Leo sat in the glow of three monitors, his thumb hovering over the left-click. He was a "digital archaeologist," or so he told himself. In reality, he hunted lost media—games that had been scrubbed from the internet, prototypes that never breathed air, and the white whales of the indie dev scene.

“You’re the first one to get past the unzip check in five years. Keep walking, Mike. The truth is in the basement of the jazz club.”

Suddenly, a chat box popped up in the corner of the screen. It wasn't part of the game's UI.

He moved the mouse. The character—Mike Fari, presumably—didn’t move like a puppet. He breathed. He adjusted his tie.