Chapter Four
LOS ANGELES—THE MATRIX
Safely inside his hidey-hole, Thorpe lay back and contemplated his situation. I’m thinking. He conjured up a couple of pillows (how the hell did I do that?) and made himself more comfortable. I guess old Descartes was right. I am thinking, so “I” must be real. This ME, he tapped his forehead, must be real. I exist. I’m alive! I did it…I’m really alive! He plumped up his pillows so that he sat upright. I’m not sitting upright, of course, but it sure feels like it. So, what about this enclosure, my personal tesseract?
As the words crossed his mind, his entire surroundings faded into a fog-like shroud in which he was floating. He didn’t lose his focus, however. He sensed he was still in the tesseract, and then it hit him. I am the tesseract!
He did not
