The console hummed like a patient museum, a gray tile of plastic and pixels holding a private history inside its NAND heart. In the dim light the Wii's Menu glowed—icons like locked rooms in a digital mansion. Each save file was a pressed flower, each Channel a grainy Polaroid of someone else's Saturday: Mii faces beaming from long-forgotten parties, save files where teenagers froze time at the final boss, chevrons marking firmware updates that felt like seasons.