The screen was a minefield of digital debris. Every click birthed three pop-up windows—one claiming his computer had seventeen viruses, another offering him the chance to meet "local singles" in a city he’d never heard of. He closed them with the practiced speed of a professional gamer, his eyes darting back to the main frame. Finally, the pixelated image snapped into focus.
"Link 1 is holding," he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile connection. The screen was a minefield of digital debris
"Come on," he muttered, his thumb hovering over the ‘Stream Link 1’ button. " he whispered