He almost laughed. Properly. The cursor was currently doing figure-eights in the corner of Figma, as if practicing for some kind of sadistic digital ice-skating competition.
When the installation finished, Windows asked him to restart. He hesitated, watching the cursor. It had stopped moving entirely. It just sat there, centered on the screen, a single black arrow pointing straight down, as if it was looking at its own feet. touchpad driver
He didn’t use automatic update. That felt disrespectful. Instead, he went directly to the manufacturer’s website—a cluttered relic of a site with broken Japanese-to-English translations and download buttons labeled “Please Click for Joyful Pointing Experience.” He almost laughed
But that was probably just his imagination. Probably. When the installation finished, Windows asked him to restart
The new driver was dated last month. 112 megabytes. He downloaded it with the care of a bomb disposal expert.
It was 3:47 AM, and Leo’s cursor was possessed.