Elias clicked. The static cleared instantly, revealing a crystal-clear shot of a dimly lit hallway. It looked familiar—the peeling wallpaper, the flickering fluorescent light, the stack of unclaimed mail on a small table. His heart hammered against his ribs. That was his hallway.

He looked toward his front door. On the screen, a figure appeared at the far end of the hall. It moved with a disjointed, mechanical twitch, silent on the digital feed. It stopped right in front of his apartment number.

If you'd like to take this story in a different direction, tell me:

The screen hissed with static. Then, the menu transformed. The familiar brand logo was replaced by a jagged, crimson "W."