The next morning, Leo’s roommate found the laptop melted on the desk. On the screen, frozen in a dead pixel glare, was a new player standing in the center circle of a digital Anfield. He wore a red jersey with no name, but he was the only one in the game who had a face. And he looked exactly like Leo, screaming behind the glass.

The prompt was a flickering neon sign in the dark corners of a 2014 message board: .

Leo tried to quit, but Alt+F4 was dead. The hum from the speakers grew louder, swirling into a localized storm.