The screen didn't show a media player. Instead, the desktop icons began to drift, pulled toward the center of the screen as if by a digital gravity. The "VitMFox" folder began to duplicate itself, hundreds of times, filling the screen with white rectangles until the monitor was a blinding sheet of static.

A voice, synthesized and cold, bled directly into his mind: "Installation complete."

On the screen, the static cleared for a split second. A face—or the digital approximation of one—stared back. It wasn't a fox, and it wasn't a man. It was a mesh of wireframes and flickering code.

He checked his volume—maxed out. He checked his headphones—plugged in. Then, a low, rhythmic thrumming began. It wasn't coming from the speakers. It was vibrating through the desk, through his chair, and into his bones.

Elias scoffed, chalking it up to the edgy aesthetic of the underground scene. He double-clicked Playback.exe .