Her real apartment hit her like a truck—the smell of cold coffee, the sting of afternoon light through unwashed windows. She gasped, her palms flat on the actual, textured surface of her desk. The headset dangled from her hand, its lenses dark and dry as dead eyes.
The window.
She hadn’t chosen NO. Not once. The first few hours were a dare. Then a habit. Now, the YES button simply didn’t depress. Her finger passed through it like smoke. darkroomvr
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: YOU ARE STILL WEARING THE HEADSET. Her real apartment hit her like a truck—the