I never imagined returning to my deceased friend’s apartment under such circumstances. The air was heavy with grief, almost tangible, as I unlocked the door with the key entrusted to me. His parents had asked for my help in clearing out his place, overwhelmed by the task of distinguishing valuable items from mere clutter, especially when it came to his computer. They feared inadvertently deleting or overlooking something important.
So there I stood, alone, surrounded by the silent witnesses of his life, ready to dive into the digital depths of his existence, unaware of the secrets or memories I might uncover. As I approached my friend’s desk, the stark contrast between his professional success as a software programmer and the chaos of his personal space became evident. The desk was a testament to his hectic lifestyle - cluttered, disorganized, a reflection of someone who spent long nights in front of the screen. Tucked almost humorously behind the monitor was a classic roll of toilet paper, an insider’s nod to those “endless coding sessions”. Scattered around were remnants of fast food, empty soda cans, and a thick layer of dust over neglected gadgets. It was a mess, but it was his mess. During the week, he was dedicated to his job, and weekends were reserved for friends or losing himself in the virtual world. It was a balance of sorts, a chaotic harmony that defined his life. Being somewhat particular about cleanliness, I felt compelled to tidy up the desk before settling down. The clutter and grime were just too distracting. Little did I know, as I started to clean, that I would end up spending several hours there, sifting through the digital and physical remnants of my friend’s life. It was an unexpected journey into the past, one I had not anticipated when I first took the key to his apartment. I booted his PC.
One might expect someone working in the IT industry to be particularly diligent about password security or complex encryption for their personal hardware. However, my friend seemed to have taken a more relaxed approach. Stuck to his monitor was an old, stained Post-it note, bearing what appeared to be his “master password” from his younger days: “getyourownpassword.” It was a whimsical, almost rebellious choice, a stark contrast to the stringent security protocols he likely followed at work. This simple, almost naive, approach to his personal cybersecurity added another layer to my understanding of him, blending professional expertise with a touch of personal carelessness. Greeted by the familiar Windows login screen, I entered the password from the Post-it. My mind briefly wandered, pondering whether there were any folders I should avoid for the sake of privacy, or if it might be more respectful to clear the complete browsing history. However, these considerations were abruptly interrupted by an unexpected display on the monitor. It was something I hadn’t anticipated, pulling me out of my thoughts and into a new, unforeseen aspect of this task.
Instead of the familiar Windows desktop, a dark gray screen appeared. Initially, I suspected a loose HDMI cable or some hardware malfunction, but then I noticed a small input box at the bottom of the screen. It was an unusual sight, certainly not the standard operating system interface I was expecting. The presence of this input box amidst the otherwise blank screen hinted at something more, perhaps a custom security measure or an unconventional program my friend had set up. My curiosity piqued, I leaned in closer to investigate this unexpected anomaly.Left with no better idea, I entered my friend’s password into the input line and pressed Enter. Instead of unlocking the desktop, my entry moved upwards like a chat message and settled at the top of the screen. Then, three dots appeared, signaling that a response was being typed. Moments later, an answer materialized on the screen, one I hadn’t anticipated. It was a startling development, suggesting this was not just a security feature, but something more interactive, almost conversational. The nature of this response was about to add a new, unexpected layer to my task.
The response on the screen was unsettlingly personal: “David, you shouldn’t have come here.”