My heart pounds in my chest as I sprint towards the ancient stone wall of the Azmet Pyramid. The humid air of the equatorial rainforest wraps around me, but my focus remains unyielding. It's now or never. I've spent the last 30 minutes psyching myself up for this, days on a flight to the heart of the Azmet ruins, all to confront the mystery of the oldest pyramid ever discovered.
"I'm going for it. I'll prove my theory correct," I mutter to myself, determination echoing in my words. My charge toward the pyramid's perfect right-angled wall is both a physical and metaphorical leap into the unknown.
As a graduate student at one of the most prestigious colleges in my country, my academic pursuits have led me into the realm of simulation theory—the notion that our reality is nothing more than a construct within a larger, artificial reality. My thesis challenges this idea, aiming to mathematically prove that we are not trapped within a simulation.
The turning point came when I submitted a rough draft of my work to my peers. They meticulously scrutinized my calculations, repeatedly checking and rechecking the numbers. It took six months for us to convene again, a meeting that altered the trajectory of my research.
"Look, Dan, your math is right, but have you tried running a model for it on the school servers yet?" they questioned, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
With a reluctant expression, I retort, "Why would I actually run it? You guys know this is mostly a joke, right?" The skepticism in my voice hangs in the air, but my colleagues remain persistent, urging me to put my simulation theory to the test.
I may have a penchant for precision in my calculations, and my mathematical prowess is unquestionable, but even I can't deny that the premise of my idea is questionable at best. The concept that we exist within a simulated reality is, after all, a speculative venture into the realms of philosophy and science fiction. Yet, here I am, hurtling towards the imposing stone wall of the Azmet Pyramid, a seemingly suicidal venture, but my calculations have not failed me before.
My idea stemmed from a logical deduction: if our reality were a simulation, there would be inherent patterns and structure to the program. My focus narrowed down to the concept of hitboxes, the digital constructs that define the boundaries of objects within a simulated environment. I theorized that a program of such magnitude would employ data compression techniques to save space, utilizing real-time terrain generation and point-of-view trackers. My work, however, zeroed in on the hitboxes, attempting to decipher their patterns.
In essence, my equations aim to predict locations within the simulation where beta testing might have occurred. It's a complex web of mathematical intricacies, weaving together geographic data beta-testing probabilities.
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After some persistent coaxing from my peers, we begrudgingly decided to run the equation. A week crawled by as the powerful servers of our prestigious college lab chugged through the complex calculations. Anticipation hung thick in the air as the terminal display finally blinked with results, revealing an unexpected revelation that left me dumbfounded.
The data before me contradicted my expectations. Instead of an error sum, the server spat out a substantial, concrete answer. I stared at the screen, absorbing the implications of what lay before me. This was not the anticipated outcome—my theory had faltered. The simulation, as far as my equation suggested, harbored an anomaly, a misalignment in the hitbox of a wall at a specific location on the equator.
The rainforest outside seemed to hold its breath as if aware of the seismic shift in my understanding. My initial skepticism, now replaced by the weight of newfound evidence, left me grappling with the implications. The enigmatic Azmet pyramid, with its ancient stones and secrets, now stood as a tangible testament to the uncharted territories of reality.
This unexpected result sparked a torrent of questions. Was the simulation intentionally designed with flaws, or was this a glitch in the system? The rainforest, shrouded in mystery, seemed to whisper ancient secrets as I pondered the implications of this revelation.
With a mix of awe and trepidation, I shared the findings with my peers. Their initial skepticism transformed into a shared sense of wonder and curiosity. The equation had not only defied my expectations but had opened a doorway to unexplored realms. The collision of theory and reality had occurred, and the Azmet pyramid, standing silently amidst the verdant rainforest, became the epicenter of a profound paradigm shift.
After a humiliating attempt to publish my groundbreaking work, the academic world had scoffed at my simulation theory, dismissing it with condescending laughter. But with the remnants of my savings and a tenacious determination burning within me, I set out to uncover the truth for myself.
Undeterred by the laughter echoing in my ears, I embarked on a solitary expedition into the heart of the Azmet rainforest. The dense foliage, teeming with unseen life, served as a blockade on my quest for validation. Swarmed by uncompromising insects, I pressed on until I stumbled upon the site of a moderately sized stone pyramid hidden amidst the vibrant vegetation.
As I stood before the weathered stones, a sense of separateness settled over me. The laughter of my peers seemed distant now, replaced by the symphony of the rainforest. Determined to prove the naysayers wrong, I meticulously analyzed every side of the pyramid, making careful measurements in the overpowering humidity.
And then, there it was—an impenetrable revelation that defied the laws of geometry. As I measured the south side of the pyramid from one end, the length differed by half a meter compared to the measurement from the opposite side. A disturbing realization dawned on me; what I was observing was seemingly impossible, a geometric anomaly that defied the physics I had learned and applied all my life.
Covered in bug bites, drenched in sweat, and standing in the shadow of the ancient pyramid, I grappled with the implications of this discovery. The laughter that had haunted me transformed into a quiet resolve as I contemplated the mysteries hidden between the two sides of the structure.
This physical manifestation of a misaligned hitbox, an inconsistency within the very structure of the pyramid and the world, seemed to validate the unexpected results from my computational experiment. With renewed purpose, I realized that my journey was far from over.