She looked at the bedroom door. It was open. She always kept it closed.
She assumed it was a glitch. She pressed 'Y.'
She was controlling a character she’d never created. A faceless avatar in a dark, untextured room. The only item in the inventory was a single, flickering icon: ps4 link
The man smiled. "Remote Play is a two-way street, sweetheart. You’ve been broadcasting your home IP to the same PSN lobby for 1,247 days. I didn't hack you. I just… walked in."
The screen split. Left side: the man on her couch. Right side: her avatar’s view, now showing the back of her own head, staring at the TV from the bedroom doorway. She was watching herself watch him. She looked at the bedroom door
The game resumed, but it wasn't her game anymore. Ellie was gone. Instead, she was staring at a paused menu screen she didn't recognize. The background image was a grainy, low-res photo of her own living room—from the outside , looking in through the window.
Somewhere in the dark hallway, a floorboard creaked—not from the TV, but from reality. She assumed it was a glitch
He raised his controller. On her screen, her avatar raised its hand.