He had survived the night, thanks to the wild, disorganized, and strangely merciful world of the old Russian internet.
As the pages slid out, warm and smelling of ozone, Anton felt like a master hacker. He tucked the printed sheets into a folder, hid the chewed remains of the original book under his bed, and dove under his covers just as the door handle turned.
At 88%, the download stalled. The "Narod" servers were notorious for their temperamental nature. Anton whispered a prayer to the gods of the early internet. With a sudden burst of electronic adrenaline, the bar hit 100%.
Anton clicked. The progress bar crawled. 1%... 5%... The 56kbps modem hissed in sympathy. "Anton? Why are you still up?" his mother called.
"Just... checking the weather for school!" he lied, his heart hammering against his ribs.