The game pulled from your hard drive—your Spotify playlists, your old photos, your forgotten school essays—and began to stitch . A pop-up appeared: "YOUR SOUL WEIGHS 21 GRAMS. PLEASE WAIT."

Those who dared pressed it.

The repack wasn't a virus. It was a propagation. Little Big Planet had found a new way to travel.

Then, a user named appeared.

Players reported that their created levels would "wander off" at night—disappearing from their moon and reappearing on others, subtly altered. A peaceful forest level now had a locked door at the end, behind which a low-res photo of the player's house blinked. A platformer about a lost kitten now ended with a gravestone bearing the player's full name.