His webcam light flickered on, but the glow wasn't green; it was a deep, bruising violet. Suddenly, the "episode" began, but there were no actors. It was a live feed of his own room from an angle he couldn’t identify—high up, near the ceiling fan.

The cursor blinked on the forum page, a rhythmic pulse against the dim light of Elias’s studio apartment. On the screen: .

Then, a dialogue box popped up on his physical monitor, overlaying the video feed: “To continue the story, choose an action for The Protagonist.” Look under the bed. Delete the file.

Elias froze. He didn't want to look. But as the selection was made, a high-pitched frequency began to emit from his speakers, vibrating in his teeth, forcing him to stand. His body felt heavy, puppet-like.

But the icon was the iconic cracked screen. He double-clicked.

He picked it up. In its surface, he didn't see the room. He saw a forum post, dated three minutes into the future. It was a thread he had just started, titled:

Elias felt a cold sweat prickle his neck. He reached for the mouse to click "Delete," but the cursor wouldn't move. It was being dragged by someone else toward Option 2. Look under the bed.