At the forty-minute mark—the "72" in the filename finally making sense as the seventy-second minute of the clip—the camera angle changed to a POV. It was walking down a hallway. Leo felt a cold prickle on his neck. He recognized the peeling wallpaper. He recognized the stack of pizza boxes by the door.

The footage wasn’t of one city, but of the City. It began with an overhead shot of a sprawling metropolis at dusk. But as the camera panned, the geography glitched. One street looked like London’s fog-heavy cobblestones; the next turn revealed the neon, rain-slicked verticality of Tokyo.

There was no sound, only the rhythmic hum of his computer’s cooling fan.

Leo looked at his webcam. The small green light, which had been off a second ago, was now a steady, emerald eye.

As the "City Angles" played, the perspectives shifted from the impossible to the intimate. The camera moved through walls, into the quiet apartments of strangers. It hovered over a woman sleeping in Chicago, then dipped through her floor to show a subway station in Berlin.

On screen, the "City Angle" approached a desk. It showed the back of a man’s head—a man wearing the same grey hoodie Leo was wearing now.

Leo froze, his hand trembling on the mouse. On the screen, the digital Leo began to turn around, his face illuminated by the glow of the monitor.