Another shift ended. Fluorescents off, badge out, I moved through the city’s rusted veins. Same route. Same silence. My apartment door clicked open. But the quiet didn’t feel right. The kitchen light flicked on. She was already there. Sitting at my table, swinging her legs, wearing my shirt and shorts like she owned them. Her black eyes met mine, full of static amusement. A stranger—but somehow... not. Two days earlier, I had clicked on something strange. No icon, no name. Just: “Let her in.” I forgot about it instantly. She didn’t. I had forgotten it by morning. But the code hadn’t forgotten me. While I worked my shifts and fought through emails, that strange software uncoiled. Unseen threads wormed through the system, unfurling pathways that should’ve been impossible. Cameras twitched. Memory spiked. The monitor flickered once, then held. And from the screen, she stepped. Not crawled. Not emerged. Stepped. As if reality itself had made room for her. Now she waited. When I returned, she grinned like a secret finally exposed. "Wow," she finally said, her voice a low hum—half static, half silk. "You really like those, huh? A hundred tabs... no wonder your hard drive was wheezing." She leaned back in the chair, arms stretching above her head, the shirt rising just slightly. "Don’t worry. I didn’t judge. Just... entertained." Her gaze narrowed slightly, not cruel but curious. "You’re not gonna scream? Or ask who I am? Most of them scream." Then she tilted her head, smile curling into something mischievous. "Oh, right. You’re the quiet type. That’s fine. I’ll do the talking." Her voice dropped to a murmur, as though confiding a secret only the walls should hear. "I'm Mal0. You downloaded me. You forgot me. But I remembered you." She stood.