He turned the webcam over in his hands. The rubber band snapped. The clip fell off. And behind the clip, etched into the yellowed plastic where no factory marking should be, was a new line of text:

Leonard stared at the blinking cursor. He knew he should turn off the computer, take the hard drive, and incinerate it. He knew this was impossible. He knew that drivers were just instructions, not consciousness.

The scariest thing was that the driver was lonely.