Mind the Reality Gap

I can’t remember why I signed up for the study but the advert had been simple enough: Paid Research Opportunity. Must be over sixty.

I turned up at the address expecting the usual questions and paperwork. Instead, I was ushered into a spotless white room where a machine swept silently around my head. It felt like an MRI scan, only quicker. Less than ten minutes later, I walked out with a surprisingly generous envelope of cash and a sleek silver smartwatch.

“I seem to be getting rather a lot for very little,” I said.

The technician smiled without quite meeting my eyes.

“High-fidelity calibration.”

That was all.

The following morning, I boarded a Superloop bus feeling rather pleased with myself. It was supposed to be a simple, pleasant day out. Just me, exploring London by bus. Once you cross sixty, you qualify for free off-peak travel - a marvellous perk.

My watch vibrated gently, its face glowing with a holographic message.

SELECT DESTINATION

AUGMENTED NAVIGATION AVAILABLE

My daughter is forever telling me to try something new every day, so instead of choosing somewhere familiar, I scrolled down the list until an unfamiliar destination caught my eye.

Aetheris Green.

Well, London is enormous. One cannot possibly know every corner of it.

Somewhere after the third stop, the gentle rocking of the bus lulled me to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, I was back at the very same stop where I’d boarded.

“Only I could sleep through an entire bus journey,” I muttered. 

I chuckled to myself and started walking home.

Then I noticed the silence.

London is never peaceful.

The pavements were spotless. Every window reflected the same pale afternoon sky. A row of pigeons stood perfectly still, as though someone had forgotten to animate them.

People walked past in calm, measured steps. No one looked at a phone. No one argued. No impatient cyclist shouted at a taxi driver..

Even the traffic lights changed in perfect unison.

A chill crept through me.

When I reached my street, the bricks of my house looked a shade too bright.

My front door had no letterbox, or lock. Only a smooth black panel that shimmered faintly as I approached.

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered.

“A dream. That’s all.”

I reached out anyway.

The moment my fingers touched the panel, the world flickered.

A translucent grid rippled across my vision.

Then a voice spoke from somewhere inside my head.

“Roger, do you read? Subject’s neural loop is degrading.”

“Latency spike confirmed.”

“Initiate reset.”

Reality stuttered.

One blink and I was lying in a bedroom.

Everything was immaculate. Crisp white bedding. Warm oak floors. Sunlight poured through windows far larger than any Victorian terrace could possibly have.

It looked like one of those impossibly expensive magazine homes.

For one glorious second I thought perhaps I’d imagined the whole thing.

Then I climbed out of bed.

The floor dissolved beneath my feet.

The room shattered into sheets of white static.

I fell through them.

Weightless and directionless.

The voices returned, louder now.

“Rendering failure.”

“Anchor unstable.”

“Recover the subject.”

Something hammered inside my skull. I clawed at empty air until my hand found the cool metal of the watch.

Its screen had changed.

JOURNEY IN PROGRESS

Without thinking, I pressed it.

The world snapped sideways.

I woke with a gasp on the floor of my own bedroom.

The ceiling still had its familiar damp stain.

The floorboards squeaked.

Outside, a siren wailed somewhere in the distance while someone shouted about a parking space.

Never had London sounded so beautiful.

Two days later, I went looking for the research centre.

No such company existed.

I still have the watch. Every so often, usually just before dawn, it lights up by itself.

The battery should have died months ago.

The screen displays the same message every time.

RETURN TO DESTINATION?

I never press it.

Instead, I turn over, grip my old cotton sheets, and thank God for the beautiful, messy reality of the off-peak bus.

Last Tuesday, I caught the Superloop again.

As I tapped my Freedom Pass, the driver smiled.

“Morning.”

I smiled back.

Just as the doors closed, he glanced at my wrist.

“Back again?” he asked quietly.

I looked down.

I wasn’t wearing the watch.