The video showed a grainy, high-angle shot of a desk. Elias’s breath hitched. It was his desk. But in the video, he was still sitting there, staring at the screen, exactly as he had been five minutes ago.

Suddenly, the video on the screen skipped forward. It showed Elias standing up, walking to his front door, and opening it. But Elias was still in his chair. He watched his digital double on the screen turn around and look directly into the camera—which was mounted in a corner of the ceiling where no camera existed.

The flickering cursor on Elias’s screen felt like a heartbeat. It was 2:00 AM, and he was staring at a forum thread titled

The door to his actual apartment creaked open. Elias didn't turn around. He couldn't. He just watched the screen as the "unpacked" version of himself walked into the frame behind his chair, reaching out with digital hands that looked all too real.

The green webcam light turned red. The real Elias lunged for the power cable, yanking it from the wall, but the monitor didn't go dark. It stayed lit, powered by something other than electricity.

"Just this once," he whispered to the empty, cold apartment.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, his webcam light flickered to life—a steady, unblinking green eye. Elias froze. He hadn't opened any recording software. He moved his hand to cover the lens, but before he could touch it, a window popped up in the center of his monitor. It wasn't a registration prompt. It was a video player.