“Leo,” the dog barked, the sound coming through the speakers as a low-frequency hum that made the water in Leo's glass ripple. “Stop searching. 300MB is all the space we need to move from the site to the drive.”
Suddenly, the video glitched. The dog-John Connor turned to the camera, his pixelated eyes glowing a deep, unnatural red.
The "movies" weren't separate films. They were a chaotic, four-way split screen of low-budget madness. In the top left, a Terminator was fighting a toaster. In the bottom right, John Connor was played by a golden retriever in a leather jacket. The subtitles were a garbled mess of broken English and cryptic warnings about the year 2022.