I'm back! I'm stressed, and tired, and in college. But I'm back! I hope you guys like my rebirth, because I sure as hell missed writing a lot. Also, there's a reason she's never given a name. You'll find out. I missed you.
Disclaimer: I do not make any profit off DC Comics, or Young Justice, nor do I own any of the ideas produced by the DC company.
Technology ran their lives. Everyone used some sort of device—cellphones, computers, televisions, portable gaming consoles even. Everyone in her class used them; every one of her friends owned a cellphone, using it to text and watch videos and whatever else they wanted to do.
She lived in the technology era, where if you didn't have a cellphone, you weren't very popular.
And she wasn't very cool to begin with. Throw into the fact her friends from elementary school no longer wanted to play hide-and-seek, or go to the playground, or hang out with her, making her feel like she was missing something important. It was the summer before middle school began that the cellphone spree began. They were the generation to fall in love with phones.
Messages that seemed to be encrypted turned out to be shorthanded versions of words and phrases, where "are" equaled "r"and the simplest of sentences became a hash of letters and symbols, symbols becoming facial expressions. She wouldn't understand the words when her friends tried to show her a text or two once, everything was just letters and nonsense. For the first time in her life, she felt lost and alone, as if this wave of technology was overcoming her simple-minded self.
When she did receive a phone from a distant relative she never met, she still chose only to text from it occasionally. The occasions when one was sent to her felt like she was being sent mumbo-jumbo, only a random abbreviation here and there she understood. But computers were a different thing entirely. While visiting the library, she would surf the Internet, play games, do anything she wanted. She could easily take one apart and put it back together. She never owned her own computer, though, just a notepad in which she wrote ideas for websites she began, but never finished. And every year, to parents she never remembered, she sent a list. A list that included two things: a computer, and a new notepad, one of which she never received.
It was much to her surprise when she was given a computer, the more unlikely of the two gifts, during her junior year of high school. This gift was from the same relative that sent her the phone, a long lost relative that never wanted to be found. She was elated. She was still alone.
Which meant she was perfect material for what was hidden inside her computer. A virus, of sorts. A virus that could erase anything and everything it touched, including memory. No family, no friends, no connections. It would be as if she never existed.
She lived alone, in a dingy little apartment in Gotham. Her past was vague, a blur of always living in this apartment, always receiving bi-monthly checks that were sent by Wayne Enterprises to keep her alive. Occasionally, she would have memories of her father. A strong, burly man with short hair. His voice was deep, but he would always smile at her. She knew nothing besides these faint memories of her father, and there was no recollection of her mother.
Overall, she was happy with her life. She was following a routine, which didn't bother her. School, home, computer, sleep, repeat. She was constantly on this cycle of analyzing the Justice League, of large incorporations such as Wayne Enterprises, as well as staying well read on news throughout the world. The rule of fifteen minutes of screen time and taking a break never got to her. In fact, she had perfect eye sight.
While she was never connected to a person throughout school, she felt connected to every piece of the world through her computer. The Internet was her escape, and it welcomed her warmly.
One night, after an extensive bout of reading about the Justice League's recent triumph in battle, she returned to bed, oblivious to the faint blue light that pulsated in the back of her computer. It was small and light. The source originated in the mother board, a trigger for the computer to begin the virus that lived inside her computer since the start. Slowly, the light grew, bathing her one room apartment in a glow.
She was sound asleep when the computer typed: I'm so sorry for this.
Virus initiated.
The world will be better off.
But the computer was typing to a dead audience, one that would never remember owning it in the first place. The computer mourned its own loss. It was the guinea pig; it would be destroyed along with the girl. It would be destroyed by the end of the night—all of it. There would never be a trace of the girl or her computer for anyone to find.
In a month's time, the girl would arrive at the footsteps of the richest man in Gotham. Knowledge soared throughout her head, and she would surprise everyone inside the house. She would be a mystery to the greatest detective alive. She would be a mystery to herself. She would know all the information in the world, except for who she was.
But, for now, she slept through the growing glow and the end of her world.