Iteration 7. The thought felt less intrusive now, almost expected. 6:58 AM. Kitchen. The red apple sat gleaming under the flat kitchen light, an anomaly so potent it felt like a singularity in his otherwise predictable space.
Observation ongoing. Subject deviation noted. Adjusting parameters. The memory of that non-verbal communication packet was sharp, undeniable. His mental outburst had triggered a response. Not an answer, but a change. An input had generated an output.
Elias stared at the apple. It looked perfectly ordinary. Crisp, red skin, a slight stem, the faint indention at the base. Was it real? Or just another part of the simulation's state restoration, albeit a new element?
He reached out, his fingers hesitating just above the cool skin. If he touched it, interacted with it, would it vanish at 7:03 AM like the shattered salt shaker? Or was it persistent, a parameter change that would carry over?
Hypothesis: Introduced variables may exhibit different persistence properties. He needed data.
He picked up the apple. It felt solid, weighty, real. He brought it to his nose; it smelled faintly sweet, earthy. He ran his thumb over the skin. No flicker, no distortion.
He looked at the clock. 7:00 AM. He walked to the counter drawer, retrieved the intact pen, and carefully, deliberately, scratched a small 'E' onto the apple's skin, breaking the surface. A tiny mark of defiance, of interaction.
Then, he took a bite.
The crunch was loud in the quiet kitchen. The flesh was crisp, slightly tart, juice flooding his mouth. It tasted exactly like an apple should. He chewed slowly, deliberately, swallowing before the clock ticked to 7:01 AM.
He placed the bitten apple, marked with his initial, back on the counter. He stood watching it, cataloging the changes: the bite mark, the exposed flesh starting to brown slightly, the scratched 'E'.
7:02 AM. His breath hitched. The final minute. Would the apple revert? Would the bite vanish? Would the 'E' be erased?
The clock flipped to 7:03 AM.
He blinked.
Kitchen. 6:58 AM.
His eyes darted to the counter. The apple was still there.
But it was whole again. Perfect, gleaming, unmarked red skin. No bite mark. No scratched initial.
Disappointment warred with a strange sense of validation. Physical interaction with the new variable was also subject to the state reset. But the apple itself persisted across iterations, unlike the salt shaker. It was a change to the baseline state, introduced by the 'system'.
Iteration 8. Analysis: External variable persists. Subject interaction with variable resets. The impersonal thought echoed.
Okay. Physical changes were out. But the apple had appeared because of his mental state. Could he influence it further?
He ignored the apple for now. He closed his eyes again, focusing his intent. He didn't scream this time. He visualized. He pictured the red apple turning blue. A deep, impossible, vibrant blue. He held the image in his mind, concentrating fiercely, trying to push the thought outward. Change the variable. Blue apple.
He held the thought through 6:59 AM, 7:00 AM, 7:01 AM, 7:02 AM... pouring mental energy into the request, the command.
7:03 AM.
He blinked.
Kitchen. 6:58 AM.
He looked at the counter. The apple sat there, red and gleaming. No change.
Iteration 9. Analysis: Direct parameter manipulation via subject intent unsuccessful.
Frustration gnawed at him. So, he could trigger a change through strong emotion, but he couldn't direct the change? The system reacted, but not necessarily according to his specific request. It wasn't communication; it was stimulus and response, and the response algorithm was unknown.
He slumped slightly. What else could he try? He walked towards the window, looking out at the pre-dawn cityscape. It looked utterly normal, unchanged. Was this loop confined just to his apartment? Or was the whole world resetting around him?
As he stared, a flicker of movement caught his eye. High up, on the rooftop of the building opposite, a lone figure stood silhouetted against the lightening sky. They were perfectly still, seemingly looking directly at his window. Elias squinted. He couldn't make out any features, just the outline. It felt wrong. People didn't just stand on rooftops at 7:00 AM staring into apartment windows.
He watched, frozen, until the clock ticked past 7:02 AM. He kept his eyes fixed on the figure, determined not to blink, not to look away.
7:03 AM.
He blinked.
Kitchen. 6:58 AM. Apple still red.
He rushed back to the window, heart pounding. He scanned the opposite rooftop.
It was empty.
But taped to the inside of his window, precisely where he had been looking, was a small, square piece of paper. On it, drawn in simple black ink, was a stylized eye.