Zac floated naked in an infinite ocean, azure waves lapping gently against his skin as the twin suns of his personal nirvana cast prismatic reflections across the water's surface. With a thought, the temperature adjusted, warmer by precisely two degrees. Another thought summoned a shot of 50-year Macallan, the glass materializing between his fingers without the slightest ripple in the fabric of his reality.
"Music," he murmured, and just with his thoughts he selected a personal favourite. The opening strains of Beethoven's Seventh washed over him, not from speakers but from the air itself, as if the molecules around him were vibrating in perfect symphony.
This was the hundredth consecutive day he'd chosen this particular paradise configuration. He could have been scaling impossible mountains, experiencing history firsthand, or indulging in pleasures that would shatter a physical body. But lately, Zac found himself returning to simpler pleasures. Perhaps after seven years in Zenith, novelty itself had lost its appeal.
He took a sip of whisky, savouring the peat and honey notes that the system reproduced with molecular precision. The advanced programming of Zenith had mapped his taste buds and neural responses in the scanning process, ensuring every pleasure he remembered would be recreated with perfect fidelity.
It was as he reached for a second sip that he noticed it. The glass flickered, only for a millisecond, revealing the underlying wireframe before reassembling itself.
Zac frowned. Service glitches were rare, especially in Black Tier areas. He'd paid an additional twenty million for priority server space, which guaranteed 99.9% uptime, and zero latency.
The music stuttered, a single note repeating three times before continuing.
"System status," Zac commanded.
The system voice responded in its usual soothing tone: "All systems functioning within normal parameters, Mr. Voss. You are experiencing optimal…"
The voice cut out. The ocean below turned into a pixelated mess, then everything went black.
For twenty-seven seconds, Zac Voss experienced nothing. Not darkness, darkness would be something. This was the absence of input. His consciousness, suspended in void, experienced what the human mind was never designed to process: absolute sensory deprivation.
When the world reassembled around him, he was no longer in his ocean. He stood in a bright white diagnostic space, the system's default environment during maintenance or emergency protocols.
"System status," he tried again, his voice still deeply impacted by his shock.
"Limited functionality restored," the system responded. "Experiencing technical difficulties. Emergency protocols engaged. Full restoration estimated in six hours, twenty-two minutes."
"What happened?" Zac demanded.
"Security breach in Server Complex East. Physical intrusion detected."
The words sent a chill through Zac, a perfectly simulated physiological response to fear, indistinguishable from what he would have felt in his long-discarded body.
"Show me," he commanded.
A window opened in the white void before him. Security footage from the physical world, a realm he has long forgotten. The image showed fire, smoke, and figures moving through the server farm. One figure turned toward the camera, face covered by a gas mask, and spray-painted something across the lens.
Before the image cut out, Zac could read the crude red letters: "THE DEAD HAVE TAKEN ENOUGH."