In the reflection of his monitor, Leo saw a shadow move behind him. He spun around, but the room was empty. When he looked back at the screen, a single text box had appeared over the ruins of the level:

Leo pulled the power plug, but the monitor stayed lit, glowing with the faint, haunting image of a pig in a Sith hood, staring directly at him.

The speakers let out a deafening, mechanical oink. The screen went pitch black, and then, in tiny white letters, a final message scrolled by: Nothing is truly free.

As the progress bar crawled, Leo imagined playing as a pig-version of Darth Maul, dual-bladed lightsaber spinning. The download finished with a sharp ding . He ignored the frantic warning from his antivirus—software was always so dramatic—and double-clicked.

"Just a glitch," Leo muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The screen flickered. Instead of the familiar John Williams fanfare, a distorted, low-bit growl filled the room. The loading screen appeared, but the birds’ eyes were hollow, pixelated voids.

He tapped the screen to launch the first level. A slingshot appeared, but instead of a red bird, it held a small, shivering thermal detonator. He pulled back and released. The explosion didn't just clear the pigs; it tore through the game's UI, revealing lines of red code underneath. Suddenly, his webcam light clicked on.