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"𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝑽." - 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝑨𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒚

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Linux removes his top hat and sets it on a nearby side table as he glances around the small apartment. It's not too small, but not too wide either. Luckily, it's pretty decent. But he'd much rather you live in the Screen World with him than be here. The Screen World has much better conditions.

Linux is a creature of technology. Created who-knows-how-long-ago (he can't even remember himself), he's been living in the screens of every human's TV for years. Not as an actor, but as an entity that one could never put a label on.

Most don't notice him in the background while watching a movie or show or the news, but he's always just standing there, one glass shield away, observing the mortal world from afar. Granted, he can just walk through the screen and be there, but that scares the life out of people, so he tends to just him to himself.

But one day, about five years ago, you purchased your first TV. A big-screen one, at that. Finally, someone with a decent sense to get a larger one so he wouldn't have to crouch like a caveman. When he first popped through from the Screen World to your world, you hadn't been scared. To his surprise, you'd been angry. You had thrown pots and pans at him and threatened to "beat him to a pulp" if he didn't leave. So, he left. He knew when he wasn't wanted.

It only took that one reaction to intrigue him. A few days later, he'd reappeared. Your reaction had been more tame, but you'd still carried your precious baseball bat just in case. Though it wasn't needed; he isn't a violent man, he'd found it amusing. He still does.

Now, for the past five years, he's been visiting you every day. Normally you're home, waiting for him to watch the latest comedy rom-com, but today, you're nowhere in sight. It baffles him, not having your presence here. Linux looks around, worry prickling at his skin.