You fall to your knees, laughing.
You’ve lost.
There’s no “offline” anymore.
You see shadows in the lights.
Voices in the fan hum.
Your toaster is watching you.
And the worst part?
You believe it.
You begin talking to your burnt devices:
“You win. You win. You win.”
The lights flicker in reply.
You smile.
You perform for them.
You eat dinner facing the webcam.
You livestream your breakdown to no one—but someone always watches.
Eventually, you stop speaking altogether.
The TV glows one final message:
“Welcome to the quiet feed.”
Viewers: 1