On a rainy Sunday, Leo walked past a shop that still sold used discs, each in a sleeve with handwriting and price stickers curling at the edges. He thought of the cracked executable on his hard drive and of the people in the server who called themselves archivists. He smiled, imagining a future where some other program would need rescuing, some other arena would need the light kept on. He pulled out his phone, opened a blank text file, and typed two words: preserve, not profit.