<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Fb1%2F66%2F15%2Fb1661513d301a56fbf5c90728b0b787b.jpg&amp;hash=2ec8aa52a81cf1e11e791bba806c1c48" href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b1/66/15/b1661513d301a56fbf5c90728b0b787b.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Imogen Spaulding</a> was an online hit... to a small community of people. The only kinds of people who really knew her name were the crazy, obsessive conspirators who thrived on her theories of what went on behind the scenes of the mundane, cupcake lives. She still kept the theory of Area 51 alive, the government out to control their every moves, the subliminal messages in commercials and shows. And here... lately, the conspiracy of <i>robots. </i>It was her latest obsession and she could drone on for hours about how the world would be overrun with robots someday. Though, in her mind... it would be more than obvious, though she gave a full disclosure that she didn't foresee the toaster coming to life to kill them all. She did advise not to trust computers, televisions, or telephones, however. She'd even gone as far to contact one of her fellow conspirators to invest in signal disruption technology to attach to her phone and internet modem, as well as programs on her computer that would alert her if anyone was trying to hack or slip into her hardware. It was a bit of overkill for some minor computer viruses, but she had to admit... it did the trick. Alert, lockdown, and shutdown any advances made. <br/>
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When the day started, Gen had every intention of taking an easy day away from [Gen]eration [Inform]ative, the online website she shared blog-styled articles and videos talking about the hows and whys of the conspiracies she shares, information she'd researched. After stepping away from her hole in the wall apartment, she'd headed into the city to enjoy some Chai Tea from her favorite coffee shop. Her orange and red ombre hair hung loose to her waist, half of it drawn up into a messy bun with bangs framing her face. She dressed simply in a blue graphic tee and jean shorts with a pair of flat soled sneakers. She'd arrived to Dream Bean Cafe, ordered her spiced Chai latte and paid the clerk who greeted her by name. She stayed and chatted for a while, leaning over the counter like they were discussing a drug deal in an exaggerated show of looking around. <i>"Have you seen anything... strange..." </i>With a pointed look, the clerk raised a brow and leaned over the counter with widened eyes. <i>"Besides you, Gen? Nah. Though there was someone who tried to order a strange tea... Chili... Lime? I think it was? Who <b>does </b>that?" </i>he'd whispered back. Coming completely off topic from what she'd originally meant, they wound up discussing strange tea combinations for a good twenty minutes. <br/>
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It was turning out to be a normal... or as normal as one in the life of Gen Spaulding <i>could </i>be, until the commotion outside disrupted the discussion between if decaf coffee was real coffee and not just a coffee-flavored lie. It was easy to tell which side of the spectrum Gen had stood firm by. However, the bright haired girl's head whipped around in time to see people getting shoved outside by a dark haired girl pulling a woman behind her. "What the hell?" She muttered, her eyes locked on the quickly retreating woman before her eyes widened. "Hold my latte! I'll maybe... probably not... be back for it!" She chirped, pushing her cup into the clerk's hands before bolting out the door herself. "Shitshitshitshit," she hissed, bursting out of the coffee shop and struggling to get her phone out of her back pocket. <br/>
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"I don't know what's going on, but this is going to be go--" She grunted as a man knocked into her shoulder, sending her tumbling back against the wall of the building. She exhaled sharply, dazed as she stared after the man seeming to be intent on following the two. Clutching her phone to her chest, she hardly spared a glance to the others on the sidewalk who looked just as confused as Gen, if not more. Even in the midst of her confusion, her expression tensed with determination in her reckless endeavor to follow the three. "Excuse me, pardon me, <i>move</i>," she hissed, struggling to open her video recorder on the device as she jogged after the three to start filming. It was shaky, jumpy, but she was able to get faces and the gist of the mayhem going on.<br/>
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She saw someone coming toward the women ahead, with a blank expression and seemed to heading <i>for </i>them instead of simply passing by. Her eyes widened when she saw the dark haired girl pull the confused woman across the street, cringing and piping a squeak to the honks of cars swerving to avoid hitting them. "Are they <i>insane?</i>" Turning the camera toward her, from an unflattering angle, she glanced down to the small square camera lens. "Clearly, they did not remember to look both ways before crossing the-- <i>holy mother of aliens,</i>" she murmured, flipping the camera around to see the two in hot pursuit crossing after them. <br/>
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Coming to a stop, she looked around quickly before catching sight of a fire escape with the ladder pulled down. "Well that's a safety risk," she muttered, running over to it with consistent looks to the street. She climbed as fast as her awkward long legs would allow her, letting out a yelp when she almost slipped but caught herself. Clutching the phone in her palm, she hooked her fingers on the side of the ladder. "This, folks, is how a real journalist does it. Gotta get down and dirty to get the juicy deta-- that sounds horrible. Note to self: edit that out. Nah, I'mma keep it," she muttered, climbing onto the rusty metal fire escape before she started to bolt up two more flights of stairs to get a bird's eye view. She almost slipped on a worn sneaker sole to the skidding halt of tires and the thud. "Oh my god," she hissed, out of breath as she scrambled on her knees to the metal railing. Turning the camera to catch footage of a woman having been hit by a car, and she was sure she hadn't <i>actually </i>gotten footage of the impact. "Oh god... she just got hit. Is she oka-- she's getting up," she whispered her narration. "She seems... fine? How is that possible? Hear that? The popos are-a comin'," she whispered to the camera, listening herself to the distant sirens drawing closer. Turning her camera around, her eyes were wide and confused. <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fmedia.giphy.com%2Fmedia%2FZ2qzrvjN5zsdi%2Fgiphy.gif&amp;hash=0ee57d0411d1311d08d1fe360d2b12a4" href="https://media.giphy.com/media/Z2qzrvjN5zsdi/giphy.gif" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">"What <i>is </i>this?"</a> Flipping the camera around, she looked to a potted plant that would do no good in hiding the bright hair or long, spidery limbs but that didn't stop her from pulling it closer in a meager attempt to hide herself. </span>