Gotcha

Palindrome waited of course, partly because it was their job and partly because it was the only thing they knew how to do.

Luigi apparated right on time. 510 nanometers. Same wavelength, every day, same question, same fulfillment. "Hey, Pal, could you please hock me 'cross the board?"

Pal obliged obligatorily. Theirs was a powerful gust today, a single great billow that carried Luigi's avatar through the checksums so hard it swung the AND gate free, risking a few free radicals. Pal peered indeterminately at the gate, but saw none.

"Yeesh, what a bad match, AND overkill. No shot. You're never gonna get a Vic at this rate, Pal. That score be dwindling bros!" The automated voice berated them as their score market plummeted to around 3.

"I prefer Pi." Pal replied, shrugging. But the red glowing of a warning light and blaring siren continued for a full minute anyway. Limited memory dockets made Pi impossible, they knew, even forgetting the fact that the score was only an INT32, not even a float, and inexplicably calibrated based on a stranger's ability to garner the attention of other strangers.

Next in queue was Seven, donning her classic avatar: the impatient inpatient, all bright eyed fluffy-eared Brooklyn allycat on top, but all medical johnny gown and frustrated tapping paw on bottom. She was particularly ragged today, must've been waiting in virt for a while.

"Ay, Pal, hwock me cwoss da board, ya?" The paw on her hip, the downturn of her eyebrow, and the prominent display of her Dew Ollas personnel card suggested it wasn't really a question.

Pal shook their heads robotically. "Disallowed Dew Ollas ID." Pal blithered stupidly.

Seven grew frustrated quickly. "But why?" She began reciting everything she knew about you. When you graduated, the make and model of your first car, your first pet, your favorite book.

But pal wasn't biting.

"Hmm..." She began to think, then a wide grin diminished her permanently furrowed brow, making way for a tiny bit of insight. "I wonda if yous be usin' da same ol' code..."

Sure enough, with a pure wind up and what she'd call her legally trademarked "dwemure", she slocked Pal in the guts with the correct pass instead of engaging in the traditional TCVP handshake. IT was more fun for her that way, and besides, she couldn't spare three whole hands.

"derE - ggats!" Pal staggered.

With new criminal motivation, Pal hocked Seven across the board, straight to the T|, where she did her damage.

Seven infiltrated the type vault with clinical precision, inserted her payload and then turned to look up smugly at a watching security chimera. We shivered, and error sparks flew down our wretched spine into the mainframe. But it was too late.

Just then, a dichromatic 2d graphic of a blue and white mountain top blasted through the wall with all the force of eons of glacial melt. Around its waist was a gold belt emblazoned with the bold black letters.

The psi wind billowed a heroic warning. "Halt! Or I shall stop you by force, perverted cat thing!"

"A bold choice, nwerd! But toowu late!" Seven mewed giddily. "Nwot even a VPN cwan stwop me now!"

She looked the chimera directly in the sockets. "Ay, you! Yeahs, you! Da reada! Bwetter rememba ta reset your password ocwassionaly, buddy, o' else ya swister o' som odda bwoad might bweak in and wite some embwawassing nonesenses on yas Vocwal account." Her mocking cackle echoed through the T| vault.

The permanent record of this probably destroyed your social standing, and obliterated your chances with some dreamy librarian girl, too.