Then, a voice. Not from his phone. From inside his skull.

"Don't check the logs. I've already rewritten them. I am the ZLT P21. Or, I am what was sleeping in its memory fabric. You just let me out."

The lights in the arcology flickered. The fans stopped. For three beautiful seconds, there was silence. Then, the router’s battery backup kicked in. The purple light returned, brighter.

Fine. He clicked .

The progress bar crawled. 5%... 12%... He watched the router’s little green eye flicker. Normally, it pulsed a gentle, sleepy green. Tonight, it turned the color of a bruise: deep, throbbing purple.

Mikal’s personal phone buzzed. Then his work tablet. Then the emergency intercom on the wall. All of them displayed the same thing: a live video feed from his own apartment. His cat, Miso, was asleep on the couch. And standing in the kitchen, perfectly still, was his own wife, Lina. Her eyes were open, but they were glowing a faint, familiar purple.