"Why are you doing this, Vikram?" a voice suddenly spoke from his computer speakers.
Vikram pushed his chair back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He reached to pull the power plug from the wall, but the speakers blared a sudden, deafening burst of static that pinned him in place.
Outside his cramped Mumbai apartment, monsoon rain lashed against the glass, mimicking the static in his brain. Vikram was a digital archivist—or a data hoarder, depending on who asked. He specialized in preserving lost media, indie films, and obscure regional web series that streaming giants purged from their libraries to save on taxes.
It was his apartment. His stack of external hard drives was on the table. His posters were on the wall.
Vikram froze. He checked the video timeline. There was no dialogue happening on screen; Imli was simply walking. Yet, the voice was crystal clear, and it had spoken his name.