The cooling fans on my rig began to scream, a high-pitched metallic whine that filled the small apartment. The progress bar didn't move for ten minutes. Then, it leaped to 99% and stayed there. My monitor flickered, the colors bleeding into a bruised purple.

"The pieces were never meant to fit. They were meant to collide."

The cursor blinked, a rhythmic pulse against the black terminal window. It had taken three weeks of tunneling through the decentralized sub-layers of the Deep Net to find it.

Suddenly, the "Indivisible" folder began to populate itself. Not with documents or images, but with live video feeds. Thousands of them. I saw a crowded market in Kyoto, a quiet bedroom in Berlin, the interior of a server farm in the Arctic, and... my own back.