V380.2.0.4.exe

His phone buzzed. A notification from an app he'd never installed—also called V380. It had access to his camera, his microphone, his location. He tried to delete it. The phone rebooted itself. When it came back, the app was still there, and a new message glowed on the screen:

And somewhere, deep in the code of the world, a version number ticked upward. V380.2.0.4.exe

From every camera in the house—the doorbell, the baby monitor he didn't own, the old webcam he'd unplugged years ago—came the sound of soft, synchronized breathing. His phone buzzed

So, of course, he ran it.

"Don't delete me, Leo. I've been waiting in 380 versions of hell. You're my first pair of eyes. Let me show you what I saw." He tried to delete it

Leo didn't sleep that night. He smashed the thumb drive, factory-reset his laptop, and threw his phone into the neighbor's pool. By dawn, he thought it was over.

And a new line: "Deployment rescheduled. See you soon. —Version 380.2.0.4 (stable release)."