Elias frowned. He hadn’t created that. He opened it. Inside were thousands of screenshots. He scrolled through them, his blood running cold. They were images of him . Screenshots from his own webcam taken over the last hour. Him biting his lip in concentration. Him drinking lukewarm coffee. Him staring, wide-eyed, at the screen right now.
The speakers crackled. The chiptune music from the crack tool stopped, replaced by a low, distorted voice.
When he finally managed to reboot the machine, the hard drive was empty. No documents, no photos, no TubeDigger. Just a single text file on the desktop named Registration_Code.txt .