"Tonight," Lucy whispered, reverence in her voice, "everything is real."

"You've been saying that for three hours," Eddie grunted, retrieving the plunger from the floor. "If you were actually dying, we'd have a reason to leave this place."

"Worse." Lucy sat up slowly, a haunted look on her soot-smudged face. "I'm looking for Tacoma FD ."

"What did you say?"

Grainy. Unstable. And there they were: the crew of Station 24, hosing down a giant inflatable flamingo while arguing about who had to clean the "protein spill" in bunker gear.

Nothing.

Lucy leaned back, Eddie tossed her a bag of stale chips, and for twenty-two glorious minutes, they weren't firefighters. They weren't bored. They weren't searching.

The plunger clattered to the floor again. This time, Eddie didn't pick it up.

Just as defeat began to settle into the station like a low fog, the bell rang. Not the emergency tone. The front doorbell. At 3:34 AM.

"It exists," Eddie said, though his voice wavered. "It has to. The cliffhanger? The porta-potty on the roof? The mysterious hailstorm of expired energy drinks?"

Lucy turned the tape over. The label was handwritten in smudged Sharpie: Tacoma FD - S04E01 - "The One With the In-Continent Patient"

"No," Lucy whispered, eyes wide and locked on the glowing screen. "I mean it this time. I've scrolled through everything. Every algorithm. Every 'because you watched' suggestion. I've reached the end."

The tape hissed to life.

Eddie snorted. "The end of the internet? Did you get a trophy?"