In the flickering glow of an Ergo AMA, Qx and Dan Friedman, Zengate’s founder, sipped spiked coffee—unaware it was laced with a blockchain coder’s experimental brew. Mid-discussion, the screen warped, the “Σ” logo pulsing like a heartbeat. Suddenly, Dan was in Qx’s sterile office, his reflection showing Qx’s face, eyes hollow with dread. “This ain’t my chaos,” he whispered. Qx, now in Dan’s cluttered den, stared at a grinning Darth Vader statue that seemed to watch him. “Dan’s body... but why’s it so cold?” he muttered, shivering despite the room’s warmth. The chat froze—silent, as if the universe held its breath. Kushti’s voice cut through, ghostly in the void: “Reboot. Now.” Dan, trapped in Qx’s form, fumbled the keyboard, hands not his own, while Qx dodged a toppling shelf, swearing the figurines moved. The stream died with a scream-like hum. When it blinked back, Qx was Qx, Dan was Dan—yet both felt... off. “Reset fixed it,” Qx croaked, voice shaky. Dan nodded, pale. “No more coffee.” The chat erupted, oblivious to the lingering chill. In the Twilight Zone of blockchain, some swaps leave echoes—shadows of selves that never quite return.