When you look in the mirror and your face has become the doorway to a long dark corridor you know that you went off-grid for too long. You start to see shadows moving on the edges of your face. Under eyes, and behind.

The bathroom was covered in green and white Fortran coding tiles. It was early, dark and nothing had definition except for Rez’s reflection. One single fluorescent and a brushed metal sink.

They call it mammalian diving reflex, a splash of cold water raising the respiration. A stimulant rebuilt into the biodesign. A carry over from the old order of survivability. The fight or flight protohuman legacy.

Time started to extend the longer he was unplugged. Moving across the hallway, back to his bed he felt the netlag pull on his feet. The Piracetam would kick in any minute. He could plug in for the first time in two days. Two days too long.

Replacing the eyepieces he felt the boot up in the nape of his neck. He was back in. He wasn’t just a junk monkey. He was pure metaphor on data streams.

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