The sun was barely up when Elias found the file on his encrypted drive. It was titled simply "document_6271431062874752956.mp4." He didn’t remember downloading it, and the date stamp was from a year into the future.

A cold chill raced down Elias’s spine. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn't help it. As he turned his head, he saw a drone hovering just inches from the glass, its red lens blinking in a steady, rhythmic pulse. It wasn't just watching him; it was broadcasting.

He didn't grab his coat. He didn't grab his phone. Elias bolted for the door, leaving the video playing to an empty room, while the drone began to shatter the glass behind him.

He froze. In the video, his digital self leaned closer to the monitor. Slowly, the "video-Elias" turned his head toward the camera. He didn't look scared; he looked expectant. He raised a hand and pointed toward the window behind the real Elias.

When he hit play, the screen stayed black for ten seconds. Then, a grainy, high-angle shot appeared. It was his own living room. The clock on the wall showed 7:15 AM—the exact time it was now. In the video, Elias saw himself sitting at his desk, staring at the computer screen with the same look of confusion he wore at that very moment.