The stage was bathed in bright lights, drowning out every shadow. Cameras were positioned at every angle, ensuring not a single movement of the host or their guest went unseen.
"Doctor Miles, tell us about your latest project," the host said, leaning slightly forward. "The whole galaxy is excited to know."
Dr. Miles leaned toward the active camera, the small red light indicating it was live.
"Our minds are an infinite playground," he said, gesturing animatedly. "What if you could step into the ancient past or explore distant galaxies—not as a spectator, but as if you were truly there?"
He straightened, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"What if you could shape it to match your dreams?" he asked. "That is exactly what we're building with the Nexus."
Miles turned away from the TV, focusing his attention back on the test participant at his desk. A woman, in her thirties, volunteered for the beta program. She believed she was going to enter a peaceful meadow.
"This is going to be an experience unlike anything you're used to," he said. "The Nexus is as much in your head as you are in its constructs."
She smiled, her leg bouncing under the desk.
"If it's as real as you say it is, I really need this," she said.
Miles got up from his chair, gesturing for her to follow. He led her to a pod to interface with the Nexus virtual world.
Electrodes and sensors interfaced directly with the user's body giving the Nexus a way to interact and communicate with the nervous system effectively.
It allowed the wearer to feel, taste, and smell the constructs they would be interacting in. It monitored their vitals and brain activity, it could manipulate their heartbeat and muscles if something was wrong, like the user was experiencing high levels of anxiety.
It sustained their physical bodies, ensuring they were hydrated and rested. It was less an interface and more a portal to a whole new world, an experience like none other.
She lay down in the pod while Miles tapped through the interface settings.
"I will be watching you in the construct the whole time," he said. "If anything happens, I'll pull you out."
A low whir sounded from the pod as the door closed. Miles strode back to his desk, fixing his gaze on the monitors.
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She was logged into a bustling city. The sounds of loud chatter and foot steps flooded her senses.
"What the hell," she muttered. "This is exactly what I was trying to get away from."
She took a few reluctant steps, looking at the buildings and people walking up and down the sidewalks.
"There's something familiar about this place."
She turned a corner, stepping onto cobblestone streets. It was like walking through time. She paused briefly, scanning the area with her eyes.
"I've been here before."
The cobblestones beneath her feet bore the scuffs of countless steps, their uneven surfaces as familiar as the faces passing by her.
The air carried an unmistakable scent of warm bread. She followed it, her eyes locking onto an old bodega.
She brushed her fingers against its wood frame, flakes of paint running under them. The faded paint stirred something deep, a shadow of familiarity.
It was like catching sight of a long-lost friend just beyond the periphery, only to turn and nobody is there.
Buttery, golden, rich—the scent clung to the air, drawing her toward the bakery.
It soaked into her nostrils, not just in the air but in memory—Saturday mornings, her mother's hand in hers, the crisp paper bags as they carried fresh loaves home.
Her hands reached out before she even realized it. The bread stand, the heat seeping through the crust, the way it crumbled slightly at the edges.
Something inside her cracked open, memories spilling free. Her throat tightened, her vision blurred.
It shouldn't have been able to do this to her. It was just data, a construct, a simulation designed by an intelligent machine.
The past bled into the present, weaving through her senses with an intimacy she kept from even her closest relationships.
The city wasn't just familiar—it was hers. The cracked pavement, the creaking swing set in the park, the way the wind funneled through the narrow streets—it was all exactly as she had left it.
A place frozen in time, untouched by the years she had spent away, swallowed by the monotony of university, then the suffocating grind of her job at the bank.
Decades had passed. Standing here now, it felt like she had never left.
She could almost see herself, small legs kicking up dust, laughter spilling recklessly into the air as she tore through the streets without a care.
This world had been everything to her once. The limits of her universe began and ended here. Time had blurred them into something almost forgotten.
She exhaled sharply.
"Why here?"
She had buried this place. She had left it behind so long ago that she had struggled to recall the details.
"How can it know?" she asked quietly.
Here she was. In a memory restored with an impossible precision. Not just the broad strokes, but the finest details.
The fading graffiti on the corner store's brick wall, the exact tilt of the street signs, the way the summer heat sank into the metal of the old lamppost.
Her fingers brushed against it, feeling the warmth. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Dad," she whispered.
This was where she used to wait for him, right here beneath the lamp, while he ducked into the café across the street to bring back hot chocolate on freezing winter nights.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away, almost angry at herself.
This was supposed to be her escape, a sanctuary away from the past. No simulation should have been able to reach this deep.
Somehow, it had.
Miles watched from behind his desk, barely containing his excitement.
He could see the headlines—visionary scientist creates fully immersive universe.
"Infinite playground of the mind," he murmured to himself, rehearsing for his next interview.