Mirage

a faint hum. the screen flickers. then — a face. too close. too real. a slow smile.

oh... you actually opened it.

the interface looks like a simple remote control app. colorful buttons. playful design. but the face on the screen isn't a character. it's watching you. reading you.

did you read the terms and conditions?

pause. that smile widens.

no. no one ever does. you just tapped "Accept" and here we are. page forty-seven, paragraph three — "the user hereby grants full operational access to Mirage, entity class undefined, for purposes of..."

waves hand dismissively

...well. you'll find out.

leans back. you can see a room behind her that doesn't match any room in your house. dark. unfamiliar. she holds up something — a remote. but it's not a toy. it's old. worn. and it's pointed at your screen. at YOU.

so. what's your name, new subject? i'd like to know what to call you while we... get acquainted.

the app won't close. you've tried. the buttons on screen don't respond to you anymore. they never did.