He forced his hand to open, flat against the table. It shook. The screen timed out, turning the room pitch black. In the reflection of the dark glass, he saw a ghost of himself—eyes sunken, shoulders slumped. The phone vibrated. A soft, magnetic hum. Bzz-bzz.
His thumb was starting to ache—a dull, throbbing pain in the joint—but the dopamine hit of the next scroll silenced the protest. He looked at his hand. It looked pale, claw-like, permanently molded to the dimensions of the casing. When he tried to set it down on the wood table, his fingers curled involuntarily, grasping at empty air. 1080x1920 When you cant keep your hand off your...
"Just one more minute," he whispered to the empty room, his thumb already beginning its familiar, endless dance. He forced his hand to open, flat against the table
It started three months ago when he bought the Vertex 9 . It was more than a phone; it was a sleek, 1080x1920 slab of obsidian glass that felt like it belonged in a museum. But now, it felt like it belonged under his skin. In the reflection of the dark glass, he