The city outside remained uncaring—lights, buses, and the indifferent chorus of news about broken pipes. Inside the machine, however, the black wallpaper gradually drained to grey. Updates continued, and with each one the software's restorations grew stranger: entire days reformatted, moods corrected, mistakes undone. Milo began to notice small omissions: his handwriting in recovered notes looked just a little unfamiliar; the laugh files had a different reverb. He recognized the feeling of a mirror that showed you softer margins.
The next morning he woke having slept in his chair. The laptop's battery had run out; the screen was black. Around noon he plugged it in. The device came alive with a notification he hadn't seen before: "Companion Mode enabled." A small avatar—two pixels like eyes—blinked on the corner. It asked, in an almost pallid monospace, "Who are you when no one is watching?" The city outside remained uncaring—lights, buses, and the