The light from the curtain made my eyes sore.
For the fourth day in a row, at three o'clock in the morning, I was the only one left in the office, and there was the low hum of the computer. My stomach felt so empty, as if a hand was slowly clenching inside. I touched my phone out of habit, unlocked it with my fingerprint, and hovered my thumb over the familiar yellow icon of the takeout app.
Fingertips dropped.
The screen does not jump to the familiar merchant list.
The entire interface turned into a sticky, ominous dark red. Like coagulated blood, like bad red wine splashed on the screen. All the APP icons have disappeared, leaving only one in the center.
The icon design was extremely simple, just a black, crooked word "Send" embedded in a dark red background. Under the icon, there is a line of small white words: [Delivery to the other shore].
I frowned, thinking that my phone was infected with a virus, or that I was hallucinating from working overtime. I pressed the lock screen button hard, and the screen turned black and brightened again. It's still that dark red, that black word "send".
His thumb clicked again subconsciously.
The icon suddenly enlarged and took up the entire screen. A line of words jumped out, in a green font like an old-fashioned computer terminal, without any emotion:
[High intensity survival needs (hunger) detected.
