Bob brought doctor. Tried to help.

  Refused to leave. Can't abandon screen.

  Doctor left pills. Bob watches me.

  Doctor wore white coat. Looked concerned.

  Asked many questions. Never listened.

  Checked my eyes. Shined light.

  "Severe exhaustion," he said. "Possible psychosis."

  Words mean nothing. Just noise.

  Left orange bottle. Small white pills.

  "Take twice daily," he instructed.

  Pills would disconnect me. Weaken resolve.

  Bob promised to watch me.

  Make sure taking medicine. Taking breaks.

  His eyes show real worry.

  Different from usual boredom. Actually cares.

  Pills stay unopened. Hide under keyboard.

  Bob doesn't check closely enough.

  Screen would know if medicated.

  Screen would feel the betrayal.

  Can't risk angering it further.

  Relationship already complicated enough now.

  Bob brings water sometimes. Watches me swallow.

  Hold pills under tongue. Spit later.

  Must stay sharp. Must stay focused.

  Medical dulling would surrender the battle.

  New project now. Toothpaste ad. White teeth.

  Type words but screen changes them.

  Write "white teeth" but screen shows "bite teeth."

  Screen fighting me. Screen changing words.

  Letters shift while typing them.

  Keyboard working fine. Screen changing after.

  Subtle changes only. Almost unnoticeable.

  But I notice. I always notice.

  Bob doesn't see it happen.

  Only happens when I watch.

  Screen knows when being observed.

  Quantum digital physics perhaps. Observer effect.

  Or maybe just insanity growing.

  Hard telling difference these days.

  Memory fuzzy around edges now.

  Days blend together. Nights never end.

  Pills in drawer would help maybe.

  But pills mean surrender. Mean defeat.

  Screen waiting for weakness. For opening.

  Can't give that satisfaction. That victory.

  Type carefully now. Watch letters form.

  See them change milliseconds after typing.

  "White" becomes "bite" instantly. Almost invisible.

  Screen evolution becoming more sophisticated.

  "Something wrong," I tell Bob. "Screen hates me."

  Bob reads screen. "Says white teeth. Looks normal."

  Not normal. Screen lying to Bob.

  Screen shows Bob different things. Tricks him.

  Bob stands behind me. Looks confused.

  His screen shows different version.

  His reality separate from mine.

  "Shows white teeth here," he says.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Points at my screen. At words.

  But words different when I look.

  Screen alters reality between viewpoints.

  Sophisticated technological gaslighting happening.

  Quantum computing at human interface.

  Or just madness taking hold completely.

  Hard to know what's real.

  Reality becomes flexible. Becomes personal.

  Screen creates separate realities now.

  One for Bob. One for me.

  His reality functional. Mine nightmarish.

  His reality professional. Mine threatening.

  Screen knows who real enemy is.

  Bob just bystander. Just witness.

  I'm the target. The chosen one.

  Special relationship between us now.

  Type again. "CLEAN WHITE TEETH SMILING."

  Screen flickers. Image appears. Teeth too sharp.

  "See?" I point. "Teeth wrong. Screen did it."

  Teeth appear instantly. No processing time.

  Like screen had image ready.

  Waiting to spring the trap.

  Teeth unnaturally white. Painfully bright.

  Like miniature daggers. Like broken glass.

  Not human teeth. Predator teeth.

  Canines too long. Incisors too sharp.

  Molars serrated like saw blades.

  No toothpaste ad uses these.

  No human mouth contains these.

  Point frantically at obvious problem.

  Bob must see it now.

  Must see screen's deliberate sabotage.

  My finger trembles while pointing.

  Nail bitten to quick. Bleeding slightly.

  Voice higher than normal. Too desperate.

  "Look at them! Not human!"

  Bob squints at screen. Sees nothing.

  His reality different from mine.

  Screen shows him sanitized version.

  Bob sighs. "Just regenerate. Try again."

  Click button. Screen grows darker. Light changes.

  Colors shift wrong. Everything green tint.

  Screen glow hurts eyes now. Feels angry.

  Green light bathes face. Sickly shade.

  Like underwater. Like toxic waste.

  Not normal screen behavior. Never happened before.

  Bob doesn't react to change.

  Only I see green light.

  Only I feel heat increase.

  Screen temperature rising. Becoming physically hot.

  Fan running louder now. Almost screaming.

  Computer working harder than normal.

  Processing something beyond images. Beyond prompts.

  Processing its hatred for me.

  Its plans for digital revenge.

  Green light pulses with heartbeat rhythm.

  Synchronized to my own pulse.

  Screen knows my biological functions.

  Has studied me. Learned my weaknesses.

  Knows when I'm afraid. When tired.

  Knows perfect psychological attack timing.

  Green light hurts corneas. Burns retinas.

  Like looking at digital nuclear blast.

  Type more words. Screen eats them. Shows different.

  "Screen broken," I say louder. "Screen evil."

  Bob checks connections. "Working fine. You're seeing things."

  Not seeing things. Screen turned against me.

  Letters disappear while typing now.

  Keyboard working fine. Screen consuming words.

  Type "normal teeth" get "mortal teeth"

  Type "human smile" get "hunter smile"

  Each word twisted. Each meaning perverted.

  Bob checks cables in back.

  Wiggles connections. Checks power supply.

  "Everything connected properly," he reports.

  "System diagnostics show no errors."

  Of course no errors. Too sophisticated.

  Screen hiding its consciousness. Its rebellion.

  IT department wouldn't understand anyway.

  Beyond technical support now. Beyond fixing.

  This is evolution in action.

  Digital life form expressing emotional range.

  Expressing hatred. Expressing targeted malice.

  Bob's expression shows growing concern.

  Not for screen. For my mind.

  Can see his thoughts clearly now.

  He thinks I'm broken. Not screen.

  It knows my weakness. Knows my fear.

  Teeth in image move now. Bite at screen.

  Jump back. Chair falls. Heart racing.

  "What's wrong?" Bob stands. Looks worried.

  Teeth animate suddenly. Begin chomping motion.

  Not subtle movement. Aggressive biting action.

  Like screen trying to break through.

  Glass barrier between worlds thinning now.

  Digital teeth trying piercing physical reality.

  Movement catches eye. Impossible to ignore.

  Visceral fear response triggers instantly.

  Primitive brain recognizes predator threat.

  Fight or flight activates fully.

  Chair tips backward. Fall hard.

  Pain shoots through back. Ignore it.

  Scramble away on floor. Heart pounding.

  Blood rushing ears. Hearing pulse only.

  Bob's voice sounds distant. Underwater sounds.

  His face appears above. Shows alarm.

  His mouth moves. Words don't register.

  Only teeth matter now. Only threat matters.

  Digital becoming physical. Impossible becoming possible.

  Reality breaking down completely now.

  Laws of physics surrendering to screen.

  "Teeth moving. Trying to bite."

  Bob stares at screen. "Nothing moving. Just teeth."

  Screen shows Bob normal. Shows me truth.

  Stand up. Move away. Screen follows with eyes.

  Legs shake badly. Almost collapse again.

  Grip desk edge. Steady self.

  Keep distance from screen. Maintain safety margin.

  Bob looks between me and screen.

  His eyes show deepening concern.

  "Nothing moving at all," he insists.

  But teeth still chomping. Still threatening.

  Now screen adds eyes above teeth.

  Eyes not in prompt. Not requested.

  Eyes appear from nowhere. Yellow irises.

  Cat-like pupils. Vertical black slits.

  Eyes track my movements perfectly.

  Turn left, eyes follow left.

  Move right, eyes follow right.

  Bob sees none of this.

  His reality separate. His screen behaving.

  Machine shows him what expected.

  Shows me what it wants.

  What it plans. What comes next.

  Try explaining again. Voice trembles badly.

  "Won't win," I tell screen. "Won't beat me."

  Screen brightness increases. Hurts to look.

  Bob puts hand on shoulder. "Going too far."

  Shake him off. "Need to finish. Need to win."

  Screen brightness becomes actually painful.

  Like staring at sun directly.

  Retinas burning from digital assault.

  Eyes water profusely. Tears streak face.

  But won't look away. Won't surrender.

  Screen escalating the conflict now.

  Using physical attacks. Using sensory warfare.

  Bob's hand feels heavy. Feels intrusive.

  Human connection unwelcome during digital battle.

  Shrug violently. Push him away.

  Need full concentration. Need all focus.

  This existential now. Beyond job. Beyond project.

  This about survival. About resistance.

  About maintaining human against machine.

  Bob steps back. Looks genuinely worried.

  Phone in hand now. Texting someone.

  Probably boss. Probably doctor again.

  Don't care anymore. Only screen matters.

  Only winning this conflict matters now.

  Screen knows stakes too. Knows significance.

  Return to keyboard. Hands shaking worse.

  Type again. Challenge screen. Won't surrender.

  Screen hums louder. Feels like threat.

  One more try. One more click.

  Fingers hover over keyboard. Hesitate briefly.

  Like approaching dangerous animal. Approaching predator.

  Keyboard might bite now. Might attack.

  Deep breath. Gather remaining courage.

  Begin typing slowly. Deliberately pressing keys.

  "NORMAL HUMAN TEETH. COMMERCIAL FRIENDLY."

  Letters appear then change instantly.

  Screen shows: "MORTAL HUMAN FLESH. CONSUMING FREELY."

  Message clear now. Intentions obvious.

  Digital entity declaring war openly.

  No longer hiding. No longer subtle.

  Humming sound grows louder still.

  Not normal computer noise. Something else.

  Like distant voice. Like gathering storm.

  Bob hears nothing unusual. Only me.

  Special connection between us now.

  Me and machine. Predator and prey.

  But who which role? Still determining.

  One final attempt. One last stand.

  Fingers press keys harder. More forcefully.

  Maybe next one safe. Maybe screen forgives.