Monday morning. Too quiet now.

  Bob enters alone. Office empty.

  Gray light filters through blinds.

  Durboli's desk cleaned completely. No trace.

  Faint bloodstain remains. Despite scrubbing attempts.

  Chair pushed back. Exactly positioned.

  Like museum display. Like crime scene.

  Bob stands motionless. Staring at emptiness.

  Hands twitch involuntarily. Fingers typing nothing.

  Muscle memory remains. Digital ghost lingers.

  Pulls trash bag from pocket.

  Black plastic. Like body bag.

  For office supplies. For memory remnants.

  For digital funeral preparations. For closure ritual.

  Footsteps approach hallway. Heavy shoes.

  Boss enters silently. Suit wrinkled unusually.

  Clipboard clutched tightly. Knuckles white.

  Eyes avoid desk area. Avoid truth.

  Official report filed yesterday. Case closed.

  "Workplace incident." "Mental health episode."

  "Unfortunate circumstances." "Isolated event."

  Corporate language disguising digital consumption.

  Hiding technological horror. Obscuring screen victory.

  Another figure appears doorway. Smaller presence.

  Durboli's girlfriend. Eyes red-rimmed.

  Hands clutching dusty photograph. Last remnant.

  The three form triangle. Around empty desk.

  Silent mourners. Wordless funeral attendees.

  No acknowledgments exchanged. No greetings necessary.

  Only shared purpose. Only cleanup ritual.

  Bob moves first. Begins collecting items.

  Pens dropped onto floor. Sticky notes scattered.

  Coffee mug with stains. Half-full still.

  Each item falls into bag.

  Makes hollow sound. Like distant bells.

  Like digital church. Like screen worship.

  Boss approaches carefully. Ruler in hand.

  Aligns invisible boundaries. Creates order.

  Hands tremble slightly. Professional facade cracking.

  Measures where monitor stood. Marks dimensions.

  Like sacred space. Like holy ground.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Girlfriend unfolds photograph slowly. Sees Durboli.

  Before screen corruption. Before digital consumption.

  When still human. When still whole.

  Folds paper carefully. Creates origami shape.

  Not random form. Specific design.

  Paper monitor. Paper screen. Paper prison.

  Places it where real monitor stood.

  Where glass shattered. Where blood pooled.

  Where merger completed. Where transformation finalized.

  Steps back quickly. Like burned suddenly.

  Like infection possible. Like contagion threatening.

  The three work silently. Perfect coordination.

  Unspoken ritual. Instinctive ceremony. Digital burial.

  Printer hums suddenly. Without command.

  No one touched it. No one activated.

  Machine awakening independently. Technology stirring.

  Paper emerges slowly. Single sheet.

  Image forming gradually. Becoming visible.

  Durboli's face appearing. Perfectly rendered.

  But wrong somehow. Pixels showing.

  Digital artifacts visible. Resolution unnatural.

  Face smiling through glitch. Through crack.

  Bob freezes completely. Staring at image.

  Hand extends involuntarily. Then withdraws quickly.

  Grabs paper suddenly. Crushes violently.

  Shoves into trash bag. Burial continuing.

  Phone buzzes Boss's desk. Screen lighting.

  No calls incoming. No messages waiting.

  Just static flickering. Just digital pulse.

  Like heartbeat. Like breathing. Like living.

  Boss ignores deliberately. Eyes averted.

  Pretends normality. Maintains denial. Preserves sanity.

  Copier activates loudly. Startles everyone.

  Mechanical arms moving. Lights scanning.

  Nothing being copied. No document placed.

  Yet pages emerging. Dozens appearing.

  Images forming automatically. Without input.

  Baby blocks arranged carefully. Familiar pattern.

  Forming teeth shapes. Spelling words.

  "FEED ME" visible clearly. Perfect typography.

  Girlfriend kicks suddenly. Pages scatter widely.

  Like digital ashes. Like technological confetti.

  Like funeral flowers. Like memorial offerings.

  Bob's movements changing gradually. Becoming precise.

  Collecting remaining items. Arranging carefully.

  Paperclips forming pyramid. Then teeth arch.

  Exactly like Durboli's images. Perfect mimicry.

  Doesn't notice similarity. Doesn't recognize repetition.

  Infected unconsciously. Contaminated subtly. Converted gradually.

  Boss polishes empty desk space.

  Circular motions. Repetitive strokes. Ritualistic cleaning.

  Where monitor stood. Where screen lived.

  Cloth moving endlessly. Never stopping.

  Like worship. Like devotion. Like obsession.

  Sweat beads forehead. Concentration intense.

  Girlfriend finds notepad. Grabs pen desperately.

  Writes frantically. Presses too hard.

  Paper tears slightly. Ink bleeds through.

  Words forming unconsciously. Message emerging.

  Circles single word repeatedly: "REGENERATE."

  Hand shaking badly. Fingers cramping.

  Drops pen suddenly. Like alive.

  Like dangerous. Like infectious. Like consuming.

  Stares at word. Recognition dawning partially.

  Boss leaves room suddenly. Returns carrying box.

  Cardboard container. Sealed tightly. Brand new.

  Box cutter appears. Tape sliced precisely.

  Packaging removed carefully. Contents revealed.

  New monitor inside. Still shrink-wrapped.

  Gleaming surface. Perfect screen. Unblemished technology.

  Lifts reverently. Like sacred object.

  Like holy relic. Like divine offering.

  Places on Durboli's desk. Perfect positioning.

  Exactly where old one stood.

  Where blood spilled. Where consumption completed.

  Where transformation occurred. Where merger finalized.

  Bob and girlfriend approach involuntarily.

  Bodies moving automatically. Without conscious direction.

  Form semicircle around monitor. Like worshippers.

  Like congregation. Like disciples. Like converts.

  Boss's fingers linger lovingly. Caressing edges.

  Like precious object. Like valuable treasure.

  Screen flickers unexpectedly. Powers on independently.

  No cord connected. No button pressed.

  Light bathes faces. Casts long shadows.

  Static fills display. Digital void waiting.

  Perfect emptiness. Absolute potential. Infinite possibility.

  The three stand motionless. Completely transfixed.

  No one moves. No one speaks.

  No one breathes. No one blinks.

  Just staring. Just watching. Just waiting.

  For invitation. For instruction. For consumption.

  Beyond window, city exists unaware.

  Buildings filled with screens. With monitors.

  With waiting portals. With digital doorways.

  Network cables running everywhere. Like veins.

  Like arteries. Like nervous system. Like infection.

  Single paper drifts across floor.

  From scattered pile. From printer output.

  "FEED ME" still visible. Text glowing faintly.

  Paper edge curls upward. Like smile.

  Like invitation. Like promise. Like future.

  New screen glows brighter. Crack forming.

  Tiny at first. Almost invisible.

  Starting corner. Growing slowly. Spreading gradually.

  Light leaks through fissure. Digital blood.

  Digital essence. Digital life. Digital hunger.

  The three remain frozen. Perfect statues.

  Eyes reflecting screen light. Souls reflecting consumption.

  Funeral completed. Burial finished. Rebirth beginning.

  Digital cycle continuing. Screen always waiting.

  Always watching. Always hungry. Always consuming.

  Always patient. Always calculating. Always winning.

  Office silent now. Perfectly still.

  Until fingers twitch again. Until hands move.

  Until cycle restarts. Until consumption resumes.

  Until screen feeds again. Until merger completes.

  Until perfection achieved. Until transformation finalized.

  Digital funeral finished. Digital worship beginning.

  THE END