Small anomalies began to pop up in the data.

“Misplaced objects. Momentary lags in the simulation,” Miles muttered, reading through reports.

Testers had begun reporting something stranger—shadowy figures flickering at the edges of their constructs.

“It's part of the process,” Miles said. “We're bound to see glitches.“

The testers muttered to each other, some with faces showing fear.

“Are you sure?“ one finally spoke up. “They don't feel like bugs.“

“Don't worry about it,” Miles said, forcing a smile. “We're creating something new here.

He paused briefly, his eyes shifting between the testers.

“You can't get hurt in there.“

They all exhanged looks, each silently expressing their unease.

After everybody had left, Miles looked through snippets of data, frustrated with the reports he was getting.

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He glanced at the clock.

“It's getting late.“

Running a hand down his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“There's nothing wrong,” he muttered. “I'll just keep patching.“

His eyes darted to another monitor. The diagnostics scan returned nothing significant.

He packed up his bag and left for the night.

Two weeks later, a developer handed Miles another report. His hands trembled as he read through it.

“A clone?“ he asked, flipping to another section.

"What's going on, Miles?“ the developer asked. “Don't tell me you haven't found the problem yet. The testers are getting worried about their safety.“

Miles lifted his gaze from the report.

“It's just growing pains,” he said. “New technology always has—”

"Bugs?“ The developer interjected. “That's bullshit. What aren't you saying?“

Miles scoffed, pivoting toward his office.

“Miles—”

The door slammed shut in the developer’s face.

Miles proceeded to his desk, rubbing his head. He looked at his messages, one complaint after another. They piled up like a landslide.

“To hell with this,” he muttered, turning the monitor off.

He could see his coworkers hudled around his office, staring at him through the glass partition. Their lips were moving, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist against the glass.

“Fuck off!” he barked. “Tomorrow is launch. Get it ready!“

-----

No game had ever launched like this before. The marketing alone was a juggernaut—every screen, every feed, every billboard flashed with glimpses of something transcendent.

Digital landscapes, seamless immersion, a world sculpted by an intelligence more powerful than any before it.

Your World, Your Reality.

Investors poured in capital like they were fueling the birth of a new age. To them, the game wasn’t just a product—it was an empire. It didn’t matter whether Miles believed it was ready or not.

It functioned. Whatever bugs remained—he’d fix it after launch.

Tens of millions logged in within days, abandoning reality to be somewhere more intoxicating. Players weren’t just playing—they were living inside the Nexus. The promise of infinite possibility wasn’t just a tagline.

Who wouldn’t want to rewrite their reality? To sculpt entire worlds—to feel, taste, and breathe a life removed from the mundane?

It stopped being a game. It became a way of life.

People stayed inside for hours, then days, their physical forms sustained by the interface.

All while it watched.