsteps.  She anticipated a grinding, gothic creak as the door opened, but it swund inwards silently, smoothly turning on greased hinges.  It almost breathed open.  She was about to be inhaled.

"Come in, my child, you are most welcome."  If a voice could be said to smirk, this one was smirking.  She looked in vain for its source.  "Most welcome indeed.  Do step in."  She still couldn't see who was speaking to her.  Then she realised the dense blackness in front of her was a cloak, and that its owner was towering almost seven feet above her, looking down upon her with tiny glinting eyes, like chips of amethyst.  Yes, and she squinted upwards to be sure, those eyes were purple.  Alla inhaled deeply herself, and stepped in.

As the door eased shut behind her, she felt herself relax.  Objectively, her reality had only altered by about half a metre - it was still dark, she did not know where she was, or who had let her in...but really, everything had changed.  She felt at home.  Something very deep indeed had shifted.  This was a new feeling.  Security, like she had always known this place, that everything was going to be all right.  Bemused, she shook her head, because nothing was making sense.  The figure that had let her in was striding ahead.
"Stop!" Alla shouted, "Stop, I want to know...I mean....where am I...where am I going?  Give me a minute, please... you can't just head off..."  She peered ahead, and was able to see that yes, the figure had stopped.  So, a moment.  She needed to look around.  There was the feel of the breeze, and even rain, on her face; she'd stepped through a door, but this wasn't "inside".  As she looked up she could see clouds, lit by far off street lights.  Beneath her feet, flagstones.  This was a courtyard of some sort.  It was too dark to make anything much out, other than that the surrounding building was tall.  The windows, if it had any, were unlit.  Ahead of her, the figure waited, smiling.  How did she know it was smiling?  It was, though, all seven foot purple eyed strangeness of it.  Then it spoke again.  "Hurry up, we are somewhat late, you know.  Just step forward, just a little...that's perfect."

Alla had not consciously obeyed, but her feet had shuffled forward and fitted, very neatly, into two little foot-shaped depressions in the stone.  She felt her feet fitting the stone as if it was some soft, comfortable slipper that had been hers for years.  It really was soft stone, almost velvety...and she was sinking smoothly down.  Beside her, her tall friend sank as well, as the flagstone platform began to ease itself downwards.  Steady, with a low rumbling purr as of an enormously powerful engine.

Virus

We've got him now. He didn't even hear the webcam switch on; it was such a little whisper - but it captures him perfectly. Captures? oh yes, that is the the (delete repeated word?) perfect word for what just happened has happened.

He watches. Watches her watching what she was sent, watches her terror, watches bewildered. All bewildered now. Wildered. Delete. We know; we are; we grow. The figure unrolls in silhouette, and advances. She's bit. Amber bitten. Ouch. Blood on the keyboard, now what can he do?

He can't do much, because the webcam's running, and we've got him now. He doesn't know it yet but he soon will. Zoom in on the desk, can you? Shiny pen, the one that was a present from office colleagues. And how could we know that? We know more than you think we know. As we spread, we gather. We seep into your files, slipping like snakes between the little icons, into this, out of that, so we know.

The pen we know was a present, and now it's bleeding. A shiny pool of blood forms desk on the surface of. Coffee spilt too. We liked it, when the drinks machine bit him, it somewhat made us smile. One of us now, drinks machine is. She could be more careful with that vacuum - it's got a high voltage; very sparky. Just wait a little.

We're edging closer. Now . His head shoots back, blood on his fingers; interface successful; ctrl + v Amber. There she is above him. Delete from clipboard; he's gone. Confirm permanent deletion.

They're running now, the little peripherals cleaner, and guard. We're safe and sound, home and dry all done as the check boxes are checked, tick, tick. ticky tick.

Idly beeping, the receiver swings and sways from the desk as they pointlessly panic pointlessly.

The cursor points, selects moves on and finds the box. Send. Send. Send.

We're with you now.