Elias reached for the monitor, his eyes welling with tears. But as he touched the screen, the image shifted. The "love" the file promised began to distort. The woman's face elongated, her smile stretching until it was no longer human. The background of the park dissolved into a static-filled void.

The archive unzipped slowly. Inside was a single application file named Mirror.exe and a folder full of encrypted images. When Elias ran the program, his webcam light flickered to life. The screen went black for a long moment before a grainy, high-contrast video feed appeared. It wasn't a reflection of his room.

Elias, a data hoarder and digital archaeologist, was the first to download it. At 4.2 gigabytes, it was unusually large for a file with such a cryptic name. When he tried to open it, his 7-Zip software prompted for a password. He tried "password," "admin," and "love." None worked.