I frantically opened the quarantine log, my bloody fingers flying across the cracked keyboard. The shards of broken glass bit deep into my left palm with every keystroke, but I didn't slow down. I kept pressing the input keys, forcing the terminal to accept the command lines. My left hand was slick with blood, leaving thick, greasy smears across the plastic casing and the functional buttons.I didn't care about the cuts or the grease. I just needed the buried folder to open before the core loop timed out. "Come on," I muttered, slamming the heel of my palm against the frame. "Open up for me."The terminal gave a loud beep that rattled the loose wiring beneath the board. The golden border of the standard system interface began to warp and bend, the color bleeding out from the edges of the display.It shifted from the bright corporate gold to a deep blue. The new light filled the small room, reflecting off the shattered fragments of the screen and casting long, pale shadows across Pip’