Then maybe forever.
A text box appeared at the bottom of feed #75. Cursor blinking. Elias’s hands trembled over the keyboard. He wasn’t watching a security system. He was watching a life-support machine for a simulation. The cameras weren’t recording reality. They were generating it. Every empty room, every drifting bag, every dusty mobile—it was all a construct, held together by the dying neural activity of the man in the chair. Then maybe forever
A room. Small. Concrete walls. A single chair in the center, bolted to the floor. And in the chair, a man. Not a mannequin. His chest rose and fell. His head was tilted back, eyes closed. An IV stand beside him, tube running to his arm. Above his head, a small plaque on the wall, readable in the grainy video: Elias’s hands trembled over the keyboard
And on the forty-third feed, he saw the door. The cameras weren’t recording reality