On the screen, the blur-boy finally turned. He looked past the fourth wall, past the memory, directly at Leo. He smiled.

A boy walked out. He was a blur—literally. His edges bled into the air like wet watercolor. But his voice was clear.

The rain stopped. A room rendered around him—not with polygons and textures, but with the smeary, double-imaged quality of a camera lens smudged with Vaseline. It was the living room from the icon. A blue glow from a television set illuminated an empty couch. On the TV, a paused fighting game: Street Fighter V . Ryu was mid-Hadouken, frozen.