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When the sun rose, the room was empty. The mainframe sat silent, the floppy disk melted into the drive. On the monitor, a new line of text waited for the next person to find it: SYSTEM STABLE. AWAITING INPUT.
"What are you?" he whispered, his voice sounding like static. The screen flickered one last time.
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The drive groaned, a mechanical shriek of metal on plastic. For a moment, the room went dark. Not just the lights—the shadows themselves seemed to deepen, swallowing the edges of his desk. Then, the text scrolled. It wasn't code. It was a log.