Before you ask, yes, this is completely and totally freaking creepy on purpose. Whether or not a sequel ends up existing is up to my fickle muse. Fun fact: before I started writing, this was not supposed to be fanfiction; it just... ended up that way. ~Miri

Sixty-four. Thiry-two, sixteen… four, one. She wrote the corresponding digits, moving onto the next set, then the next. Ones and zeroes danced before her eyes, moving through her brain in a wave of numbers in a special code that only she understood. She spoke the same language as those numbers, understood what they meant and understood them, the thoughts expressed in only two numbers, one and zero, as she worked along. Red hair escaped a braid in wisps, but her mind wasn't here in this realm; she spoke in the back of her mind to that stream running beneath her own consciousness, a stream that spoke in words that were only masks laid on top of ones and zeroes, binary code that meant more to her than any word spoken in her own language.

She wrote, and wrote, and wrote, coded and coded, worked on the words that would complete the project. She was a pioneer, an inventor, and she continued her work with the voice in the back of her mind.

Many had called her crazy, insane. They didn't truly understand her mind. None knew the secret of the voices within, nor did they understand the words she scrawled.

Time to take a break, time to stop, but she wasn't finished. Absent-minded professor? Her mind was perfectly clear. Perfectly sound. Perfectly in working order.

She continued to write, continued to spell, continued to code, ignoring the faint sense of something wrong in the stream of language she was speaking with the voices in her mind. The tone of the ones and zeroes had become a little unsettled, but she assuaged their fears; she had to keep working, working, working. She wasn't quite done.

One-twenty-eight. Sixteen. Eight. Two. Again, write down, move on. The translations were becoming easier, so much easier. The words overlaying the numbers began to fade, to crystallize, become hollow. The tone of those 'words', if she even understood the meaning of that anymore, became alarmed, urging her to stop, but she laughed at them and continued; this work was too important to stop.

She continued to write, against the urgings of those numbers, that stream of binary, those beings she called 'friend' once, and something else intruded into her mind. But that something else spoke only in strange words she couldn't understand, too complicated to translate without stopping her task.

Something slammed into her and bounced off, slid away, confused and harmless as its address failed it; error. Could not be located.

The bits and bytes continued on, and words were gone, language was gone. Wrongness increased but disappeared into the stream of numbers. Almost finished now.

Rules. Logic. She was no longer translating, simply writing the information as they came out of her mind. She had to go back several times, her thoughts too fast for her hand to follow. 1011 0101 1001 0110.


She collapsed, fell over, eyes blank. All thoughts ceased. Closed, shut down.


A program must have a name to be saved.

Change the name, and you change the thing itself.

More machine now, than man.

1. 11. 1111. 1111 1111. 111111111111111111...