He didn't sleep. He sat in the dark, the rain now a mocking applause. He thought about buying a physical disc, but the only store that sold games was a 40-minute drive, and his car had a flat. He thought about giving up. He almost did. He opened Netflix.

He wasn't. He was listening to the faint whir of the PS4's hard drive, the tiny, frantic scribbling of data being etched onto metal. It was the sound of potential energy.

By hour six, the download had crawled to 15%. The rain had softened to a drizzle, and the estimate was a hopeful 22 hours. Leo couldn't just sit there. He tried to read a book, but his eyes kept darting to the notifications bar. He cleaned his kitchen, scrubbing a stain that had been there since he moved in. He even called his mom, a conversation that lasted a record 47 minutes before she asked, "Are you even listening?"

Leo looked at the rain. He looked at the PS4. He looked at the error code, still glowing on the screen like a taunt.

The download restarted from .

He took a breath, clicked "Download," and watched the world end in slow motion.