You switch your existence settings to sensory deprivation mode, and jack into your Virtual Reality Entertainment System (VRES). Base reality dissolves into virtual across your perception. The dry heat you felt is completely gone, replaced by subtle sensations you yourself programmed into the VRES. Additionally, the all-encompassing arena-dome is already set to your favorite streaming service.
A list of currently trending series catches your awareness. One of them in particular. The #2 most viewed show in all of Base, Simulation Shutdowns, has finally released its second season!
This is what you synced in for. The show you toggled neural notifications on for, the one you haven’t stopped thinking about, wondering what happened to last season’s winners since they uploaded into Base.
Finally, after all this time and energetic investment — answering polls about themed end-of-world scenario options, voting on astrological algorithms, as well as the contestants and their (oblivious) shadow-synced SC’s — it is here.
Knowing you have the following twenty-four hours off before you’ll have to jack into the office, you excitedly hover your awareness over the hyperlinked sigil of Simulation Shutdowns.
The home screen transolves into a series screen. The show’s title hovers, superimposed, over a featured image. The first thing you notice about the featured image is the protagonistic young man. It’s Logan. The SC you voted for. He is aesthetically modded (research informed you his world refers to his particular type of mods as tattoos: Further research informed you many of the tattoos are homages to various esoteric books, video games, and animated series from Earth-V3.11). He has fairly decent musculature, for a Siman. But that wouldn’t be something that would have compelled you to vote for him. If anything, quite the opposite. And, come to think of it...
Directing your awareness at him, you struggle to remember exactly what it was that had made you vote for him in the first place. Perhaps it was his backstory, or maybe his astrological sign’s associated class, or even his depression and the recent divorce. Or...you pause in consternation. The reason might have been his core belief, Undying.
You simply cannot remember.
You feel a sudden spark from memoretic misfire. This seems strange. The VRES should have stopped you from feeling that. It’ll need an update.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The reasons why don’t matter, really. Even now, as you view the image of him -- swinging a sword that’s bursting with magic at a legion of fanged shadow souls -- you feel just as compelled to root for him (despite the odds) as you had before. You would wonder about how accurate the depiction is, but there’s some small text at the bottom of the featured image that reads, “Not actual footage.”
Under the featured image there’s just a bunch of short-form copy, which you know is probably just some annoying salesy speak to attract new viewers (posers). But, you read it anyway.
You select “More information”. Who wouldn’t?
You scowl at the recently added “Vote to Cancel” option. That was the reason this season never got made. Because some dual-moniter moms got offended by the language, gathered their forces, and effectively got what many argued was the best show of all time canceled. Because of the word fuck.
You find this absurd and offensive in itself. It’s a show about people who just realized they’re simulated, and, if they're lucky, their way of life will be forever changed. But more likely, they’ll just end. Program error, systems failure, dead. So yeah, you think, of fucking course the characters will have some dark opinions about existence and use the word fuck. You shake your head. You tend to get very heated about this particular subject, your friends have told you so. You tell yourself to cooldown, that at least this season can still be watched.
On that note, you press Watch Now.
Anyway, apparently even my post-chapter comments end in rambling...if/when motivation strikes again, I'll edit this chapter to a point where the cruel perfectionists living in my brain stop trolling it, and then I think you lovely humans will enjoy the hell out of it.
