Vikram gasped, horrified. “Don’t even manifest that.”

“I would download your mother ,” Vikram shot back, and they collapsed into hysterics, the kind that only comes from three days of caffeine and zero sunlight.

A collective scream filled the room. Leo’s hands flew to the keyboard, typing ancient incantations of DOS commands. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispered to the modem.

Silence. The kind that follows a thunderclap.