He launched the game. The splash screen for Fernbus Simulator appeared, but it looked... different. The colors were slightly desaturated, and the ambient engine noise in the menu sounded more like a low, rhythmic growl than a MAN Lion’s Coach. Marek selected a night route:

The download bar crept forward. 10%... 45%... 92%. In the quiet of the diner, the "ding" of the completed download sounded like a starter pistol. Marek quickly installed the files, bypassing the security warnings with the practiced ease of a digital rebel.

The diner’s power surged and died. When the lights flickered back on a second later, the booth was empty. Marek’s laptop sat open on the table, the screen cracked and black. The only sound left in the diner was the faint, distant hiss of air brakes, echoing from nowhere.

He tried to hit the brakes, but the pedal went soft under his foot. The speedometer climbed: 120... 140... 160. The bus began to rattle. The passengers behind him stood up in unison, their faces still blank, their eyes fixed on the back of his head.

The GPS began to flicker. Instead of showing the route to Hamburg, the map turned into a tangled web of red lines. Then, a message appeared on the dashboard's digital display: