The Abandoned Luna's Return
I said, pointing to the window where the red sky was devouring the horizon, "there won't be a world to move on. January 1, 1998, will be the last day of human history."
I stood up, my legs shaking. Every step toward the Interface felt like walking through deep water. The air was thick with "Null-Code," a grey fog that erased the color from the room.
I picked up the helmet. It was cold. It felt like a crown of thorns.
"There has to be another way," Silas pleaded, his face a mask of agony. "We just got here, Elara! We were going to see the 'Actual Real' together! We were going to find a beach that didn't have a 'Sync-Rate'!"