I’ve been on the run for weeks, moving from place to place, not knowing where I was going or who I was really running from.

 

I can’t even say why I decided to run in the first place, but here I am.

 

Maybe I’ve just lost my mind.

 

* * *

 

This all started a few weeks ago when I was planning a vacation. There was a place called Hillside State Park that I loved as a child, and I wanted to take my family there someday.

 

However, I couldn’t find anything about it online. I even asked a few of my friends, who I’m sure had been there with me many times before, but they had no idea what I was talking about.

 

This was only the beginning. The constant headaches I’ve had ever since I started a few days later.

 

No matter where I go, he’s there. There doesn’t seem to be any way to escape. So, I’ve decided to stop running and write some of this down before he finds me.

 

The door to my hotel room is unlocked. This time, I checked in with my real name instead of an alias, so he’ll know exactly where I am.

 

* * *

 

My name is Clay Wright. The first real memory I have is arriving at the airport over 14 years ago. I believe that’s true because I’ve been back there many times, and my wife, Aira, can corroborate this.

 

Places where I’ve worked over the past decade look the same, and I’ve run into former coworkers who remembered my name even if I had forgotten theirs. The recent past seems real, at least.

 

My wife and my child are real.

 

Our son Kode was kind of a miracle baby. Doctors told us that we probably wouldn’t be able to have children. Yet only a year and a half after our wedding, my wife became pregnant, and nine months later, our son was born healthy and happy.

 

Before marriage, my life was pretty much a dead end. Everything has changed for the better since then, though. And for the past year, I’ve been working on the most exciting project of my life in the AI department at a medical device firm.

 

We’ve been working on a new interface that runs on a custom platform. We’re getting close to conducting a real-world test with human subjects. If it works, we can help people with PTSD forget the memories that torment them daily. And we’ll also be able to download new information directly into the brain.

 

So, yeah, that’s real.

 

Some things just have to be, right?

 

* * *

 

A few days after emailing the park service about Hillside, I started seeing this man.

 

One day, at the exit near my stop, I saw him standing there looking at me. He stood out because he was wearing a long black coat despite the summer heat.

 

No matter where I went, he’d be there waiting for me. He wasn’t trying to hide.

 

He was just always there.

 

And every time I saw him, he was a little bit closer.

 

Traveling like an itinerant tourist for weeks has given me time to think. After withdrawing all the cash I had from the bank and tossing my cell phone, I’m just left with this laptop to organize my thoughts.

 

My original plan was to send this to my wife, but if they find out that she knows, she’d be in danger too, right? A few days ago, I even asked myself that question out loud, and a notification popped up on my PC.

 

“You aren’t crazy.”

 

My heart skipped a beat, and I immediately started packing, even though I had just checked in.

 

Before shutting down my computer, though, I typed, “Who are you, and what is happening?”

 

It only said, “Please do not be alarmed. This is only a test.”

 

Suddenly, a flash of pain turned me off like a switch. I’m not sure how long I was out, but when I looked at the screen again, the messages were gone.

 

* * *

 

That was over a week ago. Then, just a few hours ago, after checking in, I saw him standing in the parking lot outside, watching me.

 

I can hear footsteps coming down the hallway now. There is a brief moment of silence before it’s broken by a knock at the door, and it opens. He’s wearing the same black coat he’s had on this whole time.

 

“Clay, it’s time to wrap this up. We’re restoring control back to you so you can disconnect safely. First, do you remember the trigger phrase?”

 

I shook my head. He said, “It was Mandela.”

 

The pain in my head flares once again, but this time clarity hits me.

 

No, oh no! I thought.

 

“Aira? Kode?”

 

He steps into the room. “Clay, you chose those names to help keep you grounded during the test. But you’ve been acting strangely over the past hour, so I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to terminate this experiment.”

 

Aira… as in AI. And Kode for the code I had written for this project.

 

My wife’s touch, just haptic feedback; Kode’s constant questions, just recursive echoes — my implant’s design unraveling.

 

I had tested this on myself, weaving this life. Memory implantation. So real, our clients will never know the difference!

 

I’d say we succeeded, I thought bitterly.

 

I finally grasped the truth: my family, my reality, my creation. Hours and not days! Now this man — my supervisor — is offering a reset back to my old reality.

 

I can now clearly see past the surface of this reality to the code underpinning it. And instead of a single door, there are countless more.

“No,” I said. “I’m going home to my family.”

 

I fled the room, risking my mind’s collapse, their echoes guiding me.

 

I would choose my reality, real or coded, a human remade by my own hands.