At 12:01 p.m., the sound stops working for sixty seconds.
It’s a deliberate break in our computer-simulated reality, a reminder that Olympus is rooted in the dirt.
In silence I remember the disaster, ten years ago. We forgot this new existence was fantasy, and we neglected maintenance of systems hosting our worlds and minds. Then came the cataclysm: a fried conduit and a failed backup obliterated 10,000 minds because of our irresponsibility.
So we perform maintenance, care for the world we left. And every day at noon we break the metaphor of our lives.
To remember who we are, and what we’re not.
Pretty good our kid, and at so many levels.
A really good variation on what might happen to us if our ventures into cyberspace go horribly awry. Like it a lot!
Like this. Great idea
Fascinating story.
Nice … well packaged