It was an uneventful day at Queen Consolidated. Of course, for Felicity Smoak any day without some lunatic
trying to blow up or pump bullets through some part of Starling City qualified as uneventful, and for the most part she was grateful for it. The only problem was that a day without any Arrow-related activities to attend to meant a day where the
former IT staffer had to maintain her new cover as Oliver Queen's personal secretary. Aside from the whole "getting yourself into life-threatening peril" thing, having to pretend to be dedicated to doing a bunch of menial tasks that any airhead could do was
probably the worst part of having joined Team Arrow.
Today, though, she was content to pretend like she was doing administrative work on her laptop. While keeping tabs open for monitoring any breaking news, Felicity had started scouring through the deep web for
kicks, just to see what she'd find. Eventually she ended up at a mostly-blank page that just had a curious IP address on it. She clicked, and was greeted by an onrush of bright colors and patterns, the weirdest loading screen she'd seen in years. For a good
twenty seconds it just kept flashing and changing at breakneck pace. She even thought she saw images of women for the briefest of seconds but it was impossible to say for sure.
Finally, "loading..." was replaced by a message.
ARE YOU A BIMBO?
"What?!" she actually asked aloud, incredulously. She almost thought this was a prank someone was playing on her, as if between her dyed blonde hair and good lucks she hadn't dealt with enough people underestimating
her intelligence. Still, though, the background colors were still shimmering and reflecting off her glasses and it made it hard to look away…
The message changed.
YOU MUST BE.
WHY ELSE WOULD YOU BE HERE ON BIMBO.COM?
That... was weird logic, she thought, but for some reason Felicity was less angry at the site. For the briefest moment she almost giggled. This was probably some high school kid’s doing. At least if it had to
be immature junk it was interestingly designed junk, right?
It changed again.
TAKE THE BIMBO.COM SURVEY TO FIND OUT WHICH KIND OF BIMBO YOU ARE!
Wait, she thought, all that and it’s just a personality test? Part of her wanted to just close the tab and move on, but the whole thing was weirdly compelling. She’d already sat through the entire
intro, why not see what kind of questions this thing would ask? Soon Felicity had decided that she definitely had to stay on the site and take the survey. The whole thing was silly, and it’s not like she had anything better to do.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?