#tasks.pdf

[anyaexe]

character development task: anya’s time capsule video.

int. anya’s dorm room, late evening. 

the room is dark, lit only up by the blue-ish light of her computer monitor. it’s clear from the set-up that this is a last-ditch effort on her part. it’s filmed on their phone, balanced precariously on top of a stack of books, and the phone itself is wedged between a stapler and a powerbank to prevent it from toppling over. 

anya (to themselves)

is this ... it is recording, right? fuck. this fucking stapler, it’s in the way, i can’t see if the light is flashing or anything. 

she moves the stapler away, causing the phone to topple over. an irritated sigh and some undecipherable mutterings can be heard. all that’s visible is the faint contour of their dorm room ceiling. 

anya (exasperated)

of course it wasn’t filming. of course. piece of shit phone. 

her face back into focus. the stapler back in place. the faint red light signifying that recording is in fact in progress blinks with reckless abandon. 

anya

you know, i didn’t think i’d actually do this. it’s so self-important, this whole idea that i have some wisdom to impart on those who will come after me. also, it feels like mandatory fun. but like ... not fun, even. but i can’t sleep, i’m bored to death, and yeah, a bit of a hypocrite. so here’s all the wisdom i have to impart.

they shift slightly in their seat, pulling at the strings of her hoodie. maybe they should have scripted this.

anya

in fifty years from when you’re watching this, you’re probably not going to think of this place at all. so if you’re concerned about so-and-so liking you, or being perceived as part of some in-crowd ... don’t. you’re here for four years, and from that point onwards most of these people won’t spare you a single thought. and you know what? that’s fine. the only person you have to make sure likes you is ... well, it’s you, right. and that may be cheesy of me, but that doesn’t exactly make it less true. 

she gazes at the clock on her monitor. fourty seconds. that’ll about do it, she thinks.

anya

oh, and one final piece of ... wisdom? advice? you get the gist. when you inevitably do your time capsule thing in fifty years, make sure you use a format that won’t degrade if you leave it unattended. ogden’s not going to do regular upkeep of these files, i’m sure. in fifty years, this is going to be a corrupted save file. i could have confessed all my sins on one of these. i could have confessed to murder. all this will be is an error code on some projector somewhere. 

click. screen goes blank.

[anyaexe]

in-character task 004: interrogations. 

     when the team of investigators had arranged for anya to come in for questioning, it had immediately flipped a switch in her brain. it was almost primal, the sort of survival instinct you might see in an animal that had been backed up into a corner. and it wasn’t even the greer thing. it was just the knowledge that they were bound to find her an unsavoury character at best. a budding reverse engineer with both their disassembler and terminal open at the same time? a shifty, unreliable, chaotic figure. she was a born suspect. so they’d done what every innocent person would do. picked apart her laptop, switched out the hard drive and drilled a couple of holes in it to ensure its contents remained irretrievable. there’s nothing to do with greer on there, she tells herself, tossing the corrupted piece of metal in their waste bin. but you could never be too sure. and if the fbi were involved, surely it was only a matter of time before they started issuing warrants for devices they found of interest. and how stupid would it be, to get put on some government watchlist for stuff entirely unrelated to the missing girl at hand. it was best to be safe. 

and maybe that’s why she’s made an effort. tied their hair back. brushed it. slicked a coat of mascara over her lashes and worn a shirt, in an effort to emulate something. to seem less like themselves.

she’s sat cross legged in a slightly itchy chair, staring mindlessly at a notice board. not really taking in anything. just wondering what they’d ask. what sort of things they were interested in. what sort of answers they’d be wanting. but more than anything, they were wondering what sort of information they thought anya would be able to provide.

the door grinds open with an excruciating scream. anya’s head perks up, and they watch the back of some dark-haired girl disappear down the long corridor. 

“please, come in. charanya, right? we’re ready for you.” the voice of agent choi breaks the silence.

anya rises to their feet, brushing her sweaty palms against the fabric of her jeans. “call me anya, please.” are they exaggerating their accent? a little. maybe. but people trust english people, don’t they? 

the chair scrapes against the linoleum as she pulls it out, perching herself at the very edge before inching back into it. innocent people didn’t conduct themselves like they were waiting for an opportunity to run. 

“thank you for coming,” agent choi says as he takes a seat opposite her, and if anya didn’t know better, they would have probably chalked it down as genuine. there’s a retort on the edge of her tongue, something about free will and choice and whatever, but she shallows the urge. shut up. shut up anya. be good, for once. keep your dumb fucking mouth shut. there’s a grand total of three agents in the room, and agent choi introduces them in turn: “i’m agent choi, and these are my colleagues -” a hand gestures in the direction of the stoic figure on his left “- agents brown, and -” the same hand moves fluidly to indicate the woman leaning against wall “- murray.” of course, the introductions are unnecessary. anya’s scoured all available public records on the trio since their involvement was disclosed to her. once again, they think to themselves, you’re behaving like a guilty person. you don’t need to know everything. but it didn’t hurt to know what you were up against. 

“can you talk about your time capsule video? give us some context for the clip that was leaked?” agent choi clicks his pen as he talks. 

anya just shrugs. “i’m not sure there’s much to say, if i’m being honest. i did it as a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing, i guess? but i stand by what i said - i think we’re all way too concerned with what other people think.” perhaps it will all be fine, if the rest of the questions are also softballs. they could get through this.

agent choi nods affirmatively, and anya’s gaze momentarily shifts in the direction of agent murray, trying to gage the most distant detective’s opinion of them. but there are no indicators. god, people were so difficult to read. particularly in a room lit solely by a dated fluorescent lamp. 

"were you aware that greer morrison had submitted a video at the end of last year?”

“no.” she shakes her head. it’s true. they’d had no clue. but then again, she’d not known whether anyone else would bother submitting one either. “i didn’t even know i’d be doing one myself until about half an hour before the deadline. so it never came up in conversation.”

“had you ever heard of anything regarding THE NAIVE NEWCOMER using steroids?”

what a pivot. anya takes a moment to think. “maybe like ... the odd rumour? but i didn’t make much of it. it’s a college campus - less than half of the things people say are true. which i appreciate must make your jobs a lot more difficult. but people make things up all the time, you know?”

another nod from agent choi. something illegible is being scribbled on the notepad in front of agent brown. they suppress the urge to lean across to try and get a better view of what it says. be normal. act normal. keep a low profile. agent choi continues: “had greer brought up breaking up with him ever? or anything of the sort, like she did in her video?”

“not with me. greer and i, we were pretty surface level. i helped her out with some school stuff, and we’d talk, but it never went beyond .... classes and school events and stuff on tv. i don’t think i’d be her first point of call for advice on boy problems.”

“would you say there’s a particular reason for that?”

“lack of experience. lack of interest. take your pick.”

a brief moment of silence follows. 

"what do you know a student named natalia vega? and her relationship with greer?"

“it’s a big school. i don’t really keep tabs on people.” a bold-faced lie. “i know she’s into theatre. not really my scene. but she’s nice. not the sort of person i’d imagine it’s worth your time looking into.” she pauses for a little bit, throat feeling both dry and constricted at the same time. “i don’t think i’d ever seen them ... engage in conversation. why, are you interested in her?”

“we’re just trying to establish greer’s network. to get a better understanding of what might have happened.” anya offers a noise meant to illustrate understanding in return. but they weren’t asking her about everyone, were they? they were asking about specifics. “how about rhiannon falla - and her relationship with greer?”

they bite back the urge to lie. of course, rhia being mentioned by name doesn’t necessarily mean she’s involved, but anya’s instinct has always been to act first and untangle the consequences later. had this been a less high-stakes situation, the immediate response would have probably been that they had no clue who rhia was. a lie that it would have taken all of two seconds and one instagram search to unravel. “we’re close.” it’s truth-adjacent, she thinks, without signifying that she would go to any great lengths to cover for rhia should the situation call for it. agent choi nods, and once again they catch agent brown writing something down. damn his horrible handwriting. and damn her curiosity. she’s trying hard not to fidget (and to appear like she’s not fighting the urge to fidget), trying to think of an appropriate answer. trying not to talk about the inherently exploitative nature of greer’s little project runway stint. “she really cared for her.”

“ we just have one final question for you - do you have any reason to believe THE GOLDEN GIRL would want to leave ogden college?”

anya thinks about this for a while. chews slightly at their bottom lip. “clearly she was wanting an exit from her relationship. but other than that, i don’t really know. i know that’s not super helpful, i’m sorry. but i’m trying not to speculate - whatever it is, i’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.” she smiles at them, taking great care not to make it too wide or bright. 

“you’re good to go. but if you think of anything, please don’t hesitate to get in touch with us. we’re here to help.”

“ i will.” like fuck.

---

she’s back in her dorm when their phone buzzes. thinking it might be someone checking in on her in the aftermath of what had turned out to be a pretty tame interview, she reaches for it without precaution. it isn’t. 

g: well, it looks like the cops sure trust you. let’s not get into the merits of whether or not they should, and instead let’s figure if i should. or if greer morrison should.  g: do you know of greer ever witnessing anything that she shouldn’t have? g: maybe having information that could hurt someone else? g: think about it. even try to figure it out. what you do with that info? well, i guess that’ll let us know if the cops were right for believing what you said. 

perhaps it would have been better to blow the interview. go in, all guns blazing, and land herself as a possible suspect. at least the fbi had to do their fucking due diligence. supposedly. their fingers hover over the keyboard for a while, before ultimately deciding against it. whoever g was, they didn’t deserve a response.