Hello, Friend

The Subject, aka John Ward, Martin Savage receives an email about a new product named Praemus, touted as the cheaper, faster, and better way of using the internet. Intrigued by the promise, he purchases the device and eagerly shares it with his circle of friends. The package includes an extensive manual and the Praemus connection unit, a sleek device that attaches itself easily to the computer and seems to promise a simplified, more seamless online experience.

From the start, Praemus proves disruptive. The Subject begins to relay a string of problems via email, detailing that the unit claims he was online for 200 hours in a single week, among other strange issues with his setup. His monitor vibrates, flashes with static, and at times the screen abruptly shuts down, forcing him to send his messages from an internet cafe. The company’s reply is curt and noncommittal: this appears to be the Praemus system’s first hiccup, they say, and they advise him to turn the computer off and on again. Yet behind the scenes, no one seems to be left at the Praemus office to actually help him.

The Subject struggles to get help, and the problem compounds. He admits he doesn’t know how to switch the system off, and the concern grows as more oddities appear. A friend, the one who usually helps him with his computer, is reluctant to intervene, leaving the Subject feeling isolated in a growing cycle of malfunctions. Then new troubles surface: his cat goes missing, and Praemus sends another intricate email explaining what to do next. While he sifts through the manual and the increasingly cryptic emails, his young daughter experiments with matches, adding danger to the mounting tension.

Things escalate when he tries to remove the unit and discovers a terrifying glow from the Praemus logo that sears his skin. He complains that the company keeps billing him despite offering little real assistance, and he starts to have nightmares about the device. Praemus then warns in another email that damaging the unit could invite legal action, insisting that it was his interference that caused the trouble. A strange “drinking sound” seems to emanate from the device, and at one point the unit even attempts to connect with his head to sell him Praemus Life Insurance.

In another correspondence, the Subject reveals that the other Praemus users he recommended to his friends are also being harmed: their hands burn and their units begin to move in unsettling ways. Despite all this, the Subject makes a controversial choice and purchases the Praemus Life Insurance. Around this time, his wife leaves a Dear John letter on the computer monitor, stating she is taking their daughter and instructing him not to try to locate them. The decline of his life proceeds in a cruel, relentless fashion as he threatens legal action in another email. Just as he types this, the computer freezes. In a moment of frustration, he bangs the keyboard with his head, and a new window opens on the screen—an odd dialog box with setup options for Praemus that seem less about the computer and more about his own life. The options—Friends, Spouse, Children, Sanity, Pets, Acumen—are all shown as Off. When he attempts to toggle any of them, the computer shuts down, and he suffers a heart attack.

While he lies in the hospital, Praemus sends an apology email to his wife for the heart attack. The heart monitor appears to fail, the light on the Praemus unit dims, and a doctor quips that he should write to the company as well. Back at home, the Praemus unit finally powers down and disconnects from the computer, and in a small, almost hopeful moment, the Subject’s cat returns. After awakening, it seems the struggle is over, but the consequences of the Praemus experiment linger in his life and mind, leaving him to confront a world that feels simultaneously more connected and more threatening than before.

Last Updated: October 09, 2025 at 16:52