The sense that it would turn itself on in the middle of the night, climb upstairs and come and stare at you whilst you slept, with distant, unblinking eyes. Muttering machine code under its metaphorical breath. And should you wake, hold its finger to its pursed lips, utter a soft ‘sshhh’ and shutdown to the tune of the Windows log-off, before its silhouette in the dimness collapsed into a heap on the floor.
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