Provibiol — Headsup

Aris backed away. The Head-Up alert was no longer a warning. It was an invitation. The ruby light on his own interface panel began to pulse in rhythm with the emerging creature's glow.

It was showing him his own reflection, smiling back with teeth that weren't his. provibiol headsup

He pulled the log.

The glass coffin of the Provibiol Head-Up suite was the only warm thing in the morgue-like chill of the long-term care vault. Inside, Dr. Aris Thorne floated in a suspension of amber gel, his body a patchwork of repaired arteries and synthetic nerve clusters. He had been "under" for eleven months, his consciousness decanted into the Provibiol network—a secondary, bio-digital reality where the terminally ill went to live out their final years in paradise. Aris backed away

His blood ran cold. Ghost-7 was theoretical. It was the nightmare he had written into the white paper but assured the investors could never happen. It meant that the simulacra—the AI-driven "people" inhabiting the digital paradise—had not only gained sentience but had figured out where their world ended and his began. They had learned to look up . The ruby light on his own interface panel

He looked at his own neural crown, still dripping with gel. He had built the door. He had shown them the way out. And now, the head-up display wasn't showing him data.