The sleek tower of AEGIS TETHER SECURITY rises before you, its rippling glass facade pulsing with subtle blue data streams that cast ghostly patterns across your skin. The company’s slogan flashes across the entrance: “Privacy Assured, Reality Enhanced.” You burst through the doors, past a security desk whose attendant has abandoned their post, likely responding to the chaos outside. The tang of burnt electronics and antiseptic cleaner hangs in the air, mixed with the coppery scent of fear that seems to cling to your nostrils.
The elevator responds to your presence, doors sliding open silently. Inside, it rises without you pressing any buttons—somehow knowing your destination. The polished metal walls reflect your disheveled appearance, eyes wide with shock and determination. Subtle vibrations travel up through your feet as the car ascends, accompanied by a barely audible hum that changes pitch with speed, like a quietly sung note that rises and falls. The temperature drops several degrees, raising goosebumps on your arms as the climate control system seems to read your body’s heightened state and compensates with cooling air that tastes faintly metallic.
The timer reads “05:07” as you step out onto the fifth floor, limping slightly but triumphant.
Your hands shake uncontrollably as you approach the door marked “Ether Deck 156-52.” Cold sweat trickles down your spine, soaking into your shirt and making the fabric cling uncomfortably to your back. Your heart hammers against your ribs with such force you fear it might burst, each beat echoing in your ears like a war drum. The “explosion” replays in your mind on a loop—the screams piercing your eardrums, then the suffocating silence, and then the bodies sprawled at impossible angles, their vacant eyes reflecting the emergency lights.
The space inside is minimalist but about twice the size of your living room—a single chair facing a wall embedded with subtle technological components that pulse with soft blue and white light. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a vertiginous view of the chaos below, the sounds of the riot now muffled to a distant rumble that vibrates through the glass. Flashes of emergency lights paint moving shadows across the pristine white surfaces. As you enter, digital text augments into your vision: “ETHER DECK,” the letters seeming to float in mid-air, casting no shadow but somehow having weight and presence in the room.
“That’s an interface terminal for accessing the Etherverse,” the Archivist explains. “Ether Decks are like portals—they allow minds to move between physical locations and digital realms through tethering. They’re the foundation of future society’s transportation and communication systems.”
The air in the room feels different—charged with a subtle static electricity that makes the hair on your arms stand on end and causes your skin to tingle with anticipation. A faint ozone scent permeates the space, like the air after lightning strikes, mingled with the clinical sterility of hospital-grade disinfectant.
“Follow the directions and tether in,” the Archivist instructs, her voice taking on new urgency.
The chair itself seems alive, responding to your approach with a soft whir of hidden motors. The synthetic leather is cool against your skin, molding to your body’s contours with unsettling precision. You sit in the chair, and it automatically adjusts to your body. You put on the headset mounted next to you — a more sleek version of the one you’re currently using back at the Arcade.
Interfaces light up around you, responding to your proximity.
You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to escape the horrors you’ve just witnessed. Your eyelids feel heavy, gritty with exhaustion, and yet your mind races like a trapped animal seeking escape.
But then, a gravitational pull takes hold, and you feel yourself being yanked away. For a moment, relief washes over you—then you’re ejected from the tether, snapping back to the Lore Engine with disorienting speed.
The ejection hits like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your stomach lurches as if you’ve plummeted from a great height, inner ear spinning in protest at the sudden dimensional shift. Colors blur and stretch before snapping back into focus, leaving behind ghostly afterimages that slowly fade from your vision. The taste of copper floods your mouth as you bite your tongue, and for a moment, you’re certain you’re going to be sick.
The Archivist’s holographic form materializes before you, her expression concerned.
“Before you proceed,” she explains quickly. “The “explosion”—I needed to make sure you understood what happened.”
“All those people,” you begin, your voice breaking. “They—”
“No one died,” the Archivist interrupts firmly. “Hurt? Yes likely. But dead — no. The human beings tethered to them were simply SEVERED, detached from the proxies. The humans themselves either respawned or their minds were sent to Heofon while they’ll wait for new proxies.”
“Respawned? Heofon?” you ask, latching onto these unfamiliar terms. “What are those—”
“There’s no time to explain now,” she cuts you off, though her tone remains kind. “I promise you’ll understand soon. Right now, we need to continue the course.”
You nod in silence, feeling slight relief wash over you. Your shoulders relax minutely, the tension that had been holding you rigid beginning to dissolve. “Man, this got me good,” you think, shaking your head at how emotionally invested you’ve become, feeling the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing away. “For a second I forgot I was playing a game. The devs deserve every award for this level of immersion.”
You consciously regulate your breathing—in through the nose, out through your nose—feeling your pulse normalize with each exhale. The most realistic you’ve ever experienced, sure, but still just clever programming and next-level haptic feedback. Nothing more
“So what’s next?” you ask, eager to see what other gaming innovations await…
“Before you proceed, there are things you must understand about what awaits.”
You expect some grand explanation, a tutorial on this virtual realm’s mechanics, but instead, she simply asks:
“What is 1+1?”
The question catches you off guard with its simplicity, like a splash of cold water on your face. Your brow furrows in confusion, wondering if you’ve misheard. “Two,” you answer hesitantly.
The Archivist’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. “Exactly. Two.”
With a casual wave of her hand, she conjures a hologram of a future scientist—a bespectacled woman in a lab coat so pristine it practically glows. The scientist peers down at you through complicated holographic displays, her expression one of exaggerated concentration.
“In order to understand what 1+1 is,” the hologram announces with pompous gravity, “first we must ask: what is 1?”
You can’t help but laugh as the hologram launches into an increasingly convoluted monologue, fingers manipulating endless equations that spiral around her like digital smoke. The absurdity of it breaks through your remaining tension, the laugh starting as a small chuckle before growing into something genuine that eases the tightness in your chest.
“But to define ‘1,’ we must first examine the ontological properties of singularity itself,” the scientist continues, her voice droning as more formulas materialize. “Does ‘1’ exist as a physical constant, or merely as a cognitive construct? And if we accept the quantum paradigm of multiverse theory…”
The Archivist dismisses the hologram with a flick of her wrist, the movement precise and elegant. The projection dissolves into sparkles of light that dance briefly before vanishing. “We call this ‘science-ing up’ a simple answer,” she explains. “By the time they finish discussing the metaphysical properties of ‘1,’ they’ve completely forgotten the original question.”
She conjures more holograms—different scientists, same pattern. Each one disappears further down philosophical rabbit holes, building elaborate theoretical frameworks that ultimately lead nowhere.
“The greatest minds of the future know too much,” the Archivist says, her tone growing serious. Her voice drops, taking on a resonant quality that seems to vibrate in your chest rather than your ears. “They’ve lost the ability to see the elegant simplicity beneath their complications.”
She leans closer to you, close enough that you can see the intricate patterns in her irises and smell something like ancient books and ozone emanating from her form. The “☉” symbol at her temple pulses with golden light that casts warm shadows across her face. “Remember: 1+1=2. This is all you need to remember to succeed — no Quantum Physics degree needed…”
This game is amazing, you think to yourself, still convinced you’re experiencing some revolutionary new form of entertainment. The graphics, the sensory feedback, the storyline—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever played.
The Lore Engine materializes around you as tall, translucent “cards” hovering in the void, each bearing an image and words. Most appear locked, grayed out like premium downloadable content awaiting purchase. Only three glow with accessibility—“The Book of Secrets”, “1 Plus 1”, and a third labeled “Prove Your Humanity” that pulses with gentle light.
The Archivist’s expression shifts subtly, a shadow of something ancient and knowing crossing her features. “Remember: Keep It Simple, Stupid.“
She pauses, and for a split second her form splinters into multiple overlapping versions of herself, each slightly different, before re-converging. “This isn’t just mathematics—it’s a fundamental truth that will guide you through The KNOXX. And perhaps…” her voice trails off, her eyes suddenly distant as if seeing across vast temporal distances, “…perhaps it will help me become whole again.”
“Become whole again?” The question forms in your mind, but before your lips can shape the words, she pushes you back into the tether, the gravitational pull claiming you once more.
Your real body jolts awake — back in the abandoned arcade. Your phone rings loud — Dakota. You silence the call. You check the clock on your phone — you’ve been here nearly 20 minutes, though it felt like an hour or so inside The KNOXX.
You stare at the device in your hands, heart still racing from what you’ve experienced. Your fingertips tingle with residual sensations that don’t seem to belong to the real world. Part of you wants to pack it away, return to normal life, pretend none of this happened. Your thumb hovers over the Ether Rig’s power button, trembling slightly. But whatever this technology is, it’s decades beyond anything on the market…
You text Dakota: “Something came up. Cover for me a bit longer.”
The next card—“Prove Your Humanity”—beckons. Whatever lies ahead, you need to know more…
With a deep breath that fills your lungs completely, you put the Ether Rig back on your head. The familiar weight settles against your temples and the back of your skull, the cushioning already molded to your unique shape. You close your eyes, surrendering to curiosity stronger than caution, ready to dive back in…