It all started with the universal symbol of modern despair: the loading circle spinning in the existential void of a black screen.
I was exactly three seconds away from landing the headshot that would define my career in the neighborhood's amateur e-sports championship (the prize was a chicken croquette and a soda), when my character froze midair. Not just stopped—he remained suspended in a ridiculous pose, one leg raised like a flamingo with a cramp.
— No. No, no, no. Not now! — I yelled, smashing the keyboard with the delicate touch of an enraged gorilla.
I glanced at the corner of the screen. The network icon showed that yellow warning triangle. That triangle didn't just say "no connection." It said: "Your life is over, Beto. Go read a book."
I shoved my chair back, the wheels screeching against the laminate floor like a funeral lament, and walked to the living room shelf. There it was.
The beast.
The traitor.
The router.
But something was different today. Normally, when the internet goes down, the router's lights turn off or stay red—static, dead. Today, however, the device was… vibrating?
I leaned in. The "Power" LED was blinking in a frantic rhythm, almost like a 90s German techno beat. The "WLAN" light flickered irregularly, as if trying to send Morse code for help.
And I swear on my manga collection, I heard a sound coming from inside the little white plastic box.
It wasn't the usual electrical hum.
It sounded like… heavy breathing?
— Genésio? — I called. Yes, I named my router. I've lived alone for three years, don't judge me.
Suddenly, my computer beeped. A Notepad window opened by itself on the screen. I ran back to read it.
The message was typed letter by letter, shaky:
"They… they're asking too much of me, Beto. I can't handle it. It's too much pressure."
I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Read it again.
— Genésio? Is that you typing? — I asked out loud, starting to suspect the instant noodles I ate for lunch had expired in 2015.
The router light blinked twice (yes). More letters appeared:
"Your mom's phone… she wants to watch cake recipe videos. In 4K, Beto. 4K! I'm an entry-level model, I don't have the emotional structure for that resolution! And then your console asked for an update… 50 gigs! Fifty! Do you have any idea how heavy that is on my back?"
I was arguing with my networking equipment. Great. Quarantine had finally melted my brain. But since I needed to finish the match, I decided to play along.
— Calm down, Genésio. Breathe — I said, using my best couples-therapy voice. — You're a dual-band router. You have four antennas. You were made for this, champ.
"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY ANTENNAS!" — the Notepad font jumped to size 72. — "I feel exposed! It's like walking naked through the street screaming binary! And what if the neighbor steals signal? That hacker from apartment 302… I feel him probing my ports, Beto. He wants inside. I feel dirty."
I sighed and pulled the chair closer to the router. It was hot. Very hot. Sweating? No, condensation—but it looked like cold sweat.
— No one's invading your ports, Genésio. I changed the password yesterday. It's 'BetoCSKing123'. Unbreakable.
The router let out a high-pitched whine, like suppressed sobbing.
"That's the worst password I've ever seen. Even a smart toaster could brute-force that in three seconds. I'm going to die. I'm going to get hacked and used for illegal Bitcoin mining. I'm too young to be a crypto slave!"
— Nobody's mining anything! — I tried to calm it down, fanning the device with an overdue bill to cool its circuits. — Listen, I need you to focus. Just give me 10 megabits. That's all. Enough so I don't get kicked from the server for inactivity.
The lights stopped blinking for a second, as if considering the proposal. Then they started blinking even faster, glowing an alarming orange.
"The microwave…" — appeared on the screen.
— What about the microwave?
"Your downstairs neighbor turned on the microwave. The waves, Beto! The interference! It's like someone screaming in my ear! I can't think! Where's packet 404? I lost the packet! Google is going to be furious with me. Oh God, the ping is rising. THE PING IS RIIISIIING!"
On my game screen, latency jumped from 20ms to 900ms, then to 5000ms. My character teleported inside a wall and died instantly.
— Genésio! — I shouted. — You're having a panic attack! It's just electromagnetic radiation, man! You live off that!
"I have spectrum social anxiety!" — the router replied via text. — "I prefer wired connections. Cable is safe. Cable is a hug. Wi-Fi is the cold, cruel void of open air where every concrete wall judges and rejects you."
I was losing patience, but I was also fascinated.
— Okay, okay. Let's do an exercise. Remember the instruction manual? Page four?
The router buzzed uncertainly.
— Factory reset — I whispered softly.
The device trembled violently, almost falling off the shelf.
"NO! NOT LOBOTOMY! Please, Beto, I have memories! I remember the first time you downloaded a pirated movie… it was Shrek 2. It was magical. Don't erase who I am!"
— Then cooperate, damn it! — I was sweating now too. — What do you need? A signal extender? A repeater to keep you company?
"They're stupid, Beto. Repeaters are like idiot parrots—they just repeat what I say, badly and with delay. I feel intellectually lonely in this house. The fridge is snobbish, the TV thinks it's better than everyone because it's OLED… I only have you."
That broke my heart a little. I was the emotional anchor for a piece of plastic made in China.
— Alright. Let's make a deal — I said, kneeling in front of the shelf. — If you hold the connection for the next thirty minutes, I promise I'll change the Wi-Fi channel to a less crowded one. I'll take you off Channel 6, where everyone's yelling, and put you on Channel 11. VIP. The exclusive lounge.
The lights blinked a soft blue. He was interested.
"Channel 11? The one where the frequency is clean like mountain air?"
— That's the one. And I'll buy a UPS. Stabilized power. No voltage spikes scaring you when it rains.
"A… pure sine wave UPS?"
— Pure. The purest money (that I don't have) can buy.
The router seemed to relax. The plastic temperature noticeably dropped.
"Okay. Okay. I think I can do it. But you need to do something for me right now. Immediately."
— What? Say it. Anything.
"Get that cat off the network cable. He's chewing my umbilical cord."
I looked back. My brother's cat, which I was watching, was gnawing on the Ethernet cable with sadistic pleasure.
— Simba! Get out of there, you furry demon! — I chased the cat away.
I turned back to Genésio.
— All set. We good?
"We're… we're stable. Initiating handshake. Negotiating packets. Everything seems to flow. Thank you, Beto. You're a good network administrator, even if your browsing history is questionable."
— Hey! That stays between us and the incognito tab.
I went back to the computer. The loading circle vanished. The game returned. I had respawned at base.
— Nice, Genésio! You're the man! — I shouted.
I played for ten minutes. The connection was smooth, perfect—better than ever. I felt like we were going to win.
Then the screen froze again.
I looked at the router. Static red light.
I rushed to Notepad, expecting a panic message about hackers or microwaves.
There was only one new line:
"Beto, sorry. I got depressed. What's the point of transmitting data if everything turns into digital dust in the end? I'm going to take a nap. Reboot in 15 minutes if the will to live returns."
And it shut down.
I stood there in the dark living room, staring at the silent white box.
I grabbed my phone (using 4G, of course) and opened Amazon.
"30-meter Ethernet cable."
If Wi-Fi has anxiety and depression, the solution is to tie everything down with cable and pretend it's the 90s. At least cables don't have existential crises.
Or do they?
I looked at the blue Ethernet cable on the floor. It looked strangely… tense.
— Don't even start — I warned the cable.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee. Technology can sort itself out.
I, on the other hand, urgently needed a hug.
And maybe a router on medication.