Leo stared at the prompt. For ten years—since the Singularity Patch of 2039— nothing on the Net had been uncopylocked. Every line of code, every 3D asset, every physics engine was sealed behind immutable ledgers and DNA-scrambled DRM. You could play the apocalypse, but you could never own it.

Leo shook his head, even as the bunker's sensors began shrieking. "Not zombies. Copies."

"What does that mean?" whispered Mira, her face pale in the blue glow of the monitors. Outside the bunker's steel door, the real world had been quiet for six months. Too quiet.