Cognizant.

Friday, 10:04 am.

“Why is she always doing that?”

Each morning for the past week, Sonny has tipped her mug of coffee over and sighed, no longer surprised that no liquid leaves the cup. Each morning she has waited an extra 10 minutes to leave for work, to see she has still beat the morning rush. Each morning I have caught her stroking her reflection in the mirror at 6:52am, 8 minutes before her alarm clock goes off.

Sonny lives in a world revolving around her. Every tree ebbs and flows to the rhythm of her every motion, everything being as perfect as it was created to be. Lately, She frowns more than she should, leaving me confused about what more she could want.

This is partially my fault. I’m still getting used to this system myself, and there have been a few mistakes here and there. She isn’t supposed to notice these little glitches but I could see her making a mental list of the unusual. I care about Sonny on a level I never meant to, and it saddens me to see she’s unhappy.

Today she has a 10 o’clock appointment at Frames, the painting shop just down the road from the house. I picked out the perfect painting to cover a hole in the living room wall; a watercolour of a ship skimming the horizon during sunset. All the colours blend beautifully and will be perfect for the lunch on Saturday.

I watch as she speaks to the consultant and glances over the painting. She runs her finger over the texture, and continues working her way through the shop. She tells the worker she likes the portrait of a woman from the Victorian era, and asks for the price.

“Come on, Sonny," I whisper.

With a smile on her face, she purchases the framed portrait and heads home. I run my hands through my hair, and check to see if anyone is around. No one. I sigh and continue watching her as she unlocks the door to her apartment and happily places the painting on the wall.

“She’s done it again, hasn’t she?”

I gasp and turn around, surprised to see my colleague behind me.

“When did you get in here, Nell?”

“Only a second ago. Abigail if you don’t intervene by tomorrow morning, they’re going to know.”

“What did they do to your first one?”

Nell hesitates, reminiscing on a memory he has tried desperately to forget.

“Well, I decided not to do anything about it and wait to see if anyone noticed, and they did. They always do.”

I comfort Nell by rubbing the side of his arm and pulling a chair over for him. He has only been back to work a few months since his breakdown last year. I had only been working here a week, and all I remember is seeing him being carried out in a flood of tears. He didn’t return for 9 months.

“What happened?”

Nell pushes himself up from the desk and rushes to the door. Before he goes, he turns to me, with his face damp with tears.

“You know what you have to do.”

Saturday, 10:05 am.

Another cup of the same coffee accompanying the same perfectly toasted pieces of bread. I run my finger over the tattoo on my wrist, and try to remember the details of getting it. Honestly, these days I struggle to remember any memory. I look up at the clock, and head to the bathroom to get ready for the company I’m expecting.

Sonny Iona Martin. My name written in cursive on my perfectly folded white towels. Sometimes for the fun of it I purposefully spill a drop or two of polish on them just to watch the colour change. I always come back the next morning to find them pristine once again. I don’t understand what’s going on anymore.

I curl my hair and put on my makeup. I touch my reflection in the mirror, and hear the doorbell ring. I head downstairs, passing the living room as I go and stop to admire the painting from the Frames shop I went to yesterday.

“Well, this can’t be right.”

I approach the artwork, and begin examining it. Little waves lead up to a black ship setting off into the reddening sky. I could’ve sworn I decided on a portrait instead, but like I said, I don’t have the memory for details like that. I look it over a second time, as the doorbell rings with anticipation.

“You must be Sonny! My name’s Michael Hampton, this is Stuart Lambert and John Muffat.”

I greet each eager guest, and invite them into the charmingly decorated living room. As we enter, I glance once more up at the painting before taking a seat.

“So how are you finding the town?”

I could faintly hear the words, but my eyes were focused on the ship. I try with all my might to remember my trip to the shop yesterday, and become frustrated in my defeat.

“Sonny?”

“You’ll have to excuse me, my memory has been failing me terribly, and I was distracted by this painting I purchased yesterday. It seems I confused myself and left with the wrong one,” I giggle nervously. They don’t find me humorous, and glance at each other. They read the looks on each other’s faces, a language I can’t seem to understand.

“I see,” says Stuart, the tallest of the men. He takes out a little notebook from his coat pocket, and begins writing something down.

“I’m so sorry to ask, but I can’t seem to remember why we are having this little get together today?”

They look me over, glance up at the painting, and then once again at each other. They all stand in unison, declaring that it was time to go.

“I apologise if I have offended you, please don’t go,” I say, desperately.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” says John, as they exit and slam the door shut.

I don’t understand. I look around at my apartment and all the things that make up my home. None of it is familiar to me, like it’s not my own. I walk over to the wall, riddled with anxiety. In a quick motion, I tear the painting from its place and begin ripping it apart. Every wooden side snapped in half, bits of watercolour cluttering my grey carpet. I start to cry with frustration, and head to the kitchen, shattering anything in my way.

“Sonny, can you hear me?”

I stop, and turn in all directions to find the owner of the voice.

“Who is that? Where are you? What is happening?” I say, cradling my head in my hands and dropping to the floor.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just go to bed, and I’ll come find you.”

I wipe my tears away with a torn sleeve, and look around once again. I shut my eyes, and steady my breathing.

“Okay.”

Sunday, 10:06 am.

“Sonny, can you hear me? Nell, this wasn’t a good idea. I knew I should’ve just left it alone.”

Sonny opens her eyes, and sees two blurry figures standing before her. She rubs her face trying to focus enough to see where she is.

“Your eyes will adjust in a few seconds,” says Nell. Sonny opens and closes her eyes, and quickly regains her vision. She focuses on Nell’s face, and then at the woman beside him. She pushes herself back in the chair she’s in, gasping.

“Hi, Sonny. My name’s Abigail. I know all of this must seem strange, but I’m here to help you.” Abigail gives Sonny a kind smile, as Nell exits the room.

“Where am I? Why do you look like me?” Sonny eyes the woman over once more, clenching the arms of the chair.

“You are in a place called Dream Corps. It’s a technology company that is exploring virtual reality, and I’m one of their employees. You are one of their simulations. Look, I wish I could go into detail but we don’t have much time. I know a lot about you, because I created you. You’re actually my first, and I was a bit unimaginative and designed you to look like me.”

Sonny bursts into a fit of laughter, and looks around the room. Her laughter stops when she comes across a computer screen with a livestream of her apartment playing.

“What the hell is this, is this some kind of joke? Get me out of here right now.”

“Please just listen to me. Look at that tattoo on your wrist, do you know what that is? Do you even remember getting it?”

Sonny glances at the tattoo, trying to remember.

“It’s my initials and an abbreviation of my birthday, I know that.”

Abigail frowns and stares at her, realising that Sonny may not be as aware as she thought.

“Sonny, that tattoo says SIM 2600, your design code. They are designed to look like tattoos so VR players can note the code when considering a purchase.” She looks down while explaining it, suddenly ashamed of the company she works for.

“What purchases?”

Abigail takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Every person you meet is a real person just playing a game. They hop around different VR worlds, meeting simulations, hoping to purchase a few to place in their own worlds. It’s how Dream Corps makes its money. Employers program the perfect sim, launch them, monitor them, and hope for a purchase. But sometimes simulations gain consciousness and start to control their own worlds. You were a buyer’s worst nightmare. Those three men that came to your house yesterday were all considering you as a purchase. Once they saw you were starting to question your own reality, they bailed. When that happens, the executives of the company are notified and…”

In tears, Sonny anxiously awaits the result of her actions. Abigail takes a deep breath and looks back up at her.

“When simulations become aware, they are discarded into the void. Our technology isn’t advanced enough for us to know what is beyond the void and when we try to access the data it becomes encrypted. Some of us believe a consciousness still exists, but there’s no way to know for sure. When we’re able to gain access, we’re afraid to learn what old simulations were put through. ”

“So what do we do?”

Suddenly, the clock above the door ticks loudly, marking the start of the eleventh hour. Abigail scrambles to her feet, and opens a program on the computer.

“We have to be quick, the players that visit your site will be online soon. Look, there isn’t an easy way to say this but you have to make a decision. You either allow them to send you into the void blind, or… Or you let me erase you. You won’t feel anything, you will just simply cease to exist. It’s that unfortunately simple.”

“I-”, Sonny looks down at her hands and back to the computer screen. She envisions the painting of the ship torn up on her living room floor. She remembers every fit of frustration she has experienced over her lifetime, and all of the questions she had that have now finally been answered.

“They’ll be coming soon. You have to hurry, I’m so sorry.”

Sonny sighs and nods her head. Abigail smiles and nods back, types something onto the screen, and looks back at the sobbing girl she created.

“It’s all ready. Are you ready?” There’s a knock on the door, and Abigail runs to lock it. She turns back to Sonny and asks one final time.

“Are you ready?” Hesitating, Sonny nods and squeezes her eyes shut.

As Abigail prepares to hit the button, a fear takes Sonny over and she quickly changes her mind.

“Wait.”

In the same instant, Abigail presses the button, and is left in a room with nothing but silence.