Nero — 6

He looks at the cartoon emperor on the old software box, still peeking out of the cardboard box. Nero. The man who supposedly fiddled while Rome burned.

He double-clicks. Photos. Grainy, low-resolution digital photos from a 2-megapixel Sony Mavica. Photos of a group of teenagers laughing in a parking lot. Photos of a green Ford Taurus with a dented bumper. Photos of Rachel, her purple hair blowing in the wind, flipping off the camera. nero 6

It’s not the mix for Rachel. It’s a forgotten data disc. The file structure appears: C:\LEO_STUFF\ . He looks at the cartoon emperor on the

He clicks it. The old QuickTime logo spins. Then, shaky-cam footage fills the screen. It’s the Fourth of July. Someone is laughing. A mortar tube tips over. A roman candle shoots sideways, into a neighbor’s dry hedge. The scream is distant at first, then loud. Sirens. His own teenage voice, high and terrified: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” He double-clicks

“Burned it myself,” Leo said, puffing his chest. “Nero 6. Best engine out there. No buffer underruns.”