He felt fine. A little tired. A little hungry. He went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.
She turned. Her face was beautiful in a melancholic, asymmetrical way. A small mole near her left eye. Chapped lips. But it was her eyes that locked him in place. They were looking directly at him . Not at a virtual camera. At him , through the headset, through the firewall, through the years.
The headset’s battery was at 100%. It should have been dying. Instead, it grew warm against his face. Then hot. SIVR-146--------
“I’m the one who was deleted,” she replied. “I’m the scene that was cut. The frame that was lost. Every single person who watched this disc before you—they’re still here. Inside me. You can hear them if you listen.”
“Sorry,” Kenji heard himself say. The VR was puppeting his responses. He felt a chill. He hadn’t chosen that dialogue. He felt fine
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t be lonely. I’ve been collecting for twenty years. And now… you’re my 147th.”
He mashed the button for [WALK AWAY] . Nothing happened. The selection cursor hovered stubbornly over [TAKE HER HAND] . He went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water
But as he passed the hallway mirror, he stopped. He could have sworn his reflection blinked a full second after he did. And in the corner of the glass, reflected behind him, was a floral-print couch he did not own.
