He picked up the whiskey bottle, raised it to the cracked monitor.
Three days ago, he’d finally scraped together enough cash for a clean PC. A fresh start. He’d bought a used copy of a game about a dead cop—some ironic joke the universe loved to play. He slotted the disc in, the drive whirring like a dying animal. He clicked the icon. The screen went black. Then, the words appeared, stark and white against the void. He picked up the whiskey bottle, raised it
He held his breath. Clicked the icon.