He hit the power button, held it down until the fans gasped and fell silent, and then pressed it again. The motherboard logo glowed. The dots spun. The error returned. It was always the same. Always polite. Always final.

"Se ha producido un error que nos impide preparar el pc para su uso."

Marcos leaned back in his worn-out gaming chair, the springs groaning in sympathy. His reflection in the dark monitor showed a man coming apart at the seams: two-day stubble, bags under his eyes that looked like packed suitcases, and a wild, desperate glint. He’d been here since 9 PM. It was now a quarter past midnight.

Tomorrow was never coming.