Elias tried to pull his hand away, but the violet haze was sticky. He felt his own memories—the smell of his morning coffee, the sound of his mother’s laugh, the cold ache of a winter morning—being pulled toward the screen, zipped into neat, efficient blocks of data.

He was about to delete it when he noticed the file size: .

On the desk sat a silent computer. In the "STUFF_OLD" folder, there was a new file: . Size: 0.0001 KB. 7z file actually is?

That was impossible. Even an empty 7z container was larger than that.

The progress bar didn’t move for a full minute, then suddenly leaped to 99%. A single window popped up:

He looked at the progress bar again. It now read:

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