The LED screen of Ernesto’s computer glowed in the dark of his small repair shop, "El Tecno Amigo." On the workbench sat an Epson L3250. To the naked eye, it was pristine—a sleek, white ink tank printer. But Ernesto knew its secret. The printer was lying.

Ernesto plugged in the USB. He disabled his antivirus—it always screamed bloody murder about these tools. He took a deep breath, the smell of solder and coffee filling his lungs, and double-clicked the file.

The printer hummed quietly, as if dreaming of ink.

“Come on, little friend,” Ernesto whispered, placing his calloused finger on the mouse. “Wake up.”