The tea was hot. That was the first thing I noticed. In the simulation—the "Surface" world I grew up in—tea was always just lukewarm, a generic sensation designed to satisfy a basic "comfort" requirement. But this? The steam curling from the porcelain cup felt sharp, stinging my nose with the scent of real Earl Grey and something earthy, like rain on actual soil.
"Drink it, Leo," the woman said. She looked exactly like the photo, but older. There were fine lines around her eyes, and her hair was streaked with gray. She didn't look like a piece of software. She looked... tired. In a way a computer shouldn't be.
"Where are we?" I asked, my voice sounding small in the vast, sterile silence of the room. "And who are you? My 'father' said I was just a version. He said my memories were data-pa
