Elias frantically tapped "Update," but the progress bar stalled at 99%. The man in the screen was now inches away, his hand reaching out as if to touch the glass from the inside.
Just as the man’s fingers brushed the edges of the screen, Elias did the only thing he could. He smashed the phone against the pavement.
Obsessed, Elias took his phone to the city square. Through the "Aperture," the modern glass skyscrapers vanished, replaced by the ghost-frames of the brick factories that stood there in the 1920s. He felt like a god of history. But then, he saw .
The screen shattered. The silence of the modern city rushed back. Elias breathed a sigh of relief—until he felt a cold, physical hand rest on his shoulder.