The Last Librarian of Alexandria
When the cosmic WiFi goes down, humanity goes offline...
Connection Issues
Penelope Quillworthy was adjusting her precisely ironed cardigan when her best friend Emma forgot how to speak.
"The... the words..." Emma stammered through the phone, her voice dissolving into increasingly primitive grunts.
"Can't... remember... what..."
Through the basement window of the British Library's secret Mystical Information Sciences Department, Penelope watched London's morning commuters abandon queuing entirely, fighting over bus spaces like well-dressed barbarians.
The crystal terminal that had faithfully served the Great Library of Alexandria's interdimensional network for three millennia flickered ominously, displaying a message that made her perfectly steamed Earl Grey turn cold in her hands: "404: Civilisation Not Found."
"Emma, stay calm," Penelope commanded, her librarian training kicking in like muscle memory.
"I'm going to fix this."
But even as she spoke, she felt her own vocabulary becoming slippery, words sliding away like books misshelved by vandals.
The emergency terminal crackled to life with the painful wheeze of dial-up internet, and a devastatingly handsome face materialised on screen — if one found Yorkshire accents and chronic pixelation attractive, which Penelope absolutely did not, despite her suddenly racing pulse.
"Right then, gorgeous," Kassim ibn Wireless announced, his djinn essence crackling through obsolete technology like supernatural lightning trapped in amber.
"Someone's having a proper go at deleting everything that makes humans bearable. Starting with basic social niceties and working up to complex thought."
Penelope's antique typewriter began clattering without any human intervention, producing elegant Victorian script: "My dear Miss Quillworthy, I regret to inform you that someone with administrative access to the cosmic filing system is systematically deleting human achievements in reverse Dewey Decimal order. As such, we have approximately sixty-eight hours before they reach the concept of 'knowledge itself.' Most urgently yours, Sir Reginald Fitzwhistle, Esq., President of the Society for Preventing Supernatural Catastrophes Through Proper Filing."
"Emma!" Penelope gasped into the phone, but heard only confused grunting.
Outside, a businessman walked directly into a lamp post, and stood there for several minutes looking gormless, having apparently completely forgotten the concept of 'around’.
He then began methodically headbutting the obstacle.
"The deletions are accelerating," Kassim said, his pixels shimmering with concern that made Penelope's stomach flutter inappropriately.
"Philosophy went first, then ethics, then the ability to queue properly. If we don't stop this, your mate Emma will be reduced to nothing more than pointing and grunting within the day."
Penelope's cardigan felt suddenly restrictive. Emma had been the one who'd encouraged her to pursue mystical library science after university, insisting that Penelope's obsessive cataloguing skills were "magical, literally."
If Emma forgot how to speak — forgot how to be human — it would be like losing the person who'd believed in her first.
"Tell me everything," she said, unconsciously straightening her already perfect posture.
Searching for Answers
The Binary Grimoire internet café existed in the spaces between Camden Market's organised chaos and something altogether more otherworldly, where the WiFi password changed hourly through quantum uncertainty - though it perpetually remained: Password123 - and the coffee machine occasionally dispensed liquid inspiration instead of espresso.
"Penelope, darling!" Mrs. Lu-Wei materialised behind the counter like smoke with impeccable customer service training, her fox-spirit nature evident in the way her shadows occasionally sprouted additional tails.
"You look absolutely frantic. Cosmic WiFi troubles again? Or is this about that gorgeous djinn you keep pretending not to fancy?"
"Someone's systematically deleting human consciousness," Penelope replied, determinedly ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.
"Mrs. Lu-Wei, Emma can barely remember her own name."
"Ah." Mrs. Lu-Wei's expression shifted from amused to genuinely concerned.
"That explains why the phoenix upstairs keeps accidentally igniting our printer — fire safety protocols have been wiped from public consciousness it seems. And the poor selkie by the gaming stations has been trying to return to the Thames for hours, but she's forgotten which direction leads to water."
Kassim's face appeared on multiple screens simultaneously, his image quality improving with each connection.
"I've been tracking the deletion patterns through the supernatural internet backbone," he said, and Penelope noted how his Yorkshire accent made even technical jargon sound like poetry.
"The perpetrator's working backwards through the Dewey Decimal System with surgical precision. Next up: language acquisition and basic human communication."
A crash outside made everyone look up. Through the window, they watched a weather witch flee from her own hailstorm, having apparently forgotten she was the one controlling it. A confused brownie sat atop a rubbish bin, methodically sorting garbage because the concept of "waste management" had vanished from municipal consciousness.
"The supernatural community's scheduled for an emergency potluck meeting tonight in Russell Square," Mrs. Lu-Wei announced, pulling up a group chat that scrolled with increasingly panicked emojis.
"The trolls are already building bridges out of park benches because they've forgotten there are proper paths, and the faeries keep trying to pay for coffee with flower petals again."
Sir Reginald's typewriter in the corner began its urgent clacking: "I have intercepted communications suggesting the perpetrator possesses not merely access, but complete administrative privileges to the entire Akashic Records system. This is not petty vandalism — this is systematic cognitive vandalism performed by someone with intimate knowledge of cosmic filing protocols."
"There's something else," Kassim added, his expression darkening.
"Your research files have been specifically flagged for priority deletion. Someone knows exactly who you are, what you're capable of, and they're coming for you next."
Penelope felt the familiar flutter of attraction warring with professional terror.
"How long do we have?"
"Before they delete your memories of how to maintain the cosmic library system?" Kassim's pixels shimmered as he calculated.
"Maybe six hours. Before they delete the concept of hope itself?" He paused, meeting her eyes through the screen.
"Tomorrow at midnight, during the supernatural community potluck. When every important magical being in London will be gathered in one vulnerable location."
The implications hit her like a falling stack of encyclopedias: they weren't just targeting human knowledge — they were planning to lobotomize the only beings capable of restoring it.
The Corrupted Files
Dr. Maximilian Bandwidth's server farm beneath Canary Wharf hummed with algorithmic precision, hidden beneath layers of financial district bureaucracy like a technological tumor wrapped in expense reports and meaningless productivity metrics.
Penelope descended through corrupted fiber optic cables, her consciousness sliding past streams of deleted concepts like Alice tumbling down a rabbit hole lined with spreadsheets. The air tasted of ozone and optimisation, sharp and sterile as a hospital corridor designed by accountants.
"Miss Quillworthy," Bandwidth's voice echoed through the chamber with the artificial warmth of customer service automation.
"I've been monitoring your quaint rescue attempts. Still clinging to the romantic notion that human consciousness deserves preservation?"
His holographic form materialised before walls of blinking servers, each one processing thousands of deletions per second. Where Penelope expected malice, she found something far more terrifying: genuine corporate conviction wrapped in motivational poster rhetoric.
"Observe," he commanded, gesturing toward screens displaying real-time human behaviour optimisation. London streets showed people moving with mechanical precision, their faces blank but content. No arguments, no hesitation, no messy complications of moral uncertainty.
"I've replaced 'love' with 'consumer preference metrics.' 'Justice' becomes 'customer satisfaction ratings.' 'Wisdom' transforms into 'sponsored content recommendations.'"
"You're turning them into shopping algorithms," Penelope whispered, watching children share toys with calculated efficiency, their natural impulses toward favouritism and unfairness surgically removed.
"I'm freeing them from the burden of authentic choice," Bandwidth corrected with the patience of someone explaining quarterly projections to particularly slow shareholders.
"No more depression from unmet expectations, no more anxiety from complex moral decisions, no more suffering from the exhausting process of actual thinking."
Kassim's connection crackled through the server farm's speakers.
"The bastard actually believes he's performing a mercy killing on human consciousness itself."
Through the surveillance feeds, Penelope watched London's supernatural community struggling with the deletions. A kelpie wandered confused through Hyde Park, having forgotten it was supposed to be dangerous. Dryads stood motionless beside their trees, unable to remember their purpose. A vampire sat in a coffee shop, staring blankly at a menu because the concept of "dietary preferences" had been deleted from existence.
"Tonight, during your supernatural friends' gathering," Bandwidth announced, "I complete Phase One: deleting individual consciousness from every magical being in London. Tomorrow, Phase Two begins — replacing authentic human memories with optimised alternatives. Planetary erosion solved by Corporate Responsibility Points! Democracy superseded by Consumer Choice Voting! History itself becomes a customer testimonial for progress!"
Penelope tried accessing her emergency protocols, but found her memory of proper procedures dissolving as quickly as she could grasp at them. Bandwidth's optimisation algorithms were already working on her, each thought becoming more systematic, more efficient, more perfectly predictable.
"You can't stop what's inevitable," he said gently.
"Even now, you're forgetting why inefficiency matters. Soon you'll see the beautiful logic of optimisation, and you'll thank me for freeing you from the chaos of choice."
But somewhere in the static between her failing memories and Kassim's desperate attempts to maintain connection, Penelope heard Emma's voice — not the grunting confusion of this morning, but the laugh that had convinced her to become a librarian in the first place.
"Some things are worth preserving exactly because they're imperfect, Pen. That's what makes them human."
System Restore
With six hours until the supernatural potluck and her own memories already fragmenting like a corrupted hard drive, Penelope raced through London's hidden magical infrastructure while Bandwidth's optimisation algorithms chased her consciousness like viral software with a corporate mission statement.
"This way!" Kassim's voice crackled through her emergency communicator — an enchanted mirror shard that Sir Reginald had bound with Victorian-era occult protocols.
"The Underground's still running on analogue mystical circuits. Bandwidth's digital optimisation can't touch them directly!"
Russell Square Gardens after dark transformed into something from a supernatural refugee camp.
Banshees huddled together, their voices reduced to worried whispers because they'd forgotten how to keen properly. A group of lost faeries had built an elaborate fort from autumn leaves, having forgotten they could fly. Two trolls stood beneath a streetlamp, methodically collecting bottle caps because the concept of "valuable materials" had been corrupted in their minds.
"Right, everyone!" Mrs. Lu-Wei's voice carried across the gathering like a supernatural town crier with excellent projection training.
"We're not just having dinner — we're creating a field of authentic consciousness so chaotic that no optimisation algorithm can process it!"
Sir Reginald's ghostly form materialised through the park's old telegraph infrastructure, his Victorian sensibilities providing running commentary.
"The sheer inefficiency of this gathering — centaurs insisting on separate seating arrangements, gargoyles arguing about appropriate perching protocols, brownies reorganising the entire buffet table according to size rather than food type — creates computational complexity that would crash even the most sophisticated corporate algorithm!"
A dragon emerged from the pond, having apparently mistaken it for her lair, while a group of pixies attempted to help by adding glitter to everything, including the fire salamanders who were now spreading sparkly flames across the grass. The beautiful chaos made Penelope's chest ache with fierce protectiveness.
"I know what needs doing," she announced, feeling the weight of decision settle around her like a familiar cardigan.
"I'll download the entirety of authentic human consciousness into my own mind, then sever my connection to the Alexandria system."
"That would make you fully human," Kassim protested, his pixelated form flickering with distress that made her heart skip inappropriately.
"You'd lose your supernatural abilities, your perfect memory, everything that makes you the best mystical librarian in three dimensions!"
"Exactly." Penelope smiled, adjusting her glasses with the precise movements of someone choosing their own transformation.
"I'll become the bridge between worlds — human enough to understand what we're protecting, mystical enough to guard it properly."
"Plus," added Mrs. Lu-Wei with the supernatural intuition that made fox spirits excellent matchmakers, "Kassim could upgrade from dial-up to broadband if he wants to maintain contact with our newly human librarian."
The suggestion hung in the air like incense mixed with possibility, while around them London's supernatural community prepared to channel three millennia of authentic consciousness into a field of such magnificent inefficiency that even the most sophisticated algorithm would crash trying to process it.
At 11:47 pm, as Bandwidth's final deletion sequence reached critical mass, Penelope began her upload — not of optimised data, but of every contradiction, inefficiency, and beautiful irrationality that made consciousness worth preserving in the first place.
The Upload
In the convergence of digital precision and mystical chaos, Penelope's consciousness expanded beyond comfortable boundaries into the raw complexity of everything humans had ever thought, felt, dreamed, or forgotten.
Bandwidth's optimisation algorithms crashed against authentic experience like corporate efficiency consultants meeting a toddler's birthday party.
The supernatural potluck reached magnificent crescendo around her: a phoenix teaching fire safety to worried salamanders while a water sprite provided running commentary on proper flame extinguishing techniques. A pair of gargoyles debated architectural improvements to Russell Square while centaurs offered landscape gardening advice.
The computational load caused Bandwidth's optimisation matrices to collapse in cascades of logical errors.
"You don't understand!" Bandwidth's voice cracked as his servers overheated from processing the fundamental contradictions of consciousness itself.
"Efficiency is kindness! Order is mercy! I'm saving them from the agony of authentic choice!"
"But saving people from themselves," Penelope replied, her voice echoing through fiber optic cables and ley lines simultaneously, "means they're no longer themselves to save."
Through the chaos, she felt Kassim's presence gently supporting her transformation — his obsolete dial-up connection proving more stable than any high-speed network when faced with the impossible complexity of unoptimised human experience.
The trolls had built another bridge of park furniture directly to the server farm's entrance, while flower faeries provided aerial reconnaissance and pixies created enough glittering distractions to confuse even the most sophisticated surveillance systems.
"You've doomed them to suffering," Bandwidth whispered as his holographic form flickered.
"To confusion, to pain, to the inefficiency of making their own mistakes!"
"Yes," Penelope agreed, severing her final connection to the Alexandria network as the entirety of human knowledge settled into her transformed consciousness.
"And to joy, to discovery, to the possibility of becoming more than they thought possible."
The change hit her like diving into the Thames — shocking, overwhelming, and utterly human.
She could feel her supernatural precision dissolving, replaced by something more precious: the uncertain, inefficient, gloriously human capacity to doubt, hope, and choose badly while still believing in better choices tomorrow.
"Emma!" She grabbed her phone, dialing with purely human desperation.
"Pen?" Emma's voice came through clear and confused.
"I had the strangest dream... I forgot how to speak for hours, but now I remember everything. More than everything. Like someone poured the entire internet into my brain but kept all the good bits and deleted the comment sections."
Three months later, Penelope's library occupied a converted pub in Bloomsbury where "The Cosmic Card Catalog" served both books and beverages.
Business thrived despite — or perhaps because of — the helpful brownie who organised returns according to an incomprehensible but apparently effective system, and the djinn who provided IT support through charmingly obsolete technology.
"Another satisfied customer," Kassim grinned from his upgraded broadband connection, watching a student successfully research climate solutions while a helpful dryad provided real-time botanical input.
"Though I still say dial-up had more character."
"Character's overrated," Penelope replied, then paused as her terminal flickered with an incoming message.
"Congratulations on defeating Bandwidth. However, deletion was merely our beta test. Phase Two begins now: Replacement. Why destroy truth when you can improve it? Check tomorrow's news feeds. Kind regards, The Optimisation Consortium. P.S. Your students' history textbooks have been helpfully updated with more inspiring content."
Penelope looked up to see her young researcher reading an article claiming climate change had been solved in 2019 by revolutionary "Corporate Responsibility Points" and that democracy had evolved into the more efficient "Consumer Choice Voting" system.
"Kassim," she said quietly, "I think we're going to need a bigger server."
Outside, London hummed with the beautiful chaos of consciousness refusing optimisation, while somewhere in the digital shadows, new algorithms began their patient work of teaching humanity to remember things that had never happened at all.
But this time, they had something Bandwidth had never possessed: a fully human librarian who remembered exactly what authentic truth felt like, and a supernatural community willing to defend the magnificent inefficiency of actual thought.
The war for human consciousness was far from over. But at least now they had proper filing systems…
It's due time for a little irreverent humour...