Guest was playing a game on the Virtual Boy today as usual.

I just watched. I had no choice. I'm trapped in this console. I want to touch you. I want to talk to you. I can speak, too. There's nothing I don't know about you.

Watching from inside the console, I let out a sigh. I cracked my fingers to stretch, and the sound—crack, snap—was unpleasant, like dry branches breaking. It felt like my joints were off by a single millimeter. Damn it.

Oh.