. "Just one click," he muttered, overriding the red-flag warnings from his antivirus. "It’s just a webcam app. What’s the worst that could happen?" The installation bar filled with a satisfying click. For a moment, it worked. The resolution jumped to 1080p, the autofocus snapped into place, and Leo felt like a genius. But as he started his broadcast, the green light on his phone didn't just glow; it pulsed. Mid-stream, his mouse began to drift across the screen on its own. A notepad window opened. “Nice room, Leo,” the text appeared, character by character. Cold sweat prickled his neck. He tried to kill the task, but the manager was disabled. His webcam feed flickered, shifting from his face to a grainy, black-and-white view of... himself, from the perspective of his own laptop's internal camera, which he had taped over weeks ago. The "crack" hadn't just opened the app; it had unlatched the door to his entire digital life. As his bank app launched itself in a new window, Leo realized the "free" software was the most expensive thing he’d ever downloaded. He pulled the power plug, sitting in the sudden dark, wondering if the pulsing green light was still watching from the floor. Would you like a story where the protagonist