The title card read:

They met at a Panera Bread in Warwick, Rhode Island. Maya had purple hair, a tattoo of a Betamax logo on her forearm, and the manic energy of a true believer. Barry slid the padded mailer across the table.

No logos. No timecode burn-in. Just pure, analog-to-digital-to-analog beauty. The colors were hot. The blacks were deep. And the audio—Dolby E, 20-bit, 48kHz—hummed with the ghost of the recording studio.

He told himself it was for preservation. He told himself television deserved to be remembered as art. But really, he just wanted to own a secret.