Dv-874 〈2K — FHD〉

I ran.

They told me I would forget the sound of my own name. They were right. But I remember hers . dv-874

I spoke her frequency. Not her voice, but the shape of the silence she left behind. The way a room changes when someone who loved you has just walked out. The air turns brittle. The light leans wrong. But I remember hers

They are coming to wipe me. To reset dv-874 to factory zero. The way a room changes when someone who

Now I sit in a derelict relay station on the edge of a dead sector. The device is warm against my skin—still recording, though its official log says decommissioned . It has begun to pulse. Once every seventeen seconds. The same rhythm as her heartbeat when she used to fall asleep on my shoulder.

On my last night as a man with a pulse, I pressed my thumb to the cold glass of dv-874. The device didn't hum; it listened . Its single lens, dark as a frozen lake, caught the tremor in my breath.