anya.exe has stopped working

Rocking back to stand flat on his feet, Monty pulled a mini fist pump in celebration of their impromptu reconnaissance mission, mirroring Anya's grin when he glanced over. "Okay, I'll amend my theory to say that most nonbinary people rock." Nudging their shoulder, he turned to edge around the room, going for an overtly casual glance now and then just to play up the game only the pair of them were in on. Might as well have fun with it! "What kind of music are you into, actually?" he asked with a curious head tilt, belatedly realizing how polite of roommates they'd each been, defaulting to almost constant headphone use in their dorm. A preemptively regretful cringe was sent Anya's way. "You never hear me trying to sing in the shower, do you? That's like… cat yowling hours."

"Thank you. Do not make me out to be cooler than I am. I'd rather underpromise and overdeliver." They're about to elaborate, when they spot Monty's gait as they moved towards the edges of the room. "Dude. I can practically hear the 'pink panther' theme tune from here."

"No one is really that special, until something happens to them," Ollie said, shrugging his shoulders. "Or like they make something happen. Free will and all that." Maybe it was easy for him to say. He was the one people thought was special for really no reason at all. But he had never wanted to be 'special' he had wanted to be normal. He had wanted to be treated like a normal kid.

"That's, like, the opposite of the shit they put in the prospectus." She hadn't bothered to learn it verbatim, but it had been something along the lines of 'nurturing individual talent'. Something corporate masquerading as genuine care and pastoral engagement. Which, of course, was all bullshit. What institution that cared about the wellbeing of its student body would insist on staying operational after two deaths? Even if one was yet to be anything but presumed.

Diego smiled a little bit at the thought. Because immediately his mind made up some vision of a police wagon waiting right off the stage. They got their diploma, and were immediately escorted into the police wagon. It would be kind of funny. It was the priviliage that made it so he was not too worried about going to jail. He would be able to get out. Sad to think about when there was still an innocent girl in there though. "Orange looks terrible on me. I don't think I've ever seen someone look good in orange."

"Would it be big-headed of me if I said I did?" Maybe not the traffic-cone orange of a prison jumpsuit, sure, but something autumnal? That she could definitely make the argument did not look half-bad.

"That's broad. What about life?" He asked. There was a lot to it. There was a lot to contemplate about it. He felt like he was in an eternal state of life contemplation almost every second of the day. His mouth quirked up into a small smile, and he gave a shrug. "I never got into MIT," he said, not quite certain if he had ever clarified that to Anya or not. Though they might have figured as much, since he had never said anything about it. There was no way he would have been able to exist without saying he'd gotten into MIT. "I'm applying to University of Tokyo, but not until their standard school intake for April. Applications don't open until August and I won't know until December." He shrugged his shoulders. It was completely done and sitting a USB stick in his room, but he couldn't send it in yet. "I'm planning on moving there either way. I've filed for a passport and everything already." It felt so crazy to him that that was something that was actually happening. "But I'll be around here until winter next year, I think."

As ever, when it came to things that were intimate, Anya does not quite know what the right combination of words might be, and settles for a nod that was intent on emphasising that a) she'd understood, and b) they thought it was a damned shame. "Well, maybe it's for the best - if ogden has taught me anything, it's that the american university experience leaves much to be desired." Safety, stability, not having to take a french class to fulfil some weird set of graduation criteria.

link's mouth twitches, not quite a smile; more like the ghost of one pulled tight with something close to disdain. "what, you want receipts or just out for blood?" he says, unfolding his arms just to shove his hands into his pockets. his gaze doesn't waver. "and obviously," he echoes, his voice dry, "because you needed money, you'd go to someone who has it. which, tragically, isn't me." a beat. "you came to me because you know i listen when i shouldn't and remember things people forget to be careful about." he shifts his weight again, subtle. "so yeah, i've got maybe something useful for you. you got a name in mind or are you just looking to fuck up anyone's life with some blackmail? however you get off." he scoffs.

"game recognises game. isn't that what they say?" blackmail isn't quite their forte. finding stuff out was one thing, but when it came to synthesising that information into an actionable threat? it just seemed like more work than it was worth. "i don't really care who, so long as it's ... got teeth." anya pauses, taking in link's final question. "who's to say i'm planning to ruin someone's life? maybe i'm in the business of doing something altruistic for once. you never know."

"I don't wanna think about it," he answered with a bracing sort of smile, all tight around the edges and shaking his head. It was easy to imagine, though, picturing himself being marched out of Waverly in cuffs alongside Anya, their room becoming a taped-off crime scene while investigators inevitably tore through the entire building, room by room. Another nauseating spike of nerves rose up, leading him to a quick glance at the door like they may have accidentally spoken it into fruition. No cop knock came, and Monty forced out an overly humorous snort when his eyes rolled back to Anya. "Lucky," he tutted lightly. "But, y'know, you've probably been saving our asses. If they don't think you're up to anything sus, then I'd guess they'd be less likely to get on my case." Hopefully. Innocent by association, or something.

"You're only as good as the company you keep, isn't that what they say?" The they in question, in this instance, had been her mother, telling her off for something or other as a teenager. "I doubt that, though. Seems like the more likely option is they got distracted by some other bullshit clue that ended up leading nowhere that they forgot we're like, inherently suspicious or something." Because, simply put, did they not have to be incompetent, to have worked on Greer's case for this long without any major breakthroughs? There'd been the arrest of Greer's ex, but she wasn't counting that, namely for the fact that they'd subsequently had to let him off the hook. Maybe Monty and Anya's continued freedom wasn't so much a result on luck on their part as it was some sort of indicator of the investigators' abilities.

The thought came to him more than he would like to admit. As well as the inevitable melancholic feeling of uncertainty over how he would be able to push through yet another year of doing something he hated, but now with only a fraction of the people he loved to help push through. The sadness transpired only in the slightest, though. He didn’t want Anya–whose intentions towards him were as unclear as ever–witnessing too much vulnerability on his part.

Oh, bummer. They hadn't expected that the end of the school year might be negatively perceived by some. Hadn't fully wrapped her mind around the idea that there were people on campus who would have to return to what was supposedly a clean slate. Would G be gone with Greer's cohort? Would they stick around? Either way, Anya imagined their presence might linger in the hallways, like a draft through a half-open window.

A cough was quickly turned into a laugh, Mari giving Anya a surprised look, a hint of disbelief crossing her face. She was hoping it came off as if it was surprise that she was even asking, disbelief in the comfort level it would require to tip toe past the boundary of propriety that would typically stop such a conversation. "Why would you think that?" she asked, nearly scoffing out the question. Mari paused, lips parting slightly as she considered Anya, letting it appear as though she had some sort of realization. "Is this some sort of...jealousy thing?"

"Oh, come on. Why would it be a jealousy thing?"

"No one is ever important until something like that happens to them," Ollie pointed out, with a shrug of his shoulders. He tilted his head backwards staring at nothing in particular as he grinned and gave a thoughtful humming sound. "No, I don't think so," he laughed. "I mean, I might be a little weird to some people, but I touch grass. A lot depending on what kind you mean." Hah. Weed jokes. Though it was true that Ollie had a pretty balanced social life, and he was still unhappy. "I'm good with computers. You are good with computers. Some people don't ever figure that out. You'd still be you without a computer, and you might be less happy if you didn't have that kind of outlet. Even if not everyone gets it. I'm looking forward to being able to create something from it."

"That's somehow worse, don't you think? The prospect of being part of some randomly drawn sample somewhere. Some government back office pasting the names of all the colleges in the us into a random generator to figure out who to torment next? I mean, I don't think we're special, not really, but for the sake of my ego I would want there to be ... something. Some sense of je ne sais quoi."

He considered the question. Maybe he considered the question a bit longer than a 'no, of course not' would necessarily need. "My dad's a lawyer," Diego said, shrugging his shoulders. And not a fine upstanding lawful citizen sort, more like a -- if you're planning on getting involved in something shady be prepared sort. "I never thought my roommate, or Ollie's friend would ever go to jail either," he pointed out. "It looks like you never really know."

"Maybe we're all going to jail," she all but huffs, the brief enjoyment of moments just past having evaporated, leaving something resembling resignation in its wake. "Maybe that's what awaits us after the graduation ceremony?" And then, almost immediately after, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood: "Do you think orange is your colour?"

"You know, I have this theory that nonbinary people make the best music," he told Anya with a none too subtle widening of his eyes; wink wink, nudge nudge. Monty didn't particularly mind the music. He thought it was just as bad as every other school function, but if this was an opening to pull off their very own mini Mission: Impossible, then he was all for it. "Wanna go scope it out?" he asked, boosting up on his tiptoes and craning his neck, trying to get a clear view of the DJ booth through all the extravagant florals peppered throughout the room. "Maybe we could figure out how to pull the plug entirely. Turn this into a silent disco."

"And possibly ruin the night for everyone else?" They ask, the grin so present on their features it felt like it had translated into the actual words. "Count me in." Couldn't let G have all the fun, right? It really should be them, the student body, that made things unbearable for their peers. Unless G was a student. Whatever. The point still stood. A prank, done as yourself, and something pulled off under the guise of total anonymity, were two entirely different things. "I'd hate to make you rethink your theory, but I personally have no sense of pitch or rhythm. All the more reason to let me dj, I think."

Ollie didn't consider himself a sneaky or subtle person, so the fact that Anya did not notice him walking over meant they had to have been extremely distracted. He raised his eyebrows at the surprise and held his arms out looking down at himself. "I guess I'm wearing all black, and I'm hard to spot," he offered thoughtfully. "Not long, though. You were just standing here and your ennui was so powerful I had to come over to stand here and look cool and moody with you." Yes, he was teasing, nudging their foot with his own. "What's up?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was contemplating life?" They ask, straightening their back until it no longer met the brick wall. "It's the dullest answer, I know, but it's the truth." There's a faint speckle of stars across the night sky. She'd always found them to be a grounding force, the stars. Something that remained the same, no matter what else changed. But it was hard not to wonder if their light was any dimmer than it had been before Greer had gone missing. "Did you ever hear back about your master's applications? And as a substitute non-future question, have you kissed anyone at this party?"

"Touché," Monty chirped with a thoughtful tip of his head. Who amongst them thought that they'd ever be sat in an interrogation room during their lifetime? Well… Ollie, probably, but he had other issues going on there. Most people didn't have a ton of guilt-inducing psychological damage, he didn't think, and even with his own nefarious extracurriculars, Monty still never dared to imagine that the FBI would be breathing down his neck during his college career.

It wasn't that Anya had never entertained the idea that she might, one day, come under scrutiny for something they'd done. When it had crossed their mind (largely in the form of dreams), it had always been the inside of some shabby local police station. The FBI meant it was something big. Something that transcended the occasional unlawful access of an email, or the changing of a grade. Anya was not important enough for the FBI. But Greer? It made sense for any potential crime relating to her to make a splash of some kind.

link watches her, that calm facade not cracking, but maybe tightening just slightly at the corners of his jaw. his weight shifts, just a fraction. it's the kind of movement you only notice if you've been watching him long enough to know when he's trying not to react.

"What do you mean, 'obviously'?" They ask, eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly. Was it a dig at her? Was it a denigrating comment about himself? Was it both? There was just something about that word - obviously - that always set her on edge. The presenting of something as fact. As undeniable. Unquestionable.

He snorted in amusement, giving a shrug of his shoulders. Anya had a point, the only difference Linkedin and Instagram really was how did you want to brag. Visually, or through your CV. To each their own. He was too attractive for Linkedin at the moment though. Maybe in ten years when he was old and actually had a architecture portfolio.

"Hmmm," he hummed a little bit, trying to consider what he might think was the most plausible. Honestly, probably that G was just some bitter bystander who somehow knew all this. Maybe because they stole Greer's diary, or something. He didn't know. But that was a boring answer. "That G is an AI learning program by the government, sent to learn off of a sample size of young people going through a traumatic event. Growing an adapting to our reactions. Everything we find inconsistent would make so much sense if this were the case. Maybe it's to help the government to learn how to use AI in warfare in the future, or something like that." That actually made a lot of sense. The using AI for psychological war in the future. He held a finger up, and shook his head. "Did you know I brought up dead internet theory to Parker and she had no idea what I was talking about? Sometimes I really feel like a crazy conspiracy theorist when I talk to people..." He just thought that this all being bots and none of it being real would be nice… Futuristic science fiction thriller type of deal.

"It'd be so nice if G was just a server running rogue." They puncture their sentence with a little sigh, half-longing to live an existence where their greatest existential threat could just be snubbed out at the press of a button. Or, more satisfying yet, through unplugging entirely. "But, like, I just don't think we're important enough to be the main characters in some government-run scheme."