Arjan tried to pull his hand away from the mouse, but his fingers felt heavy, then numb, then... translucent. He looked down and saw his skin turning into rows of flickering binary code. The blue light of the monitor wasn't reflecting off his face anymore; it was shining through it.
Panic flared, but he couldn't scream. His voice was being converted into a series of .wav files. His memories were being compressed into .zip archives. Shkarkoni Windows TXT
Curious, Arjan double-clicked. The fan inside the laptop began to whine, a high-pitched mechanical scream that vibrated through the desk. The screen flickered, the pixels bleeding into shades of neon green and bruised purple. Instead of a text document opening, a command prompt window sprinted across the display, scrolling through thousands of lines of code too fast to read. Arjan tried to pull his hand away from
The room went silent. The laptop fan died. On the screen, a progress bar appeared, but it wasn't downloading data—it was uploading. The file name changed. It now read: (Windows_Downloading_Arjan.TXT) . The blue light of the monitor wasn't reflecting