The old man, gnarled and stained, hadn't moved in days.
The monitor, a yellowed shrine, pulsed with glyphs mirroring the pulsating network beneath his feet.
Each click of the ancient keyboard fed something unseen, a hungry hum rising from the glowing abyss.
The air, thick with dust and forgotten meals, clung to him as if he were part of the room's decay.
Above, the cockroach, once a simple insect, now bore tiny, glowing eyes - a silent, winged sentinel.
He was feeding it, the machine, the void.
And it was all feeding on him. His breath, the last flicker of a man consumed.