Please Stand: By

“Who are you?” Lena gripped her mop handle like a weapon.

He was whispering numbers. Just repeating them: “9… 14… 3… 15… 13… 9… 14… 7…”

“Hendricks?” She shook his shoulder. He didn’t respond, but his lips moved. She leaned closer.

And she had no idea what came next.

“Hello?” she called out. Her voice echoed down the silent corridor.

Please Stand By.

“And me?” Lena asked.

But as she walked floor by floor, checking offices and cubicles, she realized she was. Seventy-three employees, plus three janitors. All of them in the same trance: eyes moving, lips whispering sequences of numbers. Some sat upright at their desks, fingers frozen over keyboards. Others lay on the floor like discarded dolls. The air grew warmer. The hum deepened.

Please Stand By.

The green-eyed woman’s smile didn’t waver. “The update isn’t finished. We’re still expanding. But for now… you have a head start.” Please Stand By

“Exactly. You never logged into the network. Never took a company phone. Never even used the break room Wi-Fi.” The woman smiled—not warmly, but with a kind of clinical curiosity. “You’re the only analog person in a digital building. Which means you’re the only one still you .”

“Not yet?”

That’s what flickered on every screen in the building: two pale green words on a dead black field. The televisions in the break room, the monitors at reception, the massive display wall in the lobby—all frozen in that same sterile mantra. Please Stand By. “Who are you

Lena looked at her mop. Then at the woman. Then at the singing servers.

Lena pulled back. She’d worked nights at Meridian Data Solutions for eleven years. She cleaned the toilets, emptied the trash, knew which vending machine gave you two candy bars if you pressed B7. She was not supposed to be the last person standing.